8. Heller

8

HELLER

W hen I open the door to the Ice Bear Pub, the music and the warmth rush at me like a greeting. This pub is the first place I worked after leaving my Gentoo family and striking out on my own. That time of my life was magical. I experienced something new every day. Sometimes it was something little like dancing to loud music in a crowd of people with the warmth of their bodies surrounding me on all sides, and other times it was something lifechanging like kissing an omega for the first time.

Leaving my family was hard, but it was also glorious.

I take off my coat and give it to Judy, who’s working the coat check by the front door. She narrows her eyes when she sees me. That’s when I realize I didn’t wear my wig. Normally, I put one on when I go to polar bear shifter spaces, but tonight it didn’t even occur to me.

Oh well. At least I’ll stand out in the crowd.

My body starts swaying even before I get to the nebulous place between the pool tables and the bar that’s not technically a dance floor but ends up as one most nights anyway. Emery is already dancing, his hips fluid and whispering of sex. He glances up at my brown hair and gives me a saucy smile.

“You’re raw-dogging it tonight, huh?” Emery calls out above the music and the crowd.

I laugh. “Raw-dogging it?”

“Yeah. Hooking without a wig.” He grabs me by the front of my shirt, and guides me closer, until his warm body collides with mine.

“Is that what the youth are calling it these days?” I tease.

Emery throws his head back and lets out a laugh so full of joy, it’s hard to believe that only a year ago he was a scared Gentoo turning tricks at a truck stop for food. I want to snap a photo of him and send it to Francis.

Sometimes Francis gets so caught up in saving the next kid on the street, he forgets how many Gentoo are glowing with happiness on a dance floor because of him.

Emery grinds into me. I can feel his half-hard dick against my hip. In so many ways, he’s exactly like I was at his age—excited to be a sexual being, excited to dance, excited about everything. I’m tempted to get lost in his wild energy for a bit longer. But then I see a gray head in the sea of white hair.

At first, Sergey is too caught up in a conversation to notice me. I watch him talk to Cy excitedly, using his hands for emphasis. In this moment, he’s full of life, like Emery. Then he looks up and his gaze meets mine.

We stare at each other from across the room. He has the big, brown eyes of a penguin shifter, paired with the shoulders of a welder. The combination is striking.

Sergey whispers something to Cy, who’s seated next to him, but he never breaks eye contact with me. Cy turns to the others on his side of the booth, and they all slide out, making space for Sergey to exit.

Meanwhile, Emery hooks his long, slender arms around me. “Grind on me while you eye-fuck that guy.”

I can’t help but laugh. Emery is exactly like I was at his age.

Sergey’s gaze lowers to where Emery’s hips are rocking into mine. For a moment I hold my breath. Either he’ll be annoyed or he’ll be into it.

His eyes burn with desire when he meets my gaze again. He stalks toward us, his huge body parting the crowd. Instead of trying to take Emery’s place or pushing him out of the way, Sergey steps behind me, wrapping his huge arms around me.

“Good evening,” he whispers in my ear.

Emery grins. He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of Sergey’s jeans, smashing me between his chest and the solid wall of Sergey’s torso behind me. I can feel their hardness on both sides. Emery’s is hot against my hip and Sergey’s is nestled against my ass.

God, that’s good.

Sergey nuzzles the crook of my neck. He gives me slow, hot kisses, sucking on the sensitive skin. I melt against him, completely surrendering to whatever these two men want to do to me. Emery kisses the other side of my neck, then nips at my earlobe. I take in a sharp breath.

“Heller is local,” Emery calls out above the music. For a second, I think he’s talking to me. But I realize his chin is turned up toward Sergey, who is a head taller.

“How would that work?” Sergey yells back. “Could I watch?”

Are they talking about what I think they’re talking about?

Emery flashes Sergey a flirty smile. “You could participate. Just as long as you don’t touch me while we’re upstairs.”

Upstairs? As in, we’re going to pay Emery to have sex with us?

I’ve never been up there as a client, only a hired heart.

