#Rev (GearShark #2) (18 page)

Gamble glanced back at me. “Must have been hard coming here tonight. Now I see why my daughter wanted to have this conversation at home.”

I nodded. “Look, I know this probably isn’t what you signed on for. You’re a businessman first, and you’re basically building a new racing brand from scratch. I would have disclosed my, uh, relationship to you in the beginning, but it wasn’t as it is now. Having your main driver in a relationship with another man might not be good for business. Maybe you don’t want a gay man as the face of your team. If that’s the case, tell me now. There are plenty of other good drivers that would be willing to take my place.”

“You would choose him over your career?” he asked, speculation in his tone.

The question pissed me off. I knew,
knew
without even looking at Trent it was a kick in his gut. Trent would internalize those words; he would feel like he was taking something from me instead of giving.

I sat up, holding my body firmly, and stared right into Gamble’s eyes. “I already did.” I yanked my gaze from the older man and looked at Trent. “There’s no choice.”

T lifted his glass, and I watched the liquid slip past his lips and slide down his throat. He did well keeping his reaction contained, but I felt it. I knew it was what he needed to hear.

“And how do you feel about keeping your personal life personal?” Gamble asked.

My back teeth came together. “I like my privacy. Trent and I aren’t the type to go skipping through a forest holding hands and making out on the street. But I won’t deny him. I won’t act like he’s a dirty secret. People will see anyway, just like your daughter did. The pull between us is too strong. That’s why I’m telling you.”

“The interviewer at
GearShark
already saw,” Trent remarked.

Gamble’s eyes shot open. “She did?”

Trent nodded. “Seemed to think it would help Drew’s career.”

“She didn’t print it…” he mused. Then glanced at me. “She respects you.”

“I threatened her with a lawsuit.” I clarified.

Gamble chuckled. “My boy, lawsuits are a practical daily occurrence to journalists. They push the envelope. Even if she didn’t print the story, she would have whispered. She would have started rumors. The industry would be abuzz right now, and she’d be collecting off it. But I haven’t heard a single word.”

“Why don’t you cut to the chase?” Trent said, his voice out of patience. “You want us to leave or not?”

Gamble laughed. “I always have liked your bluntness.”

“Well?” Trent replied and stood.

Could he feel my budding agitation? The frustration welling inside me because Gamble wasn’t really saying anything? Instead, he was just wearing my patience.

The guy should have been a politician, answering questions without actually giving an answer.

“Dad,” Joey warned as if she were getting frustrated as well. “Put them out of their misery.”

Gamble tossed back the rest of the scotch in his glass and stood. He was dressed comfortably in a pair of what I assumed were dark-colored rich people lounge pants. They were too nice-looking to be considered sweatpants. Paired with them, he had on a light-blue polo that looked like it was made out of cashmere.

Ivy would probably drool all over this guy’s closet.

“Hopper’s gay,” he announced.

I felt my mouth literally fall open. Of all the shit he could say, I never thought it would be that.

“Hopper. Your pro driving coach,” Trent reiterated.

“The one you called a dick.” Gamble agreed.

I glanced at Joey, and she nodded.

“You didn’t think I might like to know that?” I asked.

She shrugged one shoulder. “I knew what my father would say on a personal level, but on a business level? I never have any idea.”

The sound of light footsteps approached, and a woman with dark hair pinned back poked her head in the room. “Dinner is served.”

“Thank you, Ellen!” Joey chimed out, fondness in her voice.

Ellen (who I figured was the housekeeper or cook or something) smiled. “Anything for you Josephine.”

“Josephine,” Trent echoed.

Joey whipped around and gave him an evil eye.

He grinned.

“Thank you, Ellen. We’ll be right there,” Gamble said, and when she was gone, he set aside his empty glass. “Shall we eat?” He gestured toward the door.

“I’d like an answer first,” Trent said, stubborn.

“I’m starving,” Joey said dramatically.

Gamble faced me, and I felt Trent step up to my back, silently offering support.

This was it.

The future of my career.

“Your relationship with Trent is of no consequence to me. I might be an old man, but even I understand the heart chooses who it wants.”

“You’re not that old, Dad,” Joey rebuffed.

“And the racing?” I asked, my heart still squeezing. The lightest touch grazed my lower back. I could feel the heat of it through my shirt. Trent.

Gamble glanced at Trent. “I’ll be blunt. I agree with the reporter.”

“What?” I asked, blinking.

“I think it will help your career.”

“I’m not exploiting our relationship,” Trent said, his voice firm.

