The Shepherd (The Game 6)

Pausing in the lobby, I sent him a short reply.

How drunk are you? Your openness is refreshing. Keep it up.

Then I rejoined Lucas, who had moved to the bar.

Corey was in the same spot as before, and it looked like Marcus was about done beating the other sub. See, I would’ve preferred if he’d ended the session right after I’d left them.

“Did I miss anything?” I asked over the music.

My phone started buzzing with messages again.

Lucas shook his head. “Not much. The sub got off—oh, and I looked into the guest room reservations. Marcus booked a room for three this morning.”

That was interesting.

I watched a brief interaction between Marcus and another Top, and I understood by their gestures that the newcomer was interested in the whipping post as soon as Marcus was done.

I checked my phone.

That’s all you have to say?

Hahaha

You’ve been quiet all week, wouldn’t tell me why I pissed you off, now you won’t talk either, thanks

Your archie boy has Instagram

Of course he has a kid! He’s just fucking perfect for you isn’t he

Jesus Christ, Sloan. I hoped most friends who had close relationships would be ticked off if they were left out of the news of their buddy finding a new partner. But we’d been in the middle of a juvenile fight, and I was gonna tell him once we sorted shit out. That wasn’t the issue here, though. It was his behavior. Sloan wasn’t merely ticked off. He was royally pissed and bitter. And…well, I had to wonder. Was he jealous?

I wasn’t gonna play games. I’d call him as soon as I was out of here.

As Marcus guided Corey and that other boy to the seating area in the corner reserved for aftercare, I knew my hands were tied. It felt marginally better to know the scene was over, but I had no right to intervene. Corey wasn’t going to “snap out of it” and leave Marcus tonight. All I could hope for was that the seed of doubt had been planted; that he would at least begin to question Marcus’s decisions.

Lucas left my side to make rounds, and Corey’s attention was fixed on Marcus, so there wasn’t a whole lot else I could do here. It was time to head home.

I signaled to Lucas that I was on my way out, and he nodded. We’d see each other again tomorrow.

I sent Sloan a text as I passed a Domme strapping her girl to a cross.

Yeah, Archie is pretty damn perfect for me. If you stop drinking now, you can sober up and drive out to me tomorrow for breakfast. We need to talk, buddy.

He must’ve been waiting because he responded right away.

Why? You have him out there now im assuing. He just posted a photo from your kitchen. “Midnight baking and bonding with Buddy and Beast.”

My mouth twitched. I clearly had to get active on Instagram.

Closing the front door behind me, I let out a breath and welcomed the silence. I didn’t wanna “assue” too much, but it did sound like Sloan was jealous. And fuck if that didn’t please me. Was there a chance we’d both been careful around each other because we knew about the risks of mutual attraction?

I called him and headed for my truck.

Then I flinched and held away the phone once he picked up, and it became clear that he wasn’t at home drinking alone. He was definitely in a bar—a loud one.

“What do you mean, you won’t serve me?” Sloan snapped, evidently not at me. “I’m asking for a beer, not a fucking tequila bottle.”

“Sloan,” I warned. “Where are you?”

But he wasn’t listening to me. He was arguing with the bartender, or so I presumed, who was trying to tell Sloan he’d had enough. They were closing soon anyway, the man added.

“Walk away, Sloan,” I told him.

It stopped being funny. My buddy wasn’t much of a drinker. A couple whiskeys here and there, sure, a beer or two with dinner sometimes, but I hadn’t seen him actually drunk in years.

While I tried to get him to listen to me, to respond to me, I got in my truck, connected the call to Bluetooth, and peeled out of the carport. Safe to say, I wasn’t going home yet.

“Sloan!”

“What!” he shouted back. “They’re kicking me out! Can you fucking believe it?”

Yeah, I could! Goddammit.

“Tell me where you are,” I replied impatiently.

He groaned. “I don’t know—fuck. That place, on the corner, you know.”

Oh, that one.

I rolled my eyes and stepped on the gas.

I was down to my last shred of patience by the time I learned the bar’s name. By then, he was cursing the bartender to hell and standing outside the joint, where I got him to read the bar’s sign out loud.

He was in Crystal City in Arlington, close to where Carol lived.