Offside (25 page)

Yeah, that was weird. Sahara was a hot little piece, completely available, and yet he hadn’t even tried to get in her pants. Something was seriously wrong with him. If he kept this up, people were gonna start thinking he was
decent.

There’re only two people I want thinking that. And they couldn’t care less.

He rubbed his hand over his face, a smile forming as though molded in clay. Sahara waking him up was a good thing. He needed a fucking drink. A nice, numbing buzz to get Becky and Zach out of his head.

“We taking my car or you planning on drinking tonight?” he asked after slipping into his well-worn sneakers.

Sahara laughed. “Let’s take a cab. I’m getting plastered.”

He nodded and took his phone out to call a cab, eyeing Sahara as she frowned at him all the way to the elevator. What had he done now? “Something wrong?”

She shrugged, hooking one finger to the thin strap of her little black purse. “Guess not. It’s just weird that you didn’t even comment. I’m not sure whether or not to be insulted that you’re not hitting on me.”

“You want me to?”

“I’m not sure. If you did, at least I’d know you’re okay.”

The edge of his lip quirked and he threw his arm over her shoulder, kissing her forehead as they went out to the street to meet the cab. “You’re a sweet little thing. Don’t you worry, by the time you move out, I’ll have had you in my bed, with your ankles behind your ears, at least once.”

“Ugh.” She shoved him away, laughing. “I should have kept my mouth shut. You haven’t changed at all!”

He winced as she ducked into the backseat of the cab.

Maybe not. But I’m trying.

* * * *

The bar was bigger than the one Ford Kingsley—or Delgado, whatever—had owned before, but the name and the style was pretty much the same. Lots of gleaming metal and leather. A shiny, dark wood bar that took up most of one wall. The biggest difference was the huge dance floor and the DJ booth. The crowd. And the music. Scott made a face as he trailed Sahara to the bar, the techno slash pop mix enough to make him want to turn around and find his drunken stupor from a bottle of hard liquor in a brown paper bag on a street corner.

Would suit his mood better anyway.

“What are you doing with this loser, Sahara?” Ford asked as he came to take their order. He dropped the rag he’d been drying glasses with and rested his forearms on the bar. “Slumming?”

Sahara hooked her arm to Scott’s. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Not really a compliment, but Scott didn’t care enough to comment. He put in an order for a scotch on the rocks, then leaned his back against the bar, looking over the bar’s patrons with detached interest. An older woman did her best to catch his eye. Something about the predatory curve of her blood red lips made him feel like long, icy worms were crawling under his flesh. He rolled his shoulders and swallowed hard as the images from his nightmare flashed through his skull. He’d done nice, curvy older women before, but after the warped dreams, he tended to stick to men for a while.

Taking a deep breath, he narrowed his search for some hot young stud who might provide some much needed distraction. So long as Stephan never found out. But none of these men were Zach and—
fuck—
that was some high standard to set. Why hadn’t he set that standard before? When it would have actually mattered?

While Sahara danced and he finished his first two drinks, three women hit on him, and one guy covertly tested the waters. He shot them all down, only tempted once. A woman with auburn hair and blue eyes that looked almost grey under the black lights drew him into a conversation, and he found himself laughing for real for the first time in days as she teased him. It reminded him of how things had been with Becky before he’d fucked that up. He bought her a drink, ready to seal the deal, ignoring the irritating voice in his head that said she was nothing but a shallow replacement for Becky.

“This will be my last one,” The woman, whose name he’d already forgotten, said with a coy smile. “Got to get up with my brats in the morning.”

Scott went still. He didn’t care that the woman had kids—all he could think of was how Becky was with Casey. The way she’d talked about her baby while they were setting up the little girl’s room.

“I really need to do something about all these toys. I’d get rid of some, but she loves them so much. You should see her tea parties.” Her eyes had teared up. Zach had hugged her. “God, I miss her.”

The love Becky showed for her daughter was all Scott had ever wanted as a kid. He had no idea what it was like to be a parent—hell, maybe it was normal to get sick of your kids—but the little interest he’d had in the woman at his side had died.

