At seven, I’m cursing at my bow tie while he watches me from the bed. “You are smokin’ hot in a tux,” he says. “Even if your tie game is pretty weak.”
“Help,” I whine, starting over for the third time.
He gets up and knocks my hands away. “The trick is to start sloppy and tighten everything up later. Kind of like giving a blowjob.”
I snort with laughter. Who knew that my childhood crush would ever learn to give a blowjob? Throughout high school, Jamie was my fantasy. The big blond hottie whose long fingers are fixing my tie still astonishes me every time he touches me. I hold very still because I want this to last. He can fiddle with this thing all night long if it means I have a front-row view of his brown eyes—so surprising on a blond guy—and his golden, chiseled cheekbones.
“There,” he says softly, his breath on my face. He gives the tie one more tug.
I reluctantly shift my gaze to the mirror, and my tie is perfectly centered and straight. I have no more reason to stay at home now. “Thank you,” I say quietly. When I say this, it means so much more than just for tying a tie.
He cups my cheek. “You’re welcome. Now go. Behave.Wave on the red carpet or whatever. When they ask you who you’re wearing, make some shit up.”
“Good idea.” I lean forward and kiss him once. A quickie. Then I beat it out of there before I can reconsider.
SEVEN
WES
At the benefit I’m miserable.
I’m no stranger to parties, but I hate this kind—a bunch of people in penguin suits trying to impress each other. At least the food was good and the liquor is tasty, even if the pour is on the stingy side. My glass is empty again so I look around. There are always multiple bars set up at events like this. The trick is to zero in on the underutilized one, where the lines are shorter. There’s a long line at the bar near the door, so I scan the room and find what I’m looking for in a corner.
Five minutes later I’m sipping a single malt and wandering back to my teammates. Even when they’re out of sight, you can still hear them. I can track Eriksson’s chortles and Blake’s guffaws.
I’m avoiding Blake because I’m irritated at him. Maybe that’s juvenile, but my goal for the night is just to get through it. I already heard him say something about hitting the bar after our forced appearance here is over. That’s out of the question. Once the speeches are made, I’m slipping out the back.
“Hey, Wesley.” Eriksson greets me with a hard thump on the back. “You having fun?”
To lie or not to lie? That is the question. I’m pretty fucking sick of the lies I tell all week long. “Not particularly. This isn’t my scene.”
Eriksson’s eyes widen. “The single man doesn’t care for a room full of rich women in skimpy dresses? I used to clean up at events like this. Seven years ago I took home a pair of twins who tag-teamed me all night.” His smile is drunken. “Those were the days.”
My teammate looks pretty banged up, and it’s only ten. His eyes are red, and he looks exhausted. “You okay?” I blurt out. He’s looked like hell all week, honestly. I don’t know why I’m just realizing that now.
“Course I’m okay. Except my wife told me this morning she wants a divorce, and then she took the kids to her sister’s place. I missed another counseling session, apparently. So she’s throwing in the towel.”
Jesus Christ. “I’m so sorry, man. Maybe she just needs a night to think things through.” Is that what you say to a guy whose life is falling apart? I don’t have a clue.
Eriksson shrugs. “This lifestyle. It isn’t easy, you know? But enough of my bullshit. What do you have against parties?”
“Not all parties,” I say quickly. “This kind of thing just gives me flashbacks to my childhood. My mother spends all her time planning shit like this. See these flowers?” I point at one of the ostentatious centerpieces. There are millions of them, and since it’s February in Canada, they would have been flown in from the tropics. From the ceiling hang swarms of fake butterflies, each one suspended on some kind of invisible fishing line. “Someone spent a big chunk of change decorating this place. Because the rich people who spent four grand ahead to come here tonight expect to be dazzled. I’ve always wondered why we can’t all just stay home and write a check in our underwear. More of it goes to the actual charity. Boom. Fundraising problem solved.”
Eriksson tips his head back and laughs. “You cynical bastard. I fucking love you. But you’re here already, so stop making that face like the tie is choking you.”
I give the tie one more tug, because that fuckerischoking me. “What is this benefit for, anyway?” I’d missed that crucial bit of information. And since these parties always look the same, there aren’t any clues in the decor. Unless the party is meant to benefit florists and faux butterflies.
“Psoriasis research,” Eriksson says. “Apparently it’s a real scourge.”
“What?” I snort. “The skin condition?” I scan the crowd again, but the only skin I see is on nubile young women with backless dresses. The research must be working great.
“Heads up,” Eriksson tips his head toward a group of gorgeous girls moving toward us through the crowd. “You’re single, and I might be. Might as well admire the models. It’s for a good cause, right?”
After a nice slug of my whiskey I paste on a smile. But then I realize that I actually know one of these girls. “Kristine! What the hell are you doing here?” I knew her in college—she used to date my friend Cassel’s brother. I haven’t seen her in three years—not since she broke up with Robbie.
She gives me a big grin. “When I saw your team on the program, I wondered if you’d be here. Little Ryan, thefamousrookie forward. Why can’t I say that with a straight face?”
I grab her and give her a hug, and my hands meet skin everywhere. Her shiny bronze-colored dress is so skimpy she’s practically naked. “Good to see you, Krissi. How you been?You’re back in Toronto?” I’d forgotten she was Canadian. She’d been in Boston when I used to visit the Cassel family on college breaks.
