Chapter Twenty

No Compliments for Holt

Vince

Elfknot Motel, room 15. If you still want to do this, show up prepared so we don’t waste time. Stretch and lube your asshole. Have a safeword ready. This is a one-time thing. I’ll be there from 8 tonight.

I sat in my dressing room on Tuesday morning, gnawing on my lip and staring down at the text I’d sent Crossbody at 6.30 a.m.

Which, thinking about it, may have come across as a little… eager. Which I wasn’t. I just… If we were going to do this, I wanted to get it done.

Because he was right. Clearly, there was still some kind of… tension between us. Not just the usual kind, born from our mutual dislike, but this… whatever this was. Whatever kept making us end up having furious, frantic sex in inappropriate places.

I’d picked a motel because it felt impersonal. I didn’t want him in my house, and I was sure he wouldn’t want me in his. The Elfknot Motel was kind of seedy and run-down, and while I told myself I’d picked it because it was run by incubi who wouldn’t ask any questions, a part of me had also made the choice because I suspected that Crossbody would secretly love it.

Getting fucked by the ghoul he hated in a dirty love motel.

My dick twitched, so I reached down and irritably adjusted my jock as I closed my messages and fiddled anxiously with my phone, foot tapping restlessly on the floor.

If he did show up tonight—which I highly doubted—I was going to fuck him out of my system. We could have sex one last time, knowing it was definitively and categorically the absolute last time, and both move on.

Except he hadn’t replied, so I had no idea if he was going to show up. And I hated how much it was getting to me.

I shouldn’t care this much. Either I was going to have sex tonight or I wasn’t. Didn’t overly matter, in the grand scheme of things. I’d be perfectly fine if I didn’t end up having sex tonight.

Except I’d jerked off again thinking about it when I got home last night. And I’d wanted to do the same this morning, but stopped myself. Just in case.

Standing up, I shoved my phone into my sweatpants pocket and headed for the door. I couldn’t just hide in here all day, and I refused to let myself feel like I had to. Besides, Holt would be coming by soon to tell us the line-up for the week, and there was a good chance he was also going to tell us who would be fighting the new wrestlers in their debut matches so we could start rehearsing for those too.

When I walked into the main backstage area, my eyes immediately flickered over to the treadmill. My gut swooped when I saw Crossbody on it, jogging at an easy pace, his arms lightly pumping and his long golden hair swinging in its high ponytail.

He was wearing those tiny shorts, and my gaze dropped to his ass and seemed to get stuck.

I didn’t like him, but I could appreciate a good ass when I saw one. He had a fucking fantastic ass. Firm and round. And his long legs were strong, but not thick and bulging. Shapely. Graceful.

There was a very slim chance—the tiniest sliver of a chance—that my dick would be inside that ass later. And maybe those long legs would be wrapped around my waist while he writhed beneath me, moaning and breathlessly pleading…

I snapped my gaze away when my cock tingled, starting to fill again. Gabe was by the counter in the kitchen area, yawning and scratching his chest, so I walked over to join him and start making my oatmeal.

“Morning,” I said as I opened a cabinet to grab a bowl.

“Morning.” He screwed the lid on his beaker and started shaking it to mix up his protein shake as he turned to face me and rested his hip against the counter. “Horny, bro?” he then asked in a sympathetic, knowing tone.

Heat rushed to my face as I spluttered, forcing my gaze not to dart over to the treadmill. “What the fuck, Gabe.”

“Nah, I’m just saying. I can sense it, obviously. Incubus. Been a while, huh?”

“I’m not—I’m fine,” I muttered, praying desperately that Crossbody couldn’t hear this from across the room.

“The Beast of Burden is a fucking hunk, huh?” Gabe sighed, lost in thought as he shook up his protein shake. “I don’t even want him to take off the mask. Makes him hotter.”

“The new wrestlers haven’t even started yet and you’re already objectifying them,” I said dryly. Gabe let out an offended little gasp.

“No, I’m not! I want to get to know them.” Then he shrugged and shot me a sly grin. “I just also really want to fuck the Beast. And maybe the Ghastly Boys.”

“Aren’t they twins?”

Gabe’s mouth stretched into a wide, wicked grin, showing off his fangs. “Think so, yeah.”

I snorted and got busy making my oatmeal. By the time I was sitting down on the couch beside Dan to eat, Holt was striding into the room.

“No Taylor this time?” Gabe pouted, lounging on the couch beside Biff.

“He’s busy working on promo stuff for the new wrestlers.” Holt cocked his hip and set his hand on it, glancing pointedly down at his outfit. “Guess you’ll just have to give all your compliments to me this morning.”

My mouth twitched as Dan snorted beside me. When no one said anything, Holt huffed and straightened.

“You’re all dicks. Right.” He looked down at it his tablet. “Line-up for the week.”

We all went quiet, and I wolfed down my oatmeal as I listened to him read out the matches. Crossbody and I weren’t paired up this time. I was with Heidi, and he was with Carl.

Good. That was good. That meant we wouldn’t have to interact at all.

I mean, except for tonight. If he showed up. But that was a… separate thing.

I didn’t let myself look over at him. I didn’t care what he thought. I didn’t.

“Okay, I’ve decided who’ll be paired up with the new talent,” Holt announced, and we all perked up again.

Gabe had his fingers crossed, bouncing excitedly on the couch as he quietly chanted, “Beast, Beast, Beast.”

“Corey”—Holt gave Gabe a pointed look—“will be going up against the Beast of Burden, which will be the main event on Friday night that week.”

Gabe sagged and turned to bury his face in Biff’s chest. The gargoyle wrapped an arm around him soothingly, stroking his hair.

