I didn’t quite know what to do with these people. They all seemed friendly, and some were from the same world as Brad and I, but I didn’t know if I could trust them, or if I wanted to. Enrique was Brad’s ex, and while I had no idea of the history there, he seemed nice enough. I’d promised Brad I wouldn’t run again, but I definitely wanted to know the story with Enrique. Maybe I’d ask him about it later.
Enrique nearly dragged me out of Brad’s arms, linking his elbow with mine in a way that had me stiffening uncomfortably. He nearly dragged me toward the parking lot. “Come on, Harley, we have a lot to talk about.”
Christ on a popsicle stick. Not what I wanted.
11
Nicky and I stood together at the long, scratched bar that took up one wall at the Sauce Pot. John Denver blared from the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner, singing about country roads, and everyone was talking louder than usual to be heard over him. Our teammates and a few of the players from the Grizzly Boys had three tables shoved together along the far side of the room. The guys were so loud, laughing and yelling to people across the way from them—one Grizzly even had his eyes closed, passionately singing along with John—that two men wearing motorcycle riding gear stood up from their barstools, glared at them, and then left.
Nicky elbowed me when Enrique, who had been blabbing nonstop since we got here, slid down a chair from his place beside MacBain to take my empty seat next to Harley. For his part, Harley looked ready to crawl under the table to escape. He held the seat of his chair with both hands and nodded with a stiff neck every now and again, obviously putting in the work to be polite. Maybe he deserved a nice reward later. My gut heated at the thought of what I might do as a thank-you for dealing with the boys.
“What is Enrique up to?” Nicky asked just loud enough to be heard over the music. I kicked the toe of my sneaker along the edge of one of the bare, scuffed floorboards and shrugged a shoulder.
“Not sure, but a big, hairy redheaded Viking wannabe is going to hurt himself trying to look at you without getting caught. Whiplash hurts.”
Nicky snickered and flashed a glance over at the large man he’d told Harley he already fucked at least once, and for his part, the guy turned back to his drink to pretend he hadn’t just been staring our way like his life depended on it.
Enrique reached over and touched Harley’s hand as he talked, leaning closer to him. I wasn’t worried about Enrique, he was always a hands-on person, no matter who he was dealing with, and I hadn’t done anything awful while we were together that he could be spilling to Harley. My chest tightened a little, however, at how Harley’s back straightened until he looked ready to crack.
Daryl, the bartender here, who matched our surroundings in his worn-in jeans and a holey Budweiser T-shirt, slid a couple of steins of beer in front of us. He flashed me a craggy grin and brushed his longish gray hair off his forehead. “Go. I’ll bring over the rest of the drinks.”
Nicky and I walked back bearing beers and got a hero’s welcome.
I set a glass in front of Harley and one in front of Enrique, and then stood there waiting for Enrique to get the clue and move back to his seat, but instead he just turned sideways on his chair to include me in his conversation.
“Did you know Harley’s never heard of glamping?”
“Is that a prerequisite for something?” I kicked Enrique’s heel but he ignored me.
Harley flushed, and while that was always a sweet sight, I didn’t like the way the rest of his body was about as mobile as a board. “Glamorous camping seems like an oxymoron.” He forced a smile and dragged his stein of beer closer, clearly a move to give him something to do with his hands and ignore us.
Enrique sipped at his beer, but his eyes were laughing as they met mine.
MacBain leaned toward the middle of the table so he could stare down at Harley. His wide face was alight with an expression that I knew right away would lead to assholery. I hadn’t realized he was listening quite so hard to their conversation.
“Bet princess there doesn’t get himself dirty doing things like camping.” He laughed and took a beer that Daryl passed over his shoulder.
Harley glanced down at his drink. To me, at least, he looked ready to toss it on MacBain. “I’ve never been camping, but glamping sounds okay.”
MacBain snorted and leaned his bulk on his table, but it wobbled, and he had to sit up again. “You better stay home, city boy, if that’s all you can handle.”
“Why don’t you drink your beer, MacBain?” I asked, not enjoying what he was handing out right now, especially since it was directed at Harley.
Enrique didn’t seem to notice his boyfriend being a dickhead, or maybe this was the norm for him. I tried to let it go, but my foot was tapping all on its own and I was having trouble making myself stop staring at the jerk. I wanted to slap him into his fucking beer.
“Once, Brad took me to a riverfront cabin near Pittsburgh. You know, there are so many rivers there, and it gets this dreamy fog every morning during the fall. I wouldn’t have thought it would be romantic, but being alone in the woods, with all the leaves changing, with nothing to do except—” Enrique must have realized he was tiptoeing into uncomfortable territory because he paused to glance at MacBain, who was downing his beer in one Olympic chug. Enrique laughed and finally slid over into his seat beside MacBain, and I let out a breath of relief. “Anyway,” he finished lamely, “it’s a good time.” He scratched his chin and glanced at the ceiling as he continued to smile to himself.
Damn it, had I thought Enrique wasn’t going to cause me problems? Harley looked like he’d swallowed a sardine whole, his face all pinched while he rubbed at his neck. Maybe hearing good things about me from Enrique was worse than hearing bad things. I couldn’t tell.
Gazing around to find Nicky for support in my endeavor to unfuck this “fun” little pitstop before home, I noticed he’d managed to park himself between that broad-shouldered redheaded Grizzly and another tall, good-looking slab of beefcake with a chin dimple and blondish-brown spiral curls. Beefcake’s eyes were electric and the same color as tropical water. Typical Nicky. He caught my gaze, waved the end of one dread at me, and waggled his eyebrows as he leaned against the redhead and walked his fingers along the bicep of the other man.
Part of me wanted to apologize to Harley for having a good time before we met, but that was stupid, so I sat down and draped my arm along the back of his chair. He didn’t snuggle in, but he did flash me a small smile.
The team quickly blew past my two-drink max declaration, which I wasn’t very worried about since it took us a while to suck them down. The jukebox cycled through some classic rock while we all shot the shit. Harley talked stiltedly with Enrique for a bit, and then Nicky somehow ended up with his admirers at a table behind us. He reached over to tap me on the shoulder, and I waved at him.
“So, Boyd, you own a tech company?” Nicky asked loudly.
“Yeah.” The non-Viking Grizzly beamed at him, obviously hoping that might get him in with my man, Nicky. “It takes a special type of person to work with me. I keep burning through assistants somehow.” He didn’t look that broken up about it, though, when I took a quick glance over my shoulder to see how this was going. I checked on the Viking, and he was all pouty, and the end of his beard had beer froth on it. I fought back a snicker as Harley noticed what I was looking at and flicked my thigh so hard it stung. I grunted, but only smiled at him.
