Page 21 of The Player's Club

“As far as I know. But would it be weird to hook up with my high school boyfriend?”

I felt a little guilty for making up this story, but it seemed to be doing the trick. Dawn sat across from me, only occasionally making sure the other attendees didn’t need her assistance.

“Weird? Nah. As long you’re both on the same page.” She chuckled. “If I were to see my high school boyfriend, well, we wouldn’t be on the same page.” When I looked confused, she explained, “I’m gay. Married to a woman and everything, and my ex was—well, very much not a woman.” She pointed at the ring on her finger.

“Oh. Well, yeah. That might make things awkward.” I hesitated, finally asking, “Did you know, back then?”

“That I’m gay? Oh, fuck yes. We both knew. He was my beard, and I was his. Our relationship was for the benefit of others.” Dawn’s expression turned nostalgic. “We were best friends, but after college, we kinda stopped talking. It’s funny. At that age, you think you’ll be friends forever with certain people, but more often than not, you drift apart.”

What did Mac need a beard for? Was he into BDSM back then and felt he had to hide it?

“Then again...” She chuckled. “My ex is pretty famous now. I doubt he’d be interested in having dinner with his old beard.”

“Is he an actor?” I asked innocently.

“Nah, an athlete.” When I waited, Dawn laughed. “And no, I’m not telling you who he is.”

I added some water to my pottery clay. I needed to know more. “You said you were his beard,” I said. “Is he gay, too?”

“Definitely not.” She chuckled. “His family was just uber religious and way fucking intense.”

My heart sped up a little. “But he was hiding something?”

Dawn’s eyes narrowed a little. “Yeah, he was. But that was a longtime ago.” She got up and proceeded to help me finish molding my bowl, the subject of Mac’s secrets officially closed for discussion.

I returned home with my lopsided bowl, wondering if I’d made a mistake in going to see Dawn. If I wasn’t going to turn this into a story for Roy, why was I so interested in discovering more about Mac?

The answer was that I found something about him enthralling. Seductive. I thought of his heated gaze on me as I’d watched that BDSM scene, and it felt like he could’ve flayed me alive just with his eyes.

How could he make me feel naked without taking a single bit of fabric off my body? I didn’t understand it. It was like he could burrow under my skin and discover all my deepest, darkest secrets if I wasn’t careful.

My phone started ringing. I ignored it, not recognizing the number. But as I listened to the voicemail, I realized it was for my car payment.

The voice droned on, telling me that if I didn’t make a car payment soon, my account would be delinquent and turned over to the collections department.

I swore. I checked my bank account, and to my dismay, there was one overdraft fee after another. I hadn’t been paying attention to my money situation in the past two weeks, and I realized that I hadn’t gotten paid in a month because I hadn’t written any new stories. I thought I’d had enough to tide me over, but now . . .

“Fuck,” I muttered, sitting down at the kitchen table with my head in my hands. Living in LA, I couldn’t go without a car. I could trade it in for something cheaper, but I’d still have a car payment.And even worse, I wasn’t sure if I could make rent, either, not with all these overdraft fees hitting my account.

As I scrolled mindlessly on my phone, trying to figure out a game plan, I saw that the Blades were playing tonight. And because of the Mac story, I still had a press pass to any games I wanted to attend.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the stadium, desperately needing a distraction.

I knew hockey was a rough sport, violent even, but my jaw dropped as I watched Mac, his teammates, and the rival team get into multiple fights. Mac himself was the instigator on more than one occasion, getting his ass landed in what was basically hockey time-out.

I watched as his coach yelled at him. Mac stood, gesturing, his expression ferocious, and I had to fan myself. Damn, why am I so turned on right now?

Mac looked like he wanted to toss his coach onto the ice. Despite being half Mac’s size, his coach didn’t back down. Mac finally scowled, sat on the bench, and took his punishment, but not before giving a few air kisses to some fans in the stands.

I didn’t fully understand the game, I had to admit. I’d never been a sports girl, and hockey was as foreign to me as somebody speaking French. But I found something about it enthralling.

Maybe it was the way the guys managed to maneuver across the ice, pushing the puck with their sticks like they’d been born with it in their hands. It was smooth and graceful, almost . . . balletic.

Mac would kill me if I used that description, I thought in amusement.

But the pushing, shoving, and fighting were the opposite of balletic. It was all rough and tumble, pure masculinity on display and for consumption.And consume was all I could sit there and do.

I’d never understood the appeal of this sport. Until now.