“No one said anything about that. But you already made it clear you have no intent of being shy about it either. I like it. In a division where the drivers go against all the rules, do what they want, and represent the underdog? Frankly, you being gay makes you a
better
face for the brand.”

“For the revolution.” Trent corrected. He brushed his fingertips a little more firmly in a soft caress over my back before pulling away.

“That is what you called it in your
GearShark
interview,” Gamble said to me. He shook his head slowly, mulling over possibilities. “A revolution of racing meets a revolution of the way people view athletes.”

“If you think me announcing I’m with a man is going to make everyone in this world magically accept gay people, there must have been some expensive, exotic shit in that scotch.”

Gamble laughed.

“All you need for a revolution is a spark.” Trent’s voice was soft but meaningful. He’d been thinking about this. More than I realized.

“Are you quoting
The Hunger Games
?” Joey wondered out loud.

“The what?” Trent asked.

“We need to have a movie night,” she muttered.

“Exactly.” Gamble nodded. “The demographic for this division is young. The young are far more open-minded than most, and not only will this barely register on their radar, but it will give a lot of them something to identify with.”

“Is the gay population really that large?” I wondered.

“It doesn’t even have to do with sexual orientation. Not really.” Trent spoke up. “Like Gamble said, the underdogs, those who feel singled out, whether it be because of who they love, how they look, what they do… People everywhere feel different. Here you are, this amazing driver. You earned your way into a meeting with Ron Gamble and convinced him to start a new sport for people who’d been discriminated against for years.”

People who were discriminated against = indie drivers.

“You’re breaking down walls. And you’re doing it with speed. And now you’re also admitting—no,
we’re
admitting to being in a relationship. Frankly, it’s one more thing for people to admire.”

“And hate.” I reminded him. Not that I thought he needed a reminder. I thought he knew better than I did. He was the one walking around with cracked ribs.

“Oh, there will be hate.” Gamble agreed and looked at me. “I guess the real question is, are you sure you’re up for this?”

I never wanted to be a role model. I never wanted to be someone to break down walls or even give a voice to people who felt like they were somehow less.

But that’s where I found myself.

I looked at T. The lines and angles of his face were so familiar to me. So strong. He was my best friend and he was my lover. Underneath all that, though, he was a man.

A man with doubts and feelings. With vulnerabilities and insecurities.

I was, too.

We all were.

It didn’t make me less of a driver—less of an athlete. If anything, it made me better.

So while, no, this wasn’t where I expected the road to lead me, here I was. I was lucky. Trent and I had each other. We had family and friends rallying around us to support us.

What about the people who didn’t have anyone? Could I somehow give someone else some kind of hope, even from the cover of a magazine?

I could. I would. But someone else would do it better.

I swung around to Trent. “I think you should do it.”

“Do what?” he asked.

“Call the reporter at
GearShark
. Start the revolution.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’ll be there,” I replied, my attention condensed down to only him. “Always.”

“I like it.” Gamble approved.

“Beef Wellington tastes better hot,” Joey said.

Everyone laughed.

“We’re having beef Wellington?” Trent asked, suddenly more interested in food than anything.

Beef Wellington was good, but it wasn’t French fries.

“It’s Joey’s favorite,” Gamble said.

“So we’re going to do this?” Trent said, setting aside his glass.

“All you have to do is say the word,” Gamble said. “We can go sit down and talk numbers and details while my daughter eats me out of house and home.”

“Yes,” I said.

My heart squeezed again, but this time it wasn’t because I was nervous or even scared.

I was excited.

Trent

Ron Gamble was a man who got shit done.

After one evening in his impressive home, talking business with him, I knew exactly why he was the richest man in the state.

There weren’t many people like him.

He was cunning and quick but still had an uncanny eye for detail. It was like his mind processed things twice as fast as most others. The conversation we had over beef Wellington, creamy mashed potatoes with a hint of horseradish, and roasted root vegetables reminded me why I decided to major in finances at Alpha U.

It was exhilarating.

Most people thought of finance as stodgy and boring. It was all numbers and spreadsheets. Yeah, obviously, that was part of it, but there was so much more. A person in finance had to be good with people, personable.

Some might argue charm was a definite bonus to have. Why? Because people needed to feel comfortable with you. Money made the world go round. Some didn’t like it, but it was a fact. So becoming an advisor on something as big as their finances… well, trust was one of the most important components.

