Page 89 of Shift Change

I gave a nervous laugh. “I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, but I’m really glad I’m doing it with you.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else. Are you nervous?”

“Fuck yeah. You?”

Our eyes met, and he nodded. “You’d better believe it, but you make it all okay.”

I took a deep breath and let the night pull me under.

Nate spotted an opening at the bar. Although there was barely enough room for one person, we wedged ourselves in like determined, thirsty sardines. The barstool didn’t stand a chance against two full-sized hockey butts, so we leaned against it instead.

“IPA?” Nate asked.

I considered playing it cool, but who was I kidding. I was in West Hollywood wearing matching bracelets with my boyfriend and riding enough adrenaline to power a city block. Cool had left the building. “This is my first time in a gay bar. Want to pretend we’re sophisticated and get real grown-up drinks?”

“You’re so fucking cute when you get excited.” He laughed and made a silly face. “Yes, to beingsophisticated.”

Before I could respond, a bartender materialized in front of us. He was shirtless, tan, and had pecs that could give Nate’s a run for their money—something I wouldn’t have believed possible before tonight. A bar towel was slung over one shoulder, and a tattoo traced down his ribs like a beautiful scar. Nate ordered a vodka soda, and I went with a Jameson.

Nate arched an eyebrow. “Irish whiskey?”

“Yeah, my buddy Eckie got me started on it last year when I went to see him. It has a nice, smooth burn. Have you tried it?”

“After one too many whiskey nights in college, I’m sticking with vodka. Otherwise, my stomach might declare war.”

I brushed a kiss to his neck. “You sure? Aren’t allrealhockey players whiskey men?”

He gave me a smoldering look that singed my eyebrows. “I’ll show you a real hockey player with a real stick when we get home tonight.”

“Yeah? You keep talking big.”

The bartender returned with our drinks, and we clinked glasses. While we enjoyed our first sips, I admired Nate’s sharp profile. I liked fucking him more than any sexual thing I’d ever done, and he made no secret of loving it. Though he’d talked about turning the tables, I wondered if we ever would. It was hard to imagine things being any better than they already were.

Someone bumped into me, but instead of a jostle, it was a press-and-linger.I turned to see which woman had gotten a little too touchy-feely.

“Excuse me.” The voice was light, flirty, and loaded, but it didn’t belong to a woman. The guy was cute—petite, mid-twenties, blond—and he looked me up and down like a dessert menu. “Damn,” he said. “Where didyoucome from?” He glanced downward and checked out my crotch for several seconds before raising his eyes. “Honey, if you want to take a break in a little while, come get me. I’ll do things you won’t ever forget.”

“Uh—hi. Thanks?” Sweat ran down my nape.

“I’m Jesse,” he added. “If you can’t find me, just ask around.”

I blinked. “Thanks for the information.”

He caught his lower lip with his teeth and drifted off into the crowd.

When I turned back to Nate, his smirk was so big it must have hurt. “Jesse has excellent taste in men, I’ll give him that.”

“Bullshit. Neither of us is giving Jesse anything but side-eye.”

Before Nate could answer, another voice cut in. “Aren’t you Nate Holcomb?”

Two guys in matching leather harnesses had appeared beside him. Both had carefree grins, bulging biceps, and long, grizzly beards.

Nate nodded. “Guilty.”

“I told you it was him,” leather man one said to leather man two, then looked at me. “And I believe you’re Chuck Madison.”

“That’s me.”

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