Page 19 of The Goalie in Room 1

Aaron

I know you, big brother. Don’t act like I don’t.

Jerk.

I sighed, grabbed a bottle of water, and made my way out of the house to the garage. Once I got in the SUV, I snapped a picture of the interior and sent it to him.

Me

Happy?

Aaron

Not until you show your face at the club.

BTW, there’s a new guy at Halo.

I ignored his last text since I’d pulled out of the garage already. The house sat an hour from the club on a good day. Music cranked, windows open, I cruised down the coast toward the club, taking my time. If I showed up late, I wouldn’t have to stay long.

But…

Maybe Aaron had a point. This event would be filled with men. Hot, sexy, unattached, and available—hopefully—men. I hadn’t introduced my cock to anyone other than my right hand and a rando from a hookup app in ages. Maybe I should embrace the persona and see what the night had to offer.

A valet opened my car door as I arrived. The moment my feet touched the pavement, the music from the club vibrated out onto the streets and up through my legs, energizing me in a way I hadn’t experienced in probably ten years.

“Dr. Vale, if you’ll take this bracelet, you’ll be let right in. No waiting necessary.”

I nodded as I took the QR-coded bracelet, wrapped it around my wrist, and handed off the keys to my car. “Thank you,” I said, slipping the kid some cash before heading to the door.

The club’s pulsing beat enveloped me, simultaneously reminding me of my advanced age and how much I enjoyed the scene. The interior was dim without being nightclub dark, pools of warm light spilling over the bar and tables while the dancefloor disappeared into deeper shadows, softening the normally dark, pulsing energy of a nightclub into something closer to a swanky lounge.

Dodging bodies with a nod and a smile and an occasional lifted finger to ask a person to wait, I made my way to the bar. I needed a drink to shake off the rust.

“There you are,” Aaron said, Phoenix at his side. Or rather, Aaron was at Phoenix’s side. My baby brother was completely and totally devoted to Phoenix. You could see it in his besotted expression when he looked at Phoenix. “I was beginning to have my doubts about you showing up.”

I shook my head at him with a smile and gripped his shoulder, giving him a shake. “I’m getting a drink,” I said, moving away from them on my way to the bar.

Aaron yelled after me, but I ignored him.

Before I ever entered the throng in front of the open bar, the bartender caught my eye. His piercing electric-blue gaze unnerved me and lit me up all at once. Fuck, he was beautiful. A tall, Nordic, blond, blue-eyed sexy beast with broad shoulders and, if the pecs and biceps straining the black shirt stretched tight were anything to go by, an insanely fit body.

I hung back, watching him. The beginnings of a tattoo peeked out of the V of his black T-shirt, looking almost like two fingers curling around his throat from the back of his neck. Another tattoo nestled between his pecs. The ink seemed to stretch across his chest, following his clavicle. His hair—shorn short on the sides and back, faded up into long spikey points on top of his head—glowed in the club lighting. The flashing colors in the lights danced over the white-blond of his hair.

My cock thickened just watching him. He had to be years and years and years too young for me, but my dick and the Daddy in me ignored the logical thoughts and fixated on the man in front of me. He looked familiar, but I met so many people in my life that I brushed it off and continued my voyeurism.

A sadness around him seemed to dull his eyes, until someone made him laugh. Then he morphed, becoming a freaking gorgeous sight to behold. Head thrown back, deep, throaty laughter lighting up a face that only moments before held…sorrow was maybe the best descriptor.

Either way, he entranced me.

And then his eyes scanned the sea of people before the bar. They skimmed by me, then jerked back to me almost comically. The fair skin stretched over his cheekbones and his razor-sharp jaw turned pink, as did his neck and the bit of inked skin his T-shirt exposed. Skin that I swore read Vidi. The yearning to see the rest of the phrase inked into his skin pulled at me.

As did the man himself. He leaned forward, speaking to the person next in line at the bar. While he listened to them, his eyes never left mine. Not when he nodded and made their drink. Not when he handed it to them and spoke to the next person. The intensity in that stare was visceral, as if his hands had reached inside to toy with me. I wouldn’t have it any differently. Well, yeah, I would. I’d like him to actually be touching me. And I wanted to touch him.

Touch him.

Kiss him.

Fuck him.