Not only that, but in finance, you learn to not only look at the equation, but at the bigger picture. Numbers are fluid; you can manipulate them to put you on a path to a specific outcome. You must have a clear goal for what you want to achieve, so all the pieces can be laid in place to make a complete picture.

To me, that was exciting. It wasn’t just crunching numbers. It was building something. It was taking risks for big payoffs.

Finance was basically just a narrowed-in business degree, a specialty, but a broader sense of business was still required.

While racing was a sport, and I spent a lot of time beneath a hood lately with Drew and watching him on the track… that wasn’t all there was to it.

This new division was a business. It took a lot of strategic planning to put it together, to get it going, and to make it work. It was fascinating to me, listening to Gamble talk about how it was all being started.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I needed a break from my major or even my chosen career. I felt challenged and motivated to roll up my sleeves and pitch a few ideas of my own.

What impressed me more about Gamble was his willingness to listen. Even though he was extremely successful, he didn’t sit at the table and act like he knew it all. He was eager to bounce ideas with me. Hell, he even asked my opinion on a few things. I wasn’t nearly as experienced as him; I was basically still in diapers compared to him. But it didn’t seem to matter.

He liked blunt, so that’s what I gave him. I asked him why.

His response?

I was young and hungry. I was almost fresh out of college, and I had a vested interest in this budding revolution of racing because Drew was at the center of it. In his experience, sometimes actual work experience wasn’t as good as a fresh eye and a new outlook. Beyond that, I’d been in the circles with Drew for a while now. I’d been in the indie world, and since I wasn’t a driver, I probably had a different perspective, a perspective that would be useful on the business side.

He was right.

Instead of making me feel like I was the shit and maybe had an inside track to some hotshot job in the division, the whole night talking with Gamble lit a fire inside me. I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to show Gamble he was right—I was young and hungry. I was motivated, and I did want to look beyond just the drivers at the business as a whole.

After all, a man isn’t defined by his words, but by his actions.

It was late when Joey dropped us off at the front entrance of the hotel. It practically glowed with a golden halo because of all the lighting. I wondered if they did it on purpose so the outside hue went with the gold accents used inside.

Even though we ended up meeting tonight, the meeting for tomorrow was still on. It ended up a good thing we had some extra time because after all the talking we did at dinner, there was more work to be done.

Drew and Joey were going to go out on the track for some drive time, and I was going to spend some time in the pro headquarters, which was also being used for the new division. I wanted to look over the endorsement deals coming in for Drew, his schedule, and his financials. I knew he wanted to quit his job, but I wanted to make sure it was a smart move first.

We were both quiet on the way up to the room, walking past the front desk, small kitchen that offered coffee and water around the clock, and the “business” center, which was basically a section of the huge lobby walled off with large sheets of glass with several computers, printers, and free Wi-Fi for the guests.

The second we walked into the room, my eyes went right to his cell, which lay left behind on the wet bar. I wasn’t sure if he turned it off, and I didn’t ask. It really didn’t matter. He was ignoring it regardless.

Maybe I’d ignore mine, too.

On impulse, I strode across the room, pulled my phone out of my jeans, and tossed it down beside his.

When I turned back, Drew was leaning against the closed door with a grin on his face. The way he was leaning made the black leather jacket fall off the sides of his body and accentuate his long, lean waist. His jeans rode low on his hips and skimmed over his thighs, emphasizing the strength in his lower half.

I couldn’t see his hands because they were behind him, but I imagined his palms flat against the door, like he was bracing himself for me.

Because he knew.

He knew I was coming for him.

My eyes ripped from his body and flashed up to his. The dimple in his cheek deepened, and my tongue ran over my teeth. Blond hair fell over his forehead, threatening to conceal one of his blue eyes.

Sexy. Powerful. Unshaven.

And there was this thread… a small imperfection at the hem of his jeans. Even though he literally made a mouthwatering sight standing there in our private room, my eyes kept going back to that string.

The hem was slightly too long, so the bottom of the material (at the back of his heel) dragged the ground. Over time, the fabric began to fray with the repeated action of rubbing against pavement.

Right now, one small, white string stretched out across the floor beside his foot.

Everyone’s jeans did it. Mine, his, yours. It wasn’t anything new. It wasn’t anything that deserved so much thought.

Except the presence of that string made me want to tug it. To see what would begin to unravel if I did. I rather liked the thought of unraveling Drew.

Of pulling that thread until there was nothing left.

“You know how I was talking about having a clothing-optional night earlier?” Drew’s voice was like a good bottle of wine. Smooth, slightly sweet, and didn’t go to your head until after you’d drunk it all.

