Chapter 7

Beyond the opened doors, a small crowd clustered around a boxing ring where two men exchanged blows. The doors swung shut on shouts and catcalls.

Yeah, no.

Totally not his thing, but the place was seriously dope anyway.

“Well aren’t you pretty—” A hairy guy in plaid flannel stepped in front of Jamie, blocking his way to the card table. Within half a second, his leer changed to stunned surprise. “Oh, holy shit.”

Jamie smiled weakly, backing up a step. He licked his lips, looking over his shoulder for Wren, who was no longer at the bar.

“My nephew fucking loves your music.” The guy shook his head, expression dazed. “Can I have an autograph?”

Nodding, Jamie swallowed hard. If he spoke, he’d be punished. If he didn’t, the dude was going to think he was a snob…

Or a sub.

Which he was, but he’d rather not give the dude 'the memory of a lifetime’ by being bent over some low surface in front of all these guys.

Maybe coming down here wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“Here.” A grocery receipt and a contractor’s pencil were shoved at him. “Make it out to Peter Lewis.”

“Hey, Peter.” Another member walked up to the Dom.

Jamie’s lips twitched.

Dude’s a fan.

He chuckled quietly as he bent to sign the receipt with an illegible scrawl, then handed it to the man, who had turned three shades of pink.

“Uh, thanks.” Peter hightailed it to the gym.

Wren walked up to Jamie then, a pad of paper and a pen in one hand, two beers in the other. He nudged his chin toward the card tables, gaze wary as he led the way, avoiding the bigger groups of people. Definitely not a social guy.

Between that and the no talking, how in the world had he ended up with a job as a bartender?

As they sat at the one empty table another guy had cleaned so fast Jamie barely got a look at him, two men approached. Instead of wearing leather, they were dressed like they’d come straight here from some office job. They traded a look that spelled trouble. For him and Wren.

Yup. This was a very, very bad idea.

The redhead tipped his chin downward, smirking. “Boys…”

He exchanged a glance with Wren, who gave him a warning head shake.

More Doms.

“What do you think, Mike? A nice game of high-low stud?” Balding, with a sexy-as-fuck smile and bright blue eyes, the second Dom winked. “I’ll fuck ‘em high and you fuck ‘em low?”

Okay… Maybe that smile isn’t so sexy after all.

The way Wren widened his eyes, glancing at Jamie, told him everything he needed to know. They couldn’t exactly refuse, but they didn’t want to lose either.

Jamie whispered in Wren’s ear, “Strip poker. Five-thousand buy-in. Winner takes all.”

With a hesitant nod, Wren bent over the table to write down the terms.

Instead of backing down from the risk of losing clothes and a big chunk of cash, Mike widened his smirk into a leer.

“You’ve got a deal, boy.” He leaned in, ribbing the other man. “Too bad we’re not allowed to take pictures, huh, Linc?”

A crowd began to gather around the table, ‘Jamie Kent’ being passed around in whispers like the world’s first and only unerring game of telephone.

Fucking great.

Catching sight of the paper he’d written on, Wren paled, then bit his lip.

Jamie shot him a look that said ‘I got ya. Don’t worry about it.’

There was something he was missing, but he didn’t have time to figure it out as Linc dealt everyone in for a five-card draw. Jamie downed his beer, working his throat until the bottle was empty. Wiping his lips against his sleeve, he lifted his cards.

Forty minutes later, judging by the bar clock, he was down to one sock and his underwear. Wren had most of his clothes on, and Mike wore his wrist band while Linc sat naked as the day he’d been born, out of the game.

Shit, if Wren wins, he’ll have fifteen grand.

That’d be fucking awesome. If he could, he’d make it happen. Peeking at his hand, he blinked. A royal flush. Wren poked his tongue between his lips, frowning. Jamie twisted his, pretending to consider, then held up two fingers, trading in his ace and king for a six of spades and a three of hearts.

And lost his sock, while Wren lost his pants.

The next hand, both he and Wren lost. Which meant Jamie was out. The crowd around the table went absolutely mental. Hooting, they made suggestive comments about Dangle, Glam Grenade’s most recent hit single about love being like a high wire act.

Fuck.