Driven Snow (21 page)

He dragged himself into the locker room. A lot of the guys were already changed. He peeled off his uniform and took a quick shower.
Don’t think.
As he pulled on his clothes, Roget and two of the other players walked by. Rog glanced back at Riley. “Helluva pass today, Prince.”

“Thanks.”

“Heard any more about the whore?”

Riley just kept dressing.

“If he comes back to this campus, I’ll sure as fuck see he never gets his fag hands on any other good men again. I’ll call you so you can join the lynch mob.”

Riley’s head snapped up, but Rog and his buddies were already walking away.

That’s what I’m making possible. That’s the logical conclusion to this story.

He yanked his sweater over his head and grabbed his jacket.

I don’t want to believe that Snow’s guilty.

He could practically hear Danny’s voice ringing in his head.

You don’t want to believe it, asshole? Then don’t.

SWEAT POURED
off Snow as he danced back and forth from foot to foot and jabbed at a large punching bag.

“Remember, when you’re fighting a bigger opponent, it’s all about evasion. You can’t fight him toe to toe, or he’ll wipe you out. Jab, jab. Not bad, Reynaldi.” Bash put a hand on the bag to steady it. “Okay. Stop for a minute.”

Snow dropped his hands to his knees and tried to catch his breath. Mr. P. insisted he had to learn self-defense. Said his life could depend on it.

“The other thing to remember is if somebody attacks you, fight dirty. Grab whatever you can and use it as a weapon; kick them in the balls, head butt to get out of a hold. Okay?”

Snow nodded but kept breathing.

“Let’s try a few moves. Then you have your lesson with Romeo.”

Holy wow, Romeo.
Snow tried to concentrate for fifteen more minutes of punching, grabbing, and kicking. “Thanks a lot, Bash.”

“You’re not near as hopeless at this as I thought you’d be. Couple more lessons and you might actually be able to hold up in a fight.”

Snow gasped. “That would be great.”

“Probably need a shower before you go see Lover Boy.” Bash laughed, went to the bench press he had set up in the IPi garage, and lifted some astronomical amount of weight from his chest. Snow hurt just looking at him.

He staggered up the stairs to his shared bathroom and showered, then went to his tiny makeshift room and dressed in the jeans and sweatshirt Lib had loaned him. Mr. P. planned to take Snow shopping the next day so he’d be able to return the clothes. Not sure how he’d return Mr. P.’s money or his kindness.

Next lesson.
Holy crap, his hands were shaking. What exactly did they mean when they said Romeo would teach him about the arts of love? And why did he need to know? Not like he had anyone he wanted to practice on.

Here goes.
He walked down the hall to the room he knew was Romeo’s and knocked.

“Come in.” Romeo’s silky, soft voice was a lesson in sex all by itself.

Snow opened the door.
Whoo boy.
Romeo sat on the bed, the blinds behind him mostly closed and several candles burning in the room. The place smelled like oranges and some other good stuff.
Wow.

Romeo himself embodied the art of love. He wore loose-fitting black pants that hung low on his narrow hips and a shirt that had to be silk. It begged to be petted. His bare feet managed to be ridiculously sexy. “Come in and be comfortable.”

Snow pressed back against the bedroom door he’d just closed. “Uh, Romeo, what exactly are we doing? Because the stories about me aren’t true. You know that, right?”

“Yes, dear, sadly I do. What we’re going to do is make you a bit more like that image than you are now, so you are positively irresistible in bed.”

“Why should I be?”

“Why not?”

Had him there.

“What does it have to do with winning at chess?”

“Everything. A winner is someone with confidence. As Mr. P. says, a dash of positive arrogance. You need to know you can function optimally in every situation. Love is one of those situations.”

“I don’t know.”

“There’s no reason not to be romantic, is there?”

Snow shrugged but couldn’t keep the frown from his face. “One of the reasons the guy I liked believed the stories about me was that I was more, uh, accomplished than he thought a virgin should be.” Everything about the thought hurt.

“Your boyfriend sounds like he isn’t very experienced himself.”

“Probably not. I mean, he was in the closet for all of college.”

Romeo waved to the chair beside the bed, all cushy and deep with pillows. “Come sit.”

Snow crossed to the chair and sank into it.

