4. Lucas

Strong hands slam into my chest and shove me backward. I stumble in the tall grasses on the side of the bar, catching my foot on a rock. My eyes fly open, Jase's horror-stricken look now burned into my memory.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he growls through clenched teeth. He pulls his hood back over his head and peers around the darkness. "Someone could have seen us."

Muted sounds of Sin City shake the ground, and nobody has left the club since we've been huddled out here.

The cops didn't stick around long either.

We're completely alone.

I scrub a hand down the front of my face, my heart still thrashing in my chest at that impromptu kiss. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I stare at Jase, completely captivated by his icy-blue gaze because I'm clearly a head case for believing there could be something on his side behind that kiss.

I don't know what I was thinking.

No, that's a lie.

I definitely know what I was thinking.

He was being an obstinate asshole by standing right out in the open, and I tried to protect him. And yeah, he's also hot as hell, and I was damn curious to know how it'd feel to have his lips on mine, how they'd taste, if he'd open them for me…

But the disgust in his expression tells me the question gnawing at my brain has just been answered.

Talk about a dick deflater.

I finally find my voice. "Did you want the cops to see you? You were standing there like you were waiting for them to jump out of their car and cuff you, dumbass." My skin burns under the heat of his angry glare. "I got you out of their line of sight. So you're welcome."

He takes a step toward me, his nostrils flaring. "I didn't ask for your help."

"Yeah, but you needed it."

"Not from you." His jaw tightens. "We're not the same, you got that? This wasn't me making some kind of Prince fucking Charming move on you. I wasn't defending your honor."

Ouch. That stung pretty unnecessarily.

"Good because I don't need anyone fighting my battles for me." I wrap my fingers into tight fists to keep them from prickling like they've just been dipped in fire. It may look like I want to punch him, but in reality, I want to launch myself at him even more than I did before and drag my fingers through the longish light-brown hair hanging over his eyes. "I've dealt with shit like that for a long time and been in plenty of fights because I'm open about who I am. Screw anyone who doesn't approve."

A flicker of something softens his expression for a split second before the hard shell slides back into place, fully guarding anything behind it.

But now another question rattles my brain. If he wasn't defending me, why the hell did he do it?

"Don't say anything to anyone about being there," he grunts. "Don't be a fucking martyr, Bentley."

"I'm the reason why they came after us. If you think I'm just going to let you?—"

"I did what I had to do." He stands in front of me now and we're toe to toe. He smells of whiskey and sweat, and fuck me, it's more intoxicating than any cologne because it's him. He's disruption and chaos and rage, and even though his words negate whatever sick little fantasies I may have had about him before tonight, his sullen, bad boy attitude and matching scowl have my dick in a complete twist.

Before I can press him on that cryptic comment, the door to the bar slams open. Inside, some crappy DJ has taken over the entertainment. I guess the band is in between sets. Fucking awesome timing.

Guys spill onto the sidewalk, some with their shirts off, all of them sweaty, drunk, and red-faced. Jase slides his eyes to the group, pulls his hood tight around his face, and stalks past me without another word.

A shock of electricity jolts me when he shoulder checks me on the way to wherever his car is parked.

He walks in the opposite direction of the idiot assailants, dragging my gaze along with him. There's something so deep and dark, knotted down inside of him. I can feel it when he looks at me. That's my curse and my gift. I have a sixth sense about people, especially people who need help but are too damn stubborn to get it.

It's ironic because that makes me a hypocrite since there's no amount of help that can fix me.

I'm the reason for every struggle I've experienced over the past few years, why my brother Aaron has disappeared from our lives, why Ella and Nick are under my care.

Sometimes it's nice to take a break from fighting my own demons and focus on someone else's.

"Hey, what happened to you?" Brixton gives me a hard clap on the back. "I saw you disappear with that asswad, Maxwell. Were you giving him tips for how to not suck so badly on the football field?"

I swallow a groan at his choice of words.

I shouldn't think about sucking anything right now when all hell is about to break loose. Guilt twists my gut. Jase has no idea how much of a favor he did by not mentioning my name to his agent, but I can't let him take the blame for the fight.

"I tried to give him a pep talk. He wasn't interested." It's a weak response, but it's the best I can come up with since that kiss still has my brain rattled. It's way better than the truth. Besides, I'm not ready to admit to anyone the kind of sensations that coursed through me like a raging inferno when my lips crushed against his a few minutes ago. I'd never felt such a crazy rush of desire for another man after such a chaste kiss.

"We're not the same."

Jase's words loop through my mind like a bucket of cold water being dumped on the heat generated by his muscular body pressed against mine.

He literally just saved my ass and has no idea that he even did it.

I should have never gone after him when he left the bar, for so many fucking reasons. He's obviously got a lot to protect but dammit, so do I. And I can't let a guy like him cloud my judgment when I worked too hard to get here. Ella and Nick are counting on me. One wrong move can destroy us to the point where I won't be able to rebuild what's left of our family.

"Guys like him have their heads shoved so far up their own asses they couldn't see help if it was lodged in their throats. Why bother?"

I furrow my brow, pushing my regrets to the back burner. "What's your problem with Jase?"

Brixton raises an eyebrow. "Seriously, dude? You play for the same team."

"Nope, he made that pretty clear," I mutter, more to myself than to Brixton.

"What?" Brixton narrows his eyes.

I wave my hand in the air. "Nothing. But what's your point? We both play for the Crusaders, but it doesn't mean I know the guy."

"He's a total jerkoff homophobe. How did you miss that? He's always all over Gabe Kelly's ass, making smart-ass comments, stirring shit up with the team. That rivalry is always all over social media."

"Wait, so that makes him a homophobe? Just because he gives Gabe Kelly a hard time?"

"There's definitely no love lost between those guys. And shit started to go sideways once Gabe came out. What else would it be?"

I shrug. "Maybe Jase is just a dick."

Brixton casts a look over his shoulder. Some of his bandmates are surrounded by guys with camera flashes popping in all directions. "Maybe. I try to go easy on Lane since he's Jase's cousin. But that guy just pisses me the fuck off. I don't even know why Lane told him to come here tonight."

"He showed up. If he was that much of a homophobe, would he have come to a gay bar? Maybe you don't know him as well as you think."

That hard-on in his pants screamed that Jase might not know himself as well as he thinks.

I obviously can't tell Brixton about that, but doubt still twists my gut.

"I know what I hear. And he's got a serious attitude problem that'll probably get him traded if he doesn't watch his ass and pick up his game. Maybe he needs to focus more on his job than giving a damn where his teammates dip their wicks."

I bring a hand to the back of my head and rub the knot in the back of my neck.

Jase said that fight had nothing to do with me, but he still initiated an attack against those haters, knowing what was at stake. If he really is that much of a bigot, would he have risked his standing on the team?

My blood burns hot as the memory of our kiss flares in my mind. It was only a few stolen seconds, but I can still feel his body melt into me, the thump of his heartbeat racing in time with my own.

It fucking wasn't repulsion that kept his lips on mine even for those fleeting seconds, that's for damn sure.

So I have to wonder… If he wasn't so worried about anyone seeing us, would he have kissed me back?