So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(92)

“If you’ll excuse me, back in a second,” he said to . . . okay, he’d already forgotten his name.

The club was a maze of cozy rooms, secluded alcoves, and tight spots for all manner of hookups. Most couples—and sometimes threes and fours—indulged their more private desires in the rooms on the next level. On this floor, it was subtle caresses, brief touches, soft kisses—all foreplay to test participants’ boundaries and levels of interest.

Dante’s pulse picked up as he moved further in. Not at the sight of men in sexual playtime, but at the thought of what he might find: Cade Burnett with whoever had thought it was a good idea to bring a famous pro athlete here. Cade Burnett with someone’s tongue down his throat. Cade Burnett with his hand down someone’s—stop.

Do not speculate. Just investigate.

He rounded a corner into a red room with velvet drapes, soft carpet, and lavish furnishings.

Dante’s heart seized. It was him.

Burnett stood in a corner, one cowboy-booted foot raised to the wall, a lowball glass in his hand, an interloper trespassing in Dante’s world. Three men surrounded him in a horseshoe of worship. Even others in the room watched, because Cade Burnett was so damn watchable. A little shy of six feet four, he towered over every man here. His hair was brown with coppery streaks, his jaw strong and square, his mouth permanently amused. Hazel eyes—not that anyone could see them in the dim lighting, but Dante knew their exact shade—flashed gold rings of fire around their irises.

His gift on the ice was brute strength and the best hockey IQ of any defender Dante had ever seen. But this was another type of magnetism.

Hockey smart was one thing. That Burnett was here in the open proved he wasn’t all that smart off the ice. The man had to have some fault.

Burnett laughed huskily at something one of his suitors said—a sound with a drunken tinge to it—and this was enough to change the dynamic of the group. The others shifted incrementally closer, jockeying for a position their conversation couldn’t achieve alone. One of them, a guy in a Hugo Boss suit, laid a hand on Burnett’s bicep and squeezed.

Something primal, possessive, and downright greedy reared in Dante’s chest.

His overreaction shocked him, so much so that his instinct was to consider walking away. This was none of his business. He wasn’t the team’s baby-sitter.

Too late. If Dante had turned his back a half second later he would have missed Burnett capturing his gaze—and capturing was not hyperbole. Those eyes shone at him like a predatory cat’s, all challenge, no fear.

Busted.

Continuing his original mission seemed best, but Burnett now watched him as he approached. Looking away was not an option.

“Dante,” Burnett murmured, and, Cristo, the way he tasted his name made Dante instantly hard. His body flooded with awareness, along with a distinct desire to punch every man who stood between him and his defenseman.

“Could I have a word?”

Cade’s mouth tipped up at the corner and he downed his drink in one go. He handed off the empty glass to one of the guys standing before him. Pushed another aside gently, all with a curious ambivalence.

“Lead the way.”

Dante pivoted, having no clue what to do next. His cock had several ideas, all of them involving Cade beneath his body in one of the more private rooms upstairs. His brain, on the other hand, was still in charge, so he moved to a small sofa in the next room. He gestured toward the seat and waited for Cade to sit.

As if they were on a date.

“Do you want to tell me—”

Cade held up a hand, so assured. “I could do with another drink.” He waved over one of the servers and ordered a Glenlivet. “Dante?”

Dante shook his head. Someone had to remain sober here.

With the server out of earshot, Cade gave Dante his complete attention. Complete wasn’t quite right, though—more like consuming. Dante felt as if he’d been stripped bare, screwed senseless, and shown the door all at the same time.

“Come here often?” Cade asked.

“Not really. You?”

“A few times.”

Dante’s heart skittered with this new knowledge. No “accident” that he was here, then.

“We have procedures for this eventuality.”

Cade narrowed his eyes. “Which eventuality is that?”

“An NHL player who’d like to come out. It hasn’t happened yet, but every team is waiting for the first.”

The slightest smile teased Cade’s lips. “Kind of jumping the gun, aren’t you?”

“You’re here.” Dante added a wave of his hand in case Burnett had somehow forgotten where here was.

“I’m here,” Cade said simply, but there was nothing simple about the intent Dante heard in the words. Crackling energy licked between them, and Dante had the distinct impression that Cade was making some sort of statement, just not the one Dante had first assumed. He’d analyze that later.

Cade threw an arm over the back of the sofa. “So what kind of procedures are we talkin’ about?”

“Procedures?”

“You said you have procedures for NHL players who are ready to come out.”

Dante shook off his unease, glad to be back to more concrete specifics. “A PR plan. Press statement. Ways to handle the inevitable questions.”