Hot Bouncer (6 page)

“Sounds like a workout.” One of the men shouted.

“It will be. Don’t worry if you can’t cut it. A small line of soldiers is fine.” Peter nodded.

Nash took the lead and started with standard pushups. Then military push-ups, complete with the clap in the middle. Then it was one-handed pushups. Peter’s arms felt as if they were jelly by the time they were done.

Then jumping jacks, and his ankle ached with those. Peter kept up for the most part and watched Ken out of the corner of his eye. Most of the men were keeping up for now. Next were crunches, and they brought out a bar for chin-ups.

“I’m out.” Ken shook his head and backed away from the chin-up bar.

Peter smiled at Nash who nodded in approval. After the chin-up’s, it was toe-touches and the running. Peter’s ankle wobbled a bit, so he grabbed a seat.

“You too tired?” Nash asked.

“Ankle, I’m your weak link.” Peter sighed.

“No, you’ve got an injury. Ken needs to think about retiring.” Nash sat next to Peter.

“He can still dance. Aggressive exercising is more than he should do. I don’t want a heart attack during the show,” Peter whispered to Nash.

“Be nice. The military doesn’t take men at his age.” Nash grabbed a bottle of water and gave it to Peter.

“Good practice, guys. I think that routine has potential.” Peter nodded. “I need to ice my ankle, so Ken is going to run the rest of the rehearsal.”

Nash followed Peter to the changing room. Peter grabbed an ice pack and sat with his leg propped up. “The guys love it. They can compete with each other.”

“I just don’t think that’ll get the crowd as revved up as a dance number.” Nash shook his head.

“A variety is good. Slowing things down and showing off the muscle is fine. That’s what they want to see, and you have plenty.” Peter ran a hand up Nash’s arm. “You don’t have to go naked if you don’t want to.”

“Me?” Nash shook his head. “That was demo only. I’m not going on stage in front of people.”

“We’ll see.” Peter shifted the ice pack on his ankle. By now, word of the routine had made it to Carl. Anything that hot would earn tips and get pushed to the front of the lineup.

* * * *

Later that afternoon, Nash was hanging at the bar waiting for the club to open.

Avery dried a wine glass. “Did Ken really pass out?” he asked.

Nash laughed. “No, not at all. He hung in there but opted out before chin-ups. I don’t blame him. This isn’t a workout for dancers or performers. It’s raw muscle.”

“That man won’t retire until he breaks something.” Avery shook his head.

“He’s determined to stay in shape, which is great.” Nash watched the door and hoped there would be no problem tonight.

“I’m in shape, I don’t need to show it off anymore,” Avery said.

Carl walked out from the office. “Nash, that military routine is great. Can we try it tonight?”

“You can try anything, but I’m not going up there.” Nash shook his head.

“Come on. You’re the one who can sell the drill sergeant bit. No one else can do that.”

“Ken is bossy.” Avery laughed.

“Bossy but not military. Nash, you run it and get a nice bonus. Just that one routine, no other stripping. You can even keep your pants on.” Carl shrugged.

“Drill sergeant isn’t the exact term for the Marines. Besides, you need a bouncer,” Nash said.

“This is a show for fun. Don’t get wrapped up in accuracy. Whatever camo we have, we’ll use, and the dog tags are plastic. Don’t take it personally just enjoy the screams and shouts.” Carl smiled. “Hunter will help out as bouncer. He’s hanging around anyway.”

Nash felt a knot of fear. The money would be great, but the stage scared him. Maybe if he just focused on Peter? “I’ll try, but if I bomb, don’t blame the other guys. I’m not a stage person.”

The performance went off well, and Nash got tips despite not breaking the tough drill sergeant persona he was playing on stage. He’d seen it plenty, so he imitated those hard-asses, and the stage wasn’t as scary as he’d thought. Nash and the other guys filed off the stage. Peter hugged him, then went to the back. Nash didn’t like the idea of Peter needing to ice his ankle after the performance. He was about to follow when someone called his name.

He turned, and it was Carl. “What do you need?” Nash asked.

“Just wanted to know if you’re interested in doing that a few times a week? Little bump in pay.” Carl nodded.

“Uh, I guess so. I don’t think Peter’s ankle can take it, though. You need to tell him to bow out of that routine or no deal.” Nash fought the urge to go back and check on the smaller man. Peter knew his injuries and ankle better. Surely, he wouldn’t stress it too much.

