Stellan comes over to see if we want to dance. Jack and I decline since we have one left foot…between the both of us, but Bailey trots off with them, leaving us alone with Harvey.
"Who knew you were such a fanboy?" Jack teases him.
A deep laugh rumbles out of him. "What can I say? I love hockey."
"You don't have to say anything," I say, caressing his bearded cheek. "You can nerd out as much as you like. We think it's adorable, don't we?"
"Oh, yeah. Totally. Cutest thing ever."
Harvey smiles as he tugs both of us in closer by our shirts. "What am I going to do with you two?"
"Oh, I think you know…"
We start making out, so it's a good thing we're in a relatively secluded corner of the bar. The guys return to the table. We have some shots, talk, laugh, and then Stellan drags Duke and Bailey out dancing again.
"I gotta pee," Jack says.
"We'll stay here," I tell him, and when he leaves, I ask Harvey, "Are you having a good time?"
"Yeah, I am." He wraps his arm around me the way Duke and Stellan do with Bailey, and it makes my skin tingle with warmth.
This doesn't just feel right, this is addictive, the start of something I don’t want ending in less than a week, when Jack and I have our flights back to LA booked.
"I'm really glad we came out tonight."
He pulls me even closer. "Yeah. I am, too."
12
Jack
I'm actually having fun. Real, genuine fun. Bailey, Duke, and Stellan are great guys, but of course, the main reason why I'm so happy is Zak and Harvey.
It's hard to believe we've only been here for six weeks. I feel like a completely new person. The man who arrived in Cumcircle—best name for a small town ever, by the way—was tired, overworked, and had long lost his sense of wonder. My life was a maze of spreadsheets and meetings, deadlines and budgets.
I still squeeze in an hour or so of work every day, mainly just checking emails to make sure everything is running smoothly, but it doesn't have the same hold over me like it used to.
I finish up at the urinal and turn to head to the sink to wash my hands. There's a tall figure standing by the door. He’s a few inches taller than me and has at least fifty pounds on me. Something about the way he's staring makes my gut twist. Acting as normally as I can, I brush the funny feeling off. I’m washing my hands when I see the man—large and grimacing—stalk up behind me in the mirror.
The next thing I know, his hands are in my hair, and he’s pulling so hard it snaps my head back. "Get down on your hands and knees, faggot. I'm going to teach you a lesson."
I wince, trying to get out of his grip. "Let go of me, man. That was a scene in a movie."
One of the first scenes I ever starred in. The only scene I've ever bought back the rights to, because it was too extreme, even by my standards. Me getting used, abused, and degraded by twelve guys in a men's toilet. That's what this guy is riffing off, repeating the opening line the way he did. He must've either seen it when it came out all those years ago or seen snippets of it, which still somehow make it onto porn sites once in a while.
I manage to tear myself out of his hold, but it's only momentary, and he shoves me against the wall, pain shooting from my shoulder blades down.
"Leave me alone, man. I'm serious."
"Oh, yeah? What are you going to do? You're just a fucking whore here to please real alphas like me."
Fucking hell. Does he seriously not understand the difference between porn and reality?
"Get out of my way," I grit out.
He shoves his weight into my chest, pinning me against the cold tiles, and smirks. His breath is rank. "Make me.Fag."
Before I can react, heavy footsteps close in fast, and then two arms toss the guy to the side like he’s a rag doll.
