Hat Trick (Fake Boyfriend 5)

“Okay. Compromise, eh? Dancing and then coffee. You’re not getting out of talking about the tour. I want to hear everything.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, first, does that happen often?” He glanced back in the direction of the club. “Groupies? Drugs?”

I held in my eye roll but barely. “It’s the music industry. What do you think?”

“I think I … uh, your brother wouldn’t like it.”

“My brother, huh? You gonna tell him?”

“Do I need to?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t worry him, and I’m not being stupid about it. I barely partake, and when I do, I refrain from getting stupid.”

“Oh, well then. As long as you’re being smart about doing drugs.” There was an edge to Soren’s tone, and it made me want to slap him, but I wasn’t going to let his stupid big brother act ruin tonight. He had no right to play it with me.

Instead of pushing the issue and bringing down the mood, I deflected. “I am. I’m super smart.”

“Pretty sure that’s what dumb people say.”

“Whatever. We went past a bar with a rainbow flag on our way to the venue earlier today. We should find that.”

Tension coiled around us, the spell cast between us last year cracking.

I knew after he found out I was Matt’s little brother he’d treat me differently.

We walked the few blocks in silence, and he must’ve sensed how pissed I was because, before I could cross the threshold to the gay bar, Soren pulled me back.

“Hey, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place, and I overstepped.”

“Good. Now let’s go have fun. I haven’t had real fun in forever.” Probably since the last time I was with Soren.

Flying to L.A. and recording for the first time in a real-life studio was amazing. It gave me a high that followed me all the way through our first few months of touring, but I wouldn’t call that fun. Awesome, fucking insane, and brilliant, but not fun. The constant threat of not making it and the label dropping us made it not fun.

Perhaps because Soren was my first ever fan or because he was a piece of home or maybe it was a combination of it all, I wanted to make this night last and hold on to it to get me through the next few months. Just like our last night together had.

I led Soren straight to the dance floor and pulled him close. His big body wrapped around me, his arms on my waist, my head on his shoulder.

We moved and danced to the beat, getting lost in some pop song.

Soren’s hand trailed over my back as we ground against each other. His thick thigh was between mine, his breath on my skin, and my cock begged for more.

I wanted to touch him everywhere. Kiss him. Take him back to my hotel room and fuck him. But I also wanted to stay in this moment.

My body was eager, and anticipation kept building.

Hot, sweaty men moved around us, bumping us and pushing us closer together.

Soren’s normally clean-shaven face was covered with a beard that hadn’t yet softened, so it scraped along my skin.

I pulled back and ran my hand over his cheek. Ollie was the same during the playoffs. “You hockey players and your superstitions.”

“It’s the playoffs.”

“Mmhmm … You didn’t have that last year.”

“Yeah, and we lost the Cup. Not gonna let that happen again.” His lips twitched.

Our eyes locked, my hand still stroking his beard.

The air became thick.

“Jet.” Soren swallowed.

I took my shot, angling my head. Inch by inch, my mouth moved closer.

I wanted to feel his kiss and the strong way his tongue dominated mine like it had the year before.

The club, the music, and the people around us faded into a haze.

Expectations of his lips meeting mine smashed into a pile on the floor when Soren stepped back.

“Let’s go get that coffee.”

It took a second for my brain to trip on the rejection.

Soren hightailed it to the exit. I was slower to follow because I had no idea what just happened.

When we hit the street again, I had to scramble to catch up to him. And when I did, he stopped and turned to face me. He looked the same way he did a year ago when he’d thought my song wasn’t real.

That’s when I realized it wasn’t going to happen between us.

Why the fuck did he show up tonight?

He didn’t say anything and started walking again, his feet working double-time up the sidewalk.

“What was that?” I yelled after him because there was no way I could keep pace.

He stopped and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

“Why did you?”

He threw his arms wide. “I don’t know. I thought … I thought I could go and see you play and not get caught up in it. In you. I thought I could sneak away and you wouldn’t even be able to see me under the stage lights, but as soon as you opened with that song, I knew. I knew you’d spotted me. I wasn’t going to talk to you or go backstage, but—”