“How much?” Sergey asks.

Emery shrugs. “I’d suck Heller’s cock for free.”

That’s when the whole situation snaps into focus. It’s one thing to flirt with Emery or grind with him on the dance floor, but I can’t sleep with him. I don’t sleep with my friends unless I know they can handle keeping things casual.

I press a kiss to Emery’s cheek. “Not tonight. Sergey and I already have plans.”

I hate the way his shoulders deflate. Maybe I’ve let things get a little too flirty between us. The last thing Emery needs is a crush on a guy like me.

“Wait. Are we not…” Sergey’s gaze darts back and forth to Emery and me.

“Let’s go to your hotel,” I say. “Just the two of us.”

Sergey pauses. Then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Emery starts, but Sergey hands him a stack of crisp twenty-dollar bills anyway.

“Thanks for the dance.”

I can’t help but smile at that. Emery never clarified that he expected payment for dancing with us. Sergey could easily walk away without worrying about it.

Emery mutters a thank you. To my intense relief, he seems placated by the cash and disappears deeper into the throng of dancing bodies.

Sergey grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He leads me toward the door without stopping at coat check, even though he’s only wearing a T-shirt.

“Hold up.” I take a few steps back to the coat check table and pull out the card for my coat, handing it to Judy. “Some of us are smart enough to wear coats,” I eye his bare arms meaningfully.

He laughs. “You really are Gentoo, aren’t you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re judging me for not covering up.”

I punch his bicep as hard as I can manage. “Very funny. I’ll have you know that I regularly take my clothes off in front of a whole audience of people. But the stage is warm. If you’re going to be slutty, you need to have standards.”

“And my T-shirt is slutty?” he says, holding out his arms for emphasis.

“Absolutely. It’s tight enough to show off your muscles, isn’t it? Alpha sex workers wear shirts like that all the time.”

To my surprise, his cheeks flush pink at that. I guess he’s half penguin shifter. I shouldn’t be surprised.

“Lucky for you, sluts are my favorite kind of people,” I tell him.

“Is that so?”

“They’re more fun.”

Judy hands over my coat. I thank her and shrug it on.

“I’ll meet you at your hotel? Text me the address and your room number?” I say to Sergey.

“Yeah.” He leans over to give me a kiss. It’s not the searing kiss I’d expect to get from a one-night-stand eager to get me into bed, it’s a gentle kiss, like we’re on a date or something.

My stomach twists with discomfort. Before we get down to business, I’ll need to clarify what this is. Things can’t be weird between us after we fuck if he’s planning to work with Cy.

When he opens the door, the freezing air is a shock to my system. We venture out into the night together, the colorful streetlights of Merchant Avenue glowing all around us. The light reflects off the snow and icy surfaces like a wintry kaleidoscope. I’ll never forget the first night I walked the streets of the polar bear shifter side of town. I was like Dorothy entering the colorful world of Oz after coming from a black and white Kansas.

Sergey looks up at the lights with wonder in his eyes. To him, all of this is still new. We walk through the parking lot until we arrive at the very sensible sedan a client bought for me after I drove him around Anchorage’s icy streets in a sports car I had foolishly purchased on a whim.

“This is me,” I say, stopping in front of my car.

He bends over to kiss my cheek. “See you soon.”

Again, a kiss on the cheek implies that he and I have a different idea of what this is between us.

I watch him walk away from me, the cloud of his breath wafting above his head. He doesn’t even put his hands in his pockets to stave off the cold. It must be difficult for him to live in the dry heat of New Mexico. He opens his arms as he walks, reveling in the freezing air. There’s something almost intimate about watching him enjoy the cold like this.

It’s like watching someone find home.

I wonder if anyone noticed me walking through Merchant Avenue the first night I came here, and if they felt the same way. Maybe they looked away to give me privacy. Maybe I should look away too. But it’s incredibly satisfying to see someone appreciate this place the way I do—to find a sense of belonging and wonder here.

I don’t think Sergey will be moving back to New Mexico.