was really just getting his hand wraps, I’d leave.
This was fine. It was normal. It was part of my duties as a chaperone. I repeated that to myself as I took a few steadying breaths, trying to settle my heartbeat into something closer to normalcy.
The thought of Dante and Joker alone in the locker room just made the nausea worse. The urge to stop it—whatever it was—was enough to overwhelm my anxiety. It didn’t make sense, and it was probably unfair for me to butt in.
But I had to do something.
8
Dante
I stripped off my riding jeans quickly and stepped into my gym sweatpants. I wasn’t worried about my ability to teach this class well—I’d instructed a lot of Liberty members in my years with the club, and even a few community classes in Junee. I could probably teach this class in my sleep.
I was worried about staying focused, though. Because when Heath had walked up to me outside with a shy, friendly smile playing on his plush lips, I almost forgot how to speak at all. He was just so pretty, with his blond hair unstyled and falling into his brown eyes. And he was a little more comfortable with me this time, asking questions, teasing even—and I liked that on him. I wanted him to feel comfortable around me. More than comfortable. I wanted him to let go of all that self-consciousness.
I pulled off my t-shirt. Thoughts like that had circled through my mind for two days now, how much I liked that when we were alone together, some of the tension seemed to slip away from him. How I wanted to be that safe space for him. Wanted to compliment him, praise him, make him even more comfortable. Build his confidence. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how good he’d look under me—how my hands could almost encircle his narrow waist, how he’d flush and look away until I asked him to meet my eyes. No—until I told him to.
God. I pushed the image out of my head forcefully. Getting an inappropriate hard-on while instructing a Hell’s Ankhor member was not a good way to build inter-club bonds. And regardless of that, I knew I couldn’t trust my own inclinations. His inexperience was magnetic, especially since he was so responsive to even the smallest of orders. I longed to push him a little further and show him how good it felt to submit, how special.
I wanted to be his first.
And I’d learned that was a really fucking good way to get my heart broken.
The door to the locker room opened, and then shut with intention. I glanced over my bare shoulder from where I was pulling my athletic shirt out of my bag. I don’t know who I’d expected to see, but it wasn’t this stranger: tall, slim and muscular, with green eyes and a square jaw. Objectively handsome. And he knew it, too, from the way he carried himself, and tilted his head just right so the light in the locker room cast a shadow on his long, lean neck.
“Oh, sorry,” the guy said in a tone that suggested he wasn’t sorry at all. “Just wanted to grab my hand wraps.” His green eyes skated over my bare back with clear appreciation. “I’m Joker.”
“Dante,” I said as I turned to face him. I had my shirt in my hands, but I lingered bare-chested for a moment. Joker was clearly interested. Maybe that’d be good for me—help me blow off a little steam with no pressure, distract me from things I shouldn’t be wanting. “You won’t need hand wraps today.”
“Oh, yeah?” Joker asked. He stepped closer. “What am I gonna be doing with my hands today?”
I raised my eyebrows. Joker didn’t back down an inch, though. He winked at me, half-playful, half-predatory, and I let my gaze wander over Joker’s body curiously.
I tried to imagine what it’d be like to fuck him. He had a nice mouth, nice jaw. But every time I tried to think about kissing him, touching him, pushing my cock into his mouth—I couldn’t focus on the man in front of me. Another face kept springing to mind. Blond hair, brown eyes.
Maybe I should go for it anyway. Maybe it’d help get that face out of my mind.
Before I could make a decision, the door to the locker room swung open again.
Heath paused in the doorway and glanced between us. His eyes widened and a pink flush rose high in his cheeks. “I—sorry,” he