“Sure. I think he just wants to be in to be near you,” Carl said.

Nash shook his head. “He’s a dancer, not a military guy. One less guy in it won’t hurt.”

“Okay, go change and check on Peter. When you’re sure he’s okay, go help Hunter out front. I’ll break the news to Peter that he doesn’t need to be in the routine tomorrow.” Carl patted Nash on the back. “Crowd loved it.”

“Thanks.” Nash headed back to find Peter. Sounds of a fight grabbed Nash’s attention. He pushed open the door and took in the situation. Terry had Peter pinned, and Peter struggled to get free.

“Carl, get Hunter back here!” Nash called.

Terry released Peter and charged Nash. Seeing no weapons, Nash led with his fist and connected to Terry’s jaw. The man fell back but recovered and lunged again.

“He’s mine,” Nash said and delivered another head-snapping punch to Terry’s jaw.

“He’s got a knife!” Peter shouted.

Nash saw the blade and moved faster than Terry, kicking the intruder in the face as people rushed in. Grabbing Terry’s arm, Nash pinned his hands behind his back and twisted the joints until he dropped the knife.

“He’s mine, you can’t have him!” Terry shouted.

“Like hell.” Nash kicked the back of Terry’s knee, so he went down.

“It was never anything, Terry.” Peter hobbled with his ankle stiff but managed to move behind Carl and Hunter for safety.

“We’ve got the police on the way,” Carl said.

This time it only took minutes for a Vegas Metro squad car to roll up. They took Terry from Nash and separated the men to get statements.

All Nash wanted to do was get to Peter, but he recounted the information and assured the police he didn’t need medical attention. He asked for support on a restraining order. The officer promised a copy of the reports would help.

When things were finally calm, Nash found Peter at the bar. His foot was on the bar stool in front of him with two ice packs taped around his ankle.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how he got in,” Peter said.

“What are you sorry for? I was up there making an ass out of myself and not doing my job.” Nash hugged Peter. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, he was trying to get me to go with him. They guy is nuts.” Peter clung to Nash. “You were great on stage. It wasn’t a mistake. Are you okay?”

Nash chuckled. “You need to ask?” He kissed Peter and held him tight.

Peter’s body relaxed in Nash’s arms. Nash had to keep his boyfriend safe. He’d lived with danger for years, and there was nothing like violence to bring clarity. The doubts all seemed meaningless now. Like it or not, he was involved, and it wasn’t just protection or great sex. It was much deeper and faster than he expected. He wasn’t a kid anymore; this was real. This was love, and he wanted it to work.

Chapter Seven

For a change, Peter found himself at Nash’s studio apartment. It was sparse and efficient, but he’d expected nothing more. The ride here had been quiet, but Nash held his hand all the way.

It took time to find where Terry had made it in, but Nash hadn’t left until he figured it out. Avery showed Carl an old trap door from Prohibition years when the place was just a bar. Nash crawled through it and ended up outside. Perfect for smuggling liquor in. Apparently, Terry had used it and ended up in a back room.

“I’m sorry Terry is such a problem. He means nothing to me.” Peter sat on the old plaid couch.

Nash nodded. “I believe that. Why the hell didn’t you scream bloody murder when Terry broke in?”

Peter smiled up at Nash who stood there, fists clenched, tension straining his sexy muscles, towering over Peter. There was no intimidation, only hurt and frustration. “I didn’t want to cause a panic. You start shouting, and people think there’s a fire or who knows. Ballet or stripping, the audience is there for a show, and you don’t ruin that.”

“You do when your life is at stake. This guy likes knives. I found a former Marine on the police force, and he did some checking. Terry has a record for assault.” Nash sat down and shook his head in aggravation. “I should’ve been with you, not talking to Carl about that routine. I don’t care about being on stage. That’s your thing.”

“I know. Thanks for trying it with me.” Peter leaned over and kissed Nash’s cheek. “It meant a lot. You were super hot.”

“You don’t get it.” Nash grabbed Peter’s face in his hands. “If anything happened to you, I’d be a mess. I can’t. I lost friends overseas. I won’t lose you. I took people for granted as a kid because no one stuck by me. The Marines stick together, but I couldn’t save everyone. You, I can save.”

Peter pressed his lips to Nash’s wrist. “I’m not your project or your mission. I don’t need to be rescued. I’m an adult. I don’t want your pity because I’m smaller or weaker than you. I’m pretty damn strong. I just want you.”