“It’s been nice talking to you.” Scott inclined his head at the woman, then walked away without a backward glance, not even sure where he was going. Sahara shouted for him to join her on the dance floor, giggling as a lanky, fairly handsome man pulled her into his arms. He shook his head, then caught sight of someone familiar, sitting alone at a table by the windows with a bottle of jack and a shot glass. He grinned as he headed over, pulling out a chair and making himself comfortable. The big black man didn’t look all that happy to see him.

“What’s the occasion, Mason?” Scott helped himself to a shot. Smacking his lips, he smiled at the huge defenseman, pretending not to notice the way his big fists clenched on the table. “You’ve got a rep for self-control. And ain’t you the new captain? Bad example you’re giving, don’t you think?”

“Fuck off, Demyan.” Mason snatched the shot glass out of Scott’s hand. “I’m not in the mood.”

“In the mood for what? We’re just talking.” Scott smirked, suddenly feeling reckless. “You want to get in my pants, you better be a bit more generous with the liquor. I’m not a cheap date.”

“Leave.” Mason snapped, his eyes dangerously narrowed. “Now.”

“Mmm.” Scott let out an exaggerated moan. “I think I get what Oriana saw in you. That commanding tone is fucking sexy.”

“Are you fucking stoned?” Mason pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “Get out of my face before I rearrange yours for you.”

“Foreplay. Hell, I don’t know why Max and Sloan left you. Or maybe I do.” Scott cocked his head, knowing he was asking for trouble. “You were too much for them. They knew they couldn’t compete. That’s why they—”

“Outside.” Mason jerked Scott out of his chair by the back of his shirt and shoved him toward the door. “Fuck, I need this.”

So do I.
Scott’s pulse went into overdrive as he weaved around the crowd and hit the street. He knew Mason could kick his ass, but he didn’t give a shit. The whiskey wasn’t working. Maybe a good beating would.

As he faced off against Mason on the sidewalk in front of the bar, he couldn’t help but laugh. Damn, he wished they were doing this on the ice. He missed the game, missed knowing he could drop his gloves make an impact. Because nothing else he did seemed to matter. He didn’t matter unless he was bringing something to the game.

To the team
.

He stared at Mason as the man pulled a gold ring off his left hand and tucked it into the front pocket of his blue jeans. Not a wedding ring, but something that had meant just as much. What the fuck was he doing? Getting into a fight with a teammate just because he was messed up?

He closed his eyes as Mason lunged at him. He’d fucking asked for this. Maybe waking up bruised and broken would smarten him the fuck up. He wasn’t proving anything to Zach or Becky by being a fucking idiot. All he was doing was showing them that he wasn’t worth their time. And maybe he wasn’t. But damn it, part of him wanted them to believe he could be. Maybe not now, but some day . . .

Until then, he’d take what he’d earned. If that was a beating, so be it.

He choked on a breath as Mason burst out laughing and slapped his shoulder.

“Damn it, you almost had me.” Mason tipped his head back, staring up at the black sky. “We can beat the shit out of each other, but it won’t change anything, will it?” He gave Scott a shrewd look. “I’d take you for a masochist, but you’re not into pain, are you?” He didn’t wait for Scott to answer. “I’d meant to talk to you, but I got too wrapped up in my own thing to call. And I think knowing someone needs you will mean more than getting your ass kicked. You in?”

Someone needed him? Now,
that
was something new. He let out a rough laugh, then nodded. “I’m
so
in.”

* * * *

“I’m tired of being afraid.”

“Then don’t be.”

Akira wished she’d kept her mouth shut. As Dominik opened the door to the club, the click of the lock sounded with frightening finality, as though warning her that once she went in, there was no turning back. She glanced over at Jami and took a deep breath as her best friend took her hand. They walked in together.

The club, Blades & Ice, wasn’t at all what she’d imagined. From the descriptions of BDSM clubs in all the books she read, she’d painted out elaborate scenes on huge devices meant for torture, but used for pleasure. Cages, racks, iron maidens . . . she couldn’t have come if the club was open like it usually was on Friday. Nightmares of violent beatings kept her awake at night, and she’d convinced herself if she came here all kinds of horrible things would happen to her. But all Jami told her threaded erotic dreams through the horror.

They’d agreed the only way to clear things up was for her to see it for herself. Some day. Akira had marked that day on her mental calendar of the very far away future. Before swimming with sharks and right after bungee jumping.