I nodded. There was a fire building low in my stomach. This tingling, burning sensation that was sort of addictive in the sense I wanted it to spread. I wanted to be consumed.

“I changed my mind.”

I lifted one eyebrow. I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say. But I wanted to hear it anyway.

“No options anymore. Naked. Now. All night.”

Well. Wasn’t he a bossy bastard?

I liked it.

I really fucking did.

I pushed off the floor. I needed the extra momentum to push me closer to him faster. As I prowled toward the door, I started peeling off my clothes.

I took pleasure in tossing the fabric all over the space, owning it all, littering the entire room with sexual intention.

When I reached him, all that remained on my body was a pair of unbuttoned jeans. One of Drew’s hands appeared between us, and one finger dipped beneath my boxers and rubbed over the wiry hair leading down to my cock.

While he teased, I unbuttoned his jeans with deliberate care and then took my time sliding the zipper down over his already erect dick.

Once his pants were fully open, I helped him pull of his jacket and shirt. Before sliding down his body, I pressed my palms against his shoulders and dragged them down his arms, all the way until our hands linked together and we stood there chest to chest, holding hands.

“There’s a lot of shit I like about you, Forrester,” I spoke. “But right now, my favorite is when I stare into your eyes, you stare right back.”

“I see you, Trent,” he answered.

“Even if I went blind right now, I’d still see you,” I echoed.

The side of his mouth curved up. “Always gotta one-up me, don’t ya, frat boy?”

I laughed low and pulled my hands from his. The chain he always wore around his neck, the one with the speedometer pendant on the end, was my target. I lifted it, and he dipped his chin so I could pull it over his head.

“We’re not gonna need speed tonight.” I set it aside.

His back hit the wall when I slid down his body. Knowing what I was going for, his hips jutted out, and I laughed deep in my throat. Drew loved getting head. I might even argue he liked it more than French fries.

My knees hit the floor once his shoes and pants were gone, and I knelt before his steely dick, which stood out from his body at attention.

The weight of his balls in my palm was now familiar, and I squeezed gently, cupping them and using my fingers to gently massage the base of his cock.

He made a satisfied sound, and his palms flattened on either side of his hips against the door. I took his cock slow, wrapping my lips around the taut flesh and slipping down, taking him deep.

When his tip hit the back of my throat, he muttered something incoherent. I pulled back slightly and began to work his rod, making sure it was good and slick and he was good and worked up before pulling back almost completely to suck just the head past my lips and graze my teeth on the sensitive spot on the underside.

He shuddered in my mouth, and I grabbed his hips. Using my hands, I started guiding his body into a rhythm that allowed him to essentially fuck my mouth.

After a few minutes of my guidance, one of his hands slid into my hair and gripped while his hips took over all on their own.

As he thrust himself into my mouth, I massaged his balls and caressed his inner thighs. The hand tangled in my hair started to tremble, and his hips moved faster. My lips tightened around his quivering dick, and he whispered my name.

I liked when he whispered my name.

His orgasm exploded across my tongue. His cock literally pumped like its life depended on it. Drew collapsed against the door, and I moved with him, gripping his hips and taking over since he was no longer able to move.

I drank him down. Taking in a part of him was natural to me, as if he were an acquired taste I never had to actually acquire.

I sucked him dry and then lifted my head. His chest heaved, and the instant my mouth released him, his body began to melt down the door, sliding into a practical puddle until his ass hit the floor.

I sank back onto my ass, sitting directly in front of him, spreading my legs so he was in between them.

“We need to get our own place,” he said, a little out of breath.

“It definitely would have some advantages.” I agreed.

“Tonight was a good night.” His chin came down so we could meet eyes.

“Yeah.” I let myself grin. I honestly didn’t expect it to go so well. Trying to guess someone’s reaction to a male-male relationship was like trying to figure out why a dog’s farts smelled so bad.

Though I tried not to show it, I’d been worried. How could I not be? Drew was risking everything. I honestly didn’t know what I would’ve done if Gamble had turned him away.

It probably wouldn’t have been pretty.

“You up for the interview with
GearShark
?” Drew asked.

“Absolutely.” I was looking forward to it. It was what I wanted to begin with, a chance to carve out a place in this life for Drew and me.

“You were on fire tonight at dinner. You really like all that business stuff.”

I made a face. “You get your adrenaline from cars; I get mine from closing deals.”

“Graduation is coming.” He pointed out.

“Amen.”

He smiled, then turned serious. “So how about it?”