“Mads will be taking on La Dame Blanche for that Saturday’s main event,” Holt continued, shooting the gorgon a big smile. “Dan versus John-o’-the-Wisp for the Sunday’s main event.”

“Oh, nice,” Dan said as I grinned and nudged his arm.

“I think John will be a bit of a rulebreaker too, so you two should have fun,” Holt said, smiling widely at him, then glanced back down at his tablet. “Oh, and Thursday’s main event will be Crossbody versus the Ghastly Boys.”

My gaze automatically shot over to the treadmill. Crossbody was standing beside it now, clutching the towel slung over his shoulders. He nodded once, face as expressionless as ever. Aside from looking a little tired, he didn’t appear overly hungover.

And he kept his gaze averted from me, so I had no idea what he was thinking. What he’d felt when he’d woken up this morning and remembered his drunken phone call to me. How he’d reacted when he’d seen my text.

Whether he was going to show up later.

“Should be a good one.” Holt raised a hand and swept it in a dramatic arc. “I’m picturing you flying all around the arena, utilising the whole space. Making a real show of it.”

“Alright,” Crossbody said calmly.

“Okay, great.” Holt looked around at us all with a big smile. “The new wrestlers will start officially on Monday. Oh, and the support group regarding our former colleagues, Frank and Beans”—he coughed delicately into his fist—“will begin next Monday morning too. Bright and early, first thing in the arena. Taylor and I will bring donuts!”

“What kind?” Kit called down from the ceiling suspiciously.

Holt rolled his eyes. “A selection.”

“How many?”

He huffed. “Enough for all of you.”

“ Actually enough for all of us, or more like you’re assuming only two thirds of us will show up so you’re only going to buy—”

“There’ll be enough fucking donuts.” Holt tipped his head back in exasperation. “I really need to arrange that spa day.”

“Ooh, a spa day,” Susan said wistfully.

“Alright, everyone, have a good day.” Holt turned for the door. “Any questions, you know where to find me.”

“Under Taylor’s desk, right?” Dan murmured beside me in amusement, which made me snort.

Unfortunately, Holt heard.

He spun back around and pointed a pink-nailed finger at Dan. “Accurate, but fucking disrespectful, Ewen.”

Dan sobered. “Sorry, boss.”

“Don’t make me take the TV away,” Holt said snippily as he strode out of the room, tossing his hair back.

—

At 7.56 p.m. that evening, I unlocked the door of room 15 at the Elfknot Motel and stepped inside, shifting into my true form once the door was closed behind me.

It hadn’t been updated since the seventies, by the looks of it. Everything was brown and orange and murky green. I kinda liked it. The curtains—which I immediately pulled across the window—were a loud geometric pattern. The bed sheets were leopard print.

My stomach was jittery with anticipation as I looked around and emptied my pockets onto the dresser before carrying the bottle of lube to the nightstand, which made my heart rate speed up a little.

Feeling too restless to sit down, I wandered into the bathroom and huffed in amusement at the monochromatic, dusky pink tiles and bathroom set. It all looked clean enough, and my eyes darted over to the bed again when I walked back out and stood there, trying not to stare at the door.

Was he going to show up?

We hadn’t even looked at each other all day at work. He’d been busy rehearsing for his match with Carl, while I’d spent some time with Heidi for us to go over the details of our own match, seeing as we didn’t get paired up all that often.

Every time I had glanced at him though, just quickly, I hadn’t been able to tell what he was thinking. Whether he was horribly regretting that phone call last night and what he’d admitted to me. Whether he was considering showing up tonight or not. He was good—most of the time—at revealing nothing.

Exhaling a noisy breath, I scrubbed at my face and walked over to the dresser to pick up my phone and look at the time.

8.01 p.m.

Automatically, I tapped onto my messages and opened my conversation with him. He still hadn’t replied.

I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to show up, just so he could feel like he’d won something. So he could gloat about knowing I’d waited here for him. So he could make himself feel big and in control by imagining me waiting alone in a motel room, dying to fuck him.

Which I wasn’t.

I looked at the time again. 8.02 p.m.

He seemed like the type to turn up to something precisely on time, so he probably wasn’t coming.

I’d give it five minutes.

Maybe ten.

By 8.12 p.m., I was pacing the room and shaking my hands out restlessly. I’d give it three more minutes, and then I was leaving. I wasn’t just going to fucking wait around here all night for him.

At 8.23 p.m., I accepted that he wasn’t coming. Which was fine. I didn’t care. This was something he’d asked for, not me. If he’d changed his mind, that was fucking fine.

Grinding my teeth, I turned and strode to the nightstand to snatch up the lube—it was a new bottle and everything—then over to the dresser to get my stuff. My mood was suddenly very black, which was probably just irritation from wasting half an hour with my thumb up my ass.

Maybe I’ll go to a bar and pick someone up , I thought viciously as I shoved my phone into my pocket. Fuck it, maybe I’ll just go stick my dick through the glory hole at Gargy’s. Keep it simple.

As I was snatching up both sets of keys, a knock at the door made me freeze.

He was here.

In an instant, nerves flooded my body.

Wetting my lips, I slowly put the keys back down. My heart was pounding as I turned toward the door, and I found myself smoothing down my plain black sweater as I started walking toward it, even though I shouldn’t have cared what I looked like.

Keep it impersonal, I told myself, ignoring the way my palms were suddenly sweating. It’s just fucking. He’s not here for anything else, and neither are you. We do this once and never again.

I swallowed and reached for the door handle.

So make the most of it, the voice in my head whispered as I opened the door.