Apparently, Jami had decided to mark the date with a big red X right on Akira’s 20th birthday. As she’d pointed out, they needed somewhere to celebrate.

Moving past Jami and Dominik, Akira took in the brightly lit main floor, with a hollow, oval shaped, thick-glass-topped bar taking up most of one section, tables and stools set around it in a semi-circle. There was a large stage, a dance floor, and roped-off areas on the other side with padded tables, spanking benches, and crosses. Leather and some kind of lemony cleaner scented the air. It all looked so harmless. The big wood throne in the center of the room seemed like nothing more than a sturdy piece of furniture.

“It’s nothing.” Akira exhaled and turned to smile at Jami. “I was expecting . . . I don’t know, something bad. I mean, it’s cool and all, but I figured there would be more.”

Jami cocked her head. “More what?”

“It’s hard to say.” Akira nibbled on her bottom lip. She wanted to laugh at herself. They’d all come here in jeans and T-shirts—not fetish wear. Had she really expected anything to happen? “The atmosphere in the books seems like it would linger, you know? I thought I’d feel . . . something.”

Dominik chuckled as he strolled around the bar. He took out three glasses and poured them each a mixed drink that smelled sweet and peachy. Suddenly, his black jeans and snug, dark blue T-shirt seemed as fitting here as any amount of leather. His tone was deep when he spoke, reverberating right through her. “It’s only a room without intent, little one. More comes when you are with someone who knows what you need. You don’t need more.
Yet
.”

“Yet?” Akira’s hand shook as she picked up her glass and slipped onto a stool. There it was. That feeling she got when she read those books. Just a few words from this man, this
Dom
, tapped into the small part of her that wished she was brave enough to experience submission for real. But that would involve . . .
No no no!
“No. I can’t. I just wanted to see—”

“All you will do tonight is
see
, Akira.” Dominik reached across the bar. His hand hovered near hers, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. He placed his hand over hers when she didn’t pull away. His palm was rough on the back of her hand, and she sensed his strength, but wasn’t afraid of it. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. He smiled, approval glowing in his gold-flecked brown eyes. “I’m here to keep you safe. To make sure you enjoy your party.”

“I don’t understand.” Akira looked over her shoulder at the room. “Why here? Sure, I was curious, but what’s the point, really, since I can’t . . .”
Don’t tell him! He doesn’t need to know!
She drew her hand out from under his, then hugged herself. “I mean, I won’t do anything.”

“You don’t have to. This isn’t all about sex. There’s so much more involved, and I believe you need a taste of that. To see that some of your desires can be satisfied without a single touch.” The lights went out. Dominik’s hand was there when she grabbed for it, and his voice took on a soothing quality. “You’ve come a long way.” His thumb stroked her knuckles, making her shiver. “Consider this another step. A tiny one.”

I have come a long way
. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she stared at his hand, amazed at how comfortable she felt touching him. It was no more sexual than a tiny boat being tied to a mooring, secured so it wouldn’t float away. Still, for the longest time, a man standing too close was enough to bring on a panic attack.
Not anymore, though.

Not with Dominik anyway. And there were others she’d let close. Very few, but it was a start.

Music filled the room, getting louder, something familiar. She grinned at Jami as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she recognized the song.

“Candy Shop
.”

Four men strolled down from the stairs that split the bar area from the sceneing area. All wore matching shiny grey suits with white shirts and grey vests and ties. She knew three of the men fairly well. Scott, who made her smile with the wink he shot her way. Luke, whose appearance made Jami’s breathe catch beside her. Jami let out a soft, happy sound, and Akira tore her gaze away from the men to take in the glowing look of love in her friend’s eyes. Jami had missed Luke and Sebastian so much—she rarely talked about anything else. Akira hoped Sebastian was here too.

The blush spreading across Jami’s face drew Akira’s attention back to the men, their smooth, sensual movements timed to the music. She bit her lip as she watched Tyler, a player who’d been injured on the ice a couple of years ago and hadn’t returned since, rolling his body down low. Slowly. Provocatively. He’d always seemed so shy and quiet. The last man she knew only by name. Shawn Pischlar, the team’s only Austrian player. There was nothing remarkable about him—he was tall, nicely built, yet his looks were almost downplayed by the handsome men beside him.