Page 1 of Tape to Tape
Chapter 1 — ZAY
September
“Another drink, Zay?”
“Sure.” I slide my glass across the bar. “Fuck it, right? Last night to go hard before I’m on lockdown for a while.”
“You really think it’s going to be that bad?” Guy asks, like he hasn’t heard me talk about this job every day for the past three weeks.
“It’s not bad. It’s the opposite of bad. That’s the point.” Seth sets a fresh bourbon in front of me, and I nod at him. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Gary Miller brought me in to help support him as his assistant Athletic Trainer. And he brought me in because I’m good.”
“Damn right he did.” Guy takes a sip of his drink. “You gonna miss us mere mortals while you’re taping up pro-league shoulders?”
“I’ll try to remember the civilians.”
“The civilians.” He puts his hand on his chest. “I introduced you to your last girlfriend.”
“She was on your group project and she hated you.”
“The point stands. You owe me.” He points a finger at me.
I laugh. Guy has been making me laugh since freshman orientation when he sat next to me in a lecture hall and said, “You look like someone who takes notes. I look like someone who needs to borrow them.” He was right on both counts. Nine years later, he’s still borrowing things and I’m still letting him.
He leans back on his stool, scanning the floor. His boyfriend Michael is out there dancing with some guy in a tank top, and Guy is watching like a man who knows exactly what he’s got and isn’t worried about a thing.
“You seeing anybody, by the way?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Man or woman?”
“Nobody. I start a new job tomorrow, Guy.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is. You just don’t enjoy it.”
He grins at me, wide and shameless, and I can feel the follow-up forming, but something catches my eye across the bar before he can say anything.
Hot guy. Ridiculously hot. Built, athletic. Maybe my height. Thick dark hair, the kind that looks like he runs his hands through it a lot. The kind that would be fun to run my hands through. Light olive skin. And blue eyes that catch every time the lights swing. He’s leaning against the far wall with a beer in hand.
He catches me looking. Doesn’t look away and gives me a smile. Wide open, zero hesitation. Like we already know each other and he’s just been waiting for me to come over.
I smile back before I realize it.
“Got your mark for the night?” Guy leans in, clocking exactly who I’m looking at.
“Maybe. We’ll see.” I take a sip of my bourbon. “I’m not in the mood to chase, though.”
“Only one way to find out.” Guy shrugs.
“You know what? Let’s hit the dance floor. I’d rather just enjoy the night.” I give the guy one more look, brief, direct, and then I follow Guy out into the crowd.
The floor smells like a mix of sweat, cologne, the sticky-sweet layer underneath that never fully goes away. Michael, Guy, and I move through it, and I find myself sweaty, buzzed, dancing just enough to release some of this nervous energy that’s been building the last few days. The DJ drops into something heavier and I let the bass sit in my chest.
Then I feel someone right behind me. Someone is deliberately doing this because the dance floor isn’t crowded. A man who found me on purpose. I push back against him, just enough, and a hand lands on my hip.
His mouth is near my ear. “Is this okay?”
I don’t answer. I just reach back and hook my arm around his neck as we rock together to the beat. He’s tall, broad, solid. His hand tightens on my hip while his thumb traces a slow circle on my hip bone and I feel it all the way down my spine.
“You’re the guy from the bar,” he says.