“You’re damn strong and bendable, but you’re not a fucking project.” Nash sat back and shook his head. “You don’t get it. I don’t fall in love with good guys. I screwed up young. I went for the bad boys. Even though they didn’t turn me on as much as you, it was easier to know I’d be alone in the end. You’re so different.”

“I know it’s all happened really fast. I’m sorry about Terry. We all have a history. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want you because you can protect me or pick me and screw me in all sorts of funky positions. I want you. The rough and gruff guy who hangs out with Marine buddies and uses the connection to look out for me. I want to look out for you, too. I want it to be fair. Equal. I’m not a kid. I’m older.” Peter rested his chin on Nash’s shoulder.

“I know, and wiser. I’m not good at taking help or needing people.” Nash pressed his forehead to Peter’s.

“I get that. Your dad was an ass. The military kept everything structured. Now you’re mine. You’re special. I love you Nash, it’s too fast, and it’s crazy but tough shit.” Peter smiled. “It’s real.”

Nash’s eyes widened. “It is real. Scary as hell.”

“I’m not scared. Not if you feel the same way.” Peter smiled. He’d coax the words out of Nash somehow.

“I love you, too, you pain in the ass. I thought you’d run like crazy if you knew I’d become so attached. People don’t stick with me. My mom bailed, dad couldn’t get rid of me fast enough when he found out I liked men, and no boyfriend ever hung around. Plus, I’ve still got a lot of adjusting to do. There are nights I can’t sleep and have ugly nightmares. It’s not all hot sex.” Nash hugged Peter tight.

For a second, Peter thought he might end up with crushed ribs, but Nash knew his own strength. “I won’t leave you. Promise you won’t bail on me.”

“I swear you’re stuck,” Nash said against his ear.

“Good.” Peter kissed his boyfriend. “You’re not the only one who’s gotten dumped or tricked by men.”

“Who screwed you over?” Nash buried his face in Peter’s neck.

Peter cuddled the bear of a man. “My boyfriend while I was in ballet. He was just like me. Not really my type. But it was convenient, and I convinced myself I loved him. We were on a tour before the crack in my ankle, obviously. I felt my ankle go, and I kept dancing. The performance was all that mattered. By the time it was done, I was in so much pain I had to go to the hospital.”

“He didn’t come with you?” Nash asked.

“Bingo. He partied with the others after the show. I knew my career was over with the first X-ray, and I was alone. That was seven years ago. After that, alone was easier and safer until you came along.” Peter kissed Nash’s forehead.

“You’ll never be alone again.” Nash hugged the dancer tight. “If anyone tries to hurt you, I’ll make sure they regret it. Terry comes near us, and he’s dead.”

“Not dead.” Peter stroked Nash’s hair. “You’re not going to prison and leaving me. Self-defense is one thing, but civilian-level, okay?”

Nash pulled back and chuckled. “I know. Is it weird it feels good to know I can kill him if I have to?”

Peter smiled. “Knowing you have those skills sort of turns me on, so I think we’re both a little off.”

“Not off, a good fit.” Nash kissed Peter slowly and took his time before that tongue came out to play.

Moaning, Peter worked on Nash’s clothing as they made out.

“You can still do the routine and earn a little extra money.” Peter teased Nash’s cock.

“That turned you on?” Nash laughed.

“Very much. You’d make a good instructor.” Peter wiggled free and began seriously removing both of their clothes without romantic pretense.

“Instructor? As in your dance studio plan? I don’t know how to dance.” Nash shook his head and helped Peter until both men were naked.

Peter went to the bed in the one-room apartment. “You can learn. That’d be perfect. Open my own dance studio so I can stop stripping before I turn into a Ken. You could help me.”

“I don’t think I’d be any good.” Nash grabbed protection and lube and joined him on the bed. “But it’s a great idea for you. All the wannabe showgirls and chorus boys in Vegas will flock to you.”

“Damn right. And I’ll have a class on stripping. But I can’t do it all alone.” Peter kissed Nash and stretched out on his back.

“I’m good for security. Making appointments, handling the money maybe. No one will stiff you on payment.” Nash lubed Peter’s ass and rubbed the extra on his balls.

“That feels so good!” Peter moaned and tucked one and then the other ankle behind his head. “Fuck me senseless.”

“Holy shit!” Nash stared. “Doesn’t that hurt your injured ankle?”