Conor almost falls over laughing. “Okay, okay, you guys are assholes. But she wasreally good, okay? Like… Olympic-level hand technique.”
Dom groans. “Olympic-level? Please. She was probably bored out of her mind watching your pathetic little wiener flail.”
“Flail?” Mikey laughs so hard he snorts. “He calls that flailing a five-star performance. I’d pay to see her face right now while listening to all of this.”
Conor leans back, smirking. “She wouldlovehearing you all talking about myperformance.”
“You’re an idiot,” I mutter. But I can’t help smirking. Only Conor could turn a hand job into a locker-room legend.
I make a noise of dubious agreement and nod, turning back to my locker. Conor goes back to bragging about his experience,adding a little bit of hair-pulling as an embellishment to the story.
It’s not that I don’t believe he gets women; he definitely does. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed… women fall for him without effort. And sure, in some private massage parlor, someone might happily stroke his cock.
But this story? Nah. Too loud, told with too much verve. It’s too much of a show. He’s just talking to talk, just telling stories because people will listen.
As I gather my practice uniform parts to toss into my laundry bag, I hear Dominic chuckle.
“You think you go hard, Mouth,” he says, voice low, “but really? A teenage kid with a summer lawn-mowing gig could buy everything you brag about. Twice.”
I turn to catch Conor’s offended expression. “Please. And what are you into? Freaky basement rituals? The Dark Arts of Ass Play?”
“This isn’t fucking Harry Potter, you fucking moron,” Dominic replies.
“I’m just saying, what does go hard mean to the great Assassin? You never talk about women. Maybe you’re the gay one.”
“That isnotan insult,” Dominic says. “And I just don’t think it’s necessary to broadcast my sexual predilections to the whole team.”
“I’d bet you a hundred bucks he has no idea whatpredilectionsmeans,” another teammate says to Dominic.
This makes me grin.
They go back and forth, Conor getting visibly flustered by Dominic’s prodding. His face is heating up, a bright scarlet that makes him look like a boiled lobster, but he refuses to back down.
“Alright, Mr. Red Rocket,” Dom finally says, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Come to Ahren with us tonight.”
My eyes snap wide. I glare daggers at my friend. “What. The. Fuck?” I growl low, nearly inaudible. “Not my club. No.”
Conor claps his hands together like a little kid at Christmas. “A super top secret asshole club? Fuck yeah, dude. I’m in!”
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, swiping my hand across my face.
“It’ll be fine,” Dom says, unbothered, because of course he would.
“Itbetterbe,” I warn. “You’re responsible for his stupid ass. And if he does something dumb, I swear… headless in a ditch. Both of you.”
“I’ve got you, boss,” Dom says with mock solemnity. “We’ll just show him what a real club can offer a virgin boy like him. He’ll spend plenty of money, and you know he’s a Boy Scout. Won’t hurt anyone.”
He’s not to come back to the east wing,” I snap. “You invited this twat; you’re on babysitting duty.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep him away from you and your…whatever it is you do back there.”
I scowl. I’ve been looking forward to another dance from the mysterious Ana all week. I will not have Conor Murphy causinga fucking scene and ruining it. I grab my shower supplies and turn, glaring at Conor.
“Boss says you act stupid, you end up dead in a ditch,” Dom warns, clearly enjoying himself.
“Boss,” Conor repeats, mock offended, rolling his eyes. “Not my fucking boss.”
I start stepping forward, butt naked except for shower shoes, toes gripping the tile. I would kick this asshole’s teeth in and not feel an ounce of guilt.
