“Better,” Bash said. Then, he stuck a finger in his mouth, sucked for a moment, and then touched Adonis’s hole.
Adonis’s breath caught in his chest. “Oh, god,” he whispered, as Bash began to finger him. “Yes, that—” The bed vibrated. Adonis turned his head. “Um. Your phone is ringing.”
Bash paused. “What?”
“You’re getting a phone call.”
Bash added another finger, and Adonis gasped. “It can wait,” Bash said.
“They’re calling again,” Adonis said, barely managing to get the words out without moaning. Bash was knuckle deep inside him.
“Who is it?”
Adonis squinted at the screen. “It says, ‘That Freshman Klootzak.’”
Bash swore. He gently removed his fingers, leaving Adonis feeling empty. “Give it to me.”
Adonis passed him the phone. Bash took it using the hand that hadn’t just been exploring Adonis.
He stood and walked to stand by the window. Adonis had a great view of Bash’s globular ass. He stared at it contentedly while Bash answered the call.
“What,” Bash said flatly. “Is something wrong? You called twice.”
He was silent for a moment. Adonis couldn’t see his face, but the impressive muscles tensed slightly.
“Slow down. Walk me through it. Okay. Okay. Take a deep breath and stop panicking. Where are you?” Bash said. “Okay, well, do you see any street signs? Okay, do not leave that spot. Share your location with me, and I will be there soon. Cort. Donotleave that spot.”
Adonis sat up, his pulse elevated. Something was clearly wrong.
Bash put down the phone. “Die idioot,” he muttered, and Adonis figured that this was not the time to comment that Dutch sometimes sounded like a parody language.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Bash sighed. “I am sorry, but I have to go.” He put on his boxer briefs, shoving his still semi-hard cock into them. “That was the freshman on our team I am mentoring. Cort Styleton. Have you met him yet?”
Adonis had. The cute, blonde freshman who had the sort of smile that screamed “douchebag.” “Yep. On the first flight. He’s the one who was watching Ben Shapiro on his phone.”
“Good god,” Bash said. “I did not see that. He is drunk, in a bar he doesn't recognize, and he doesn’t know how to get home. He does not want to use his credit card to get an Uber because it is linked to his parents’ account, and he is worried they will ask questions.”
He tugged on joggers and a sweatshirt. “Die idioot,” he muttered again. “He asked me to come get him. He thinks he will be sick. I don’t want to, and I am very sorry, but I am his captain and—”
Adonis was already gathering his clothes. “No, I get. Actually, I’ll go with you.”
——
Once they left the hotel, it took them fifteen minutes to walk to Cort’s location. Bash tracked it on his phone. They walked in silence, only broken by occasional curses from Bash in Dutch. It was a cool night for August, and Adonis wore a sweatshirt Bash had given him.
“I’m sorry about this,” Bash said. They were approaching the location Cort had sent. Bash walked, staring at his phone.
“It’s really okay,” Adonis said, hurrying to keep up with the taller hockey player. “It’s not your fault.”
“You didn’t have to come with me.”
“I know. I wanted to.”
Bash nodded: a silent thank you.
They reached the place where Cort said he was waiting. They were on a street lined with bars and cheap restaurants. Small groups of people gathered on the sidewalks, chatting quietly together as they waited to enter a bar or to be seated for food. Adonis and Bash were just two more in the crowds.