Romeo sat cross-legged, propped his elbows on his knees, and cupped his chin in his palms. “For thousands of years, stupid humans have played this ridiculous game. Women have been required to be virgins. If they show enthusiasm, they’re branded whores. Then, when they have no experience or expertise in bed, their men leave them at home while they seek more satisfying companionship elsewhere. It’s a construct so that men can have it their way, which is nonmonogamous. It’s the worst kind of bullshit.”

“Wow, I never thought about it.”

“Yes, well, you’re gay. You didn’t have to—until you got treated the same way.”

Snow stared at his feet. “I don’t think he expected me to be a virgin.”

“No, but he liked that you were.”

“I guess.”

“Because that made you ‘his,’ right?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, you’re not his, Snow. You’re yours.”

Snow looked up, and his mouth gaped open. How could such a simple statement hit so hard?

“Your affection has not one particle more or less value because it’s inexperienced. What has value is your decision, your choice to care about someone, not some imaginary hymen in your asshole.”

Snow snorted out a laugh. “Graphically put.”

“So let’s get to work making you sexually irresistible, and let your boyfriend grow up on his own.”

“I, uh, think you’re really gorgeous, but I don’t want to—”

Romeo whipped a large pink dildo covered in a condom from behind him on the bed. “Thank you for the compliment, but this is your practice tool.” He handed the slightly obscene object to Snow, then tossed him a plastic squeeze bottle of lube.

Snow blushed and laughed. “Thanks.”

“All right, let’s start with hand jobs. Grab your lube.”

Snow swallowed hard and did as Romeo said.

“Each aspect of physical love has its own expression, its own beauty, its own qualities. Your mouth has warmth and wetness and a remarkable capability for suction. Your ass squeezes and tightens on its own. Plus it has the psychological value of supreme intimacy—literally entering the body of another.” He held up his hands, long-fingered and graceful. “But the hands have their own unique value. They have dexterity that the tongue doesn’t possess and more control than your ass. So let’s put them to work.”

Romeo applied his lube-slicked hands to a dildo similar to the one he’d given Snow. “Let’s begin with the basic grip and twist. Hold the shaft firmly at the base with one hand. Slide upward with a firm squeeze, grasp with the other hand at the base as the top hand twists the head. Grip, slide, and twist, grip, slide and twist.”

Snow practiced until his hands moved effortlessly.
Oh my, hard not to imagine this dildo being Riley’s warm flesh.

“Good. Now let’s make some fire, Boy Scout style. Put both hands at the base of the cock on opposite sides, and slip them together like you’re twirling a fire stick.”

“Really? Does that feel good?”

“Yes, quite amazing as long as your partner isn’t too close to orgasm. Then he may be too sensitive for that much stimulation.”

“Fascinating.”

Romeo smiled. “You see. Just one more science for you to master.” He stood the tall pink cock flat on the bed in front of him. “Now, let’s add the mouth—”

CHAPTER 19

RILEY TOWERED
over Mike Henderson, leaning in to emphasize the six-inch difference in their height. “Tell me what happened, and I swear to you, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Henderson held up his hands. “You know what happened. I told the press. I told the police. Why should I tell you?”

“Because they weren’t planning to leave you bloody for lying, you asshole.”

“Come on, Riley. I heard he did it to you too.”

“Who did what to me?”

“Snowden Reynaldi got you to pay him to have sex.”

Riley clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes. “You heard wrong. I never paid him anything—and neither did you. In fact, I strongly suspect you never even had sex with him. Unless you forced him. Is that what happened, Henderson? Did you try to rape him?” He raised a fist. No need to tell the asshole he’d never use it.

“Hell, no! I never—”

“You never what? Tell me, Mike. What did you like best about Snow?”

“He was great at, uh, you know, oral shit.”

“Gives great head?”

“Right. Fantastic. A real pro.”

“Yeah. That tongue stud of his really does a number on your cockhead, right?”

“What? Oh yeah. It does.”

Riley grabbed the neck of Mike’s hoodie and lifted. “He doesn’t have a tongue stud.”

“Yeah, I mean, he does sometimes. He takes it out.”

“Tell me the truth, Mike. How much did they pay you to lie? Tell me now, or I’ll make every day of your life hell, even if I have to follow you to the end of the fucking earth to do it.”

“Shit, Riley, they told me you’d go along.”

“Go along?”

“I mean, that it happened to you—uh, too. That’s why I agreed. They said he did it to you.”

Riley tightened his grip. “Do I look like I’m going along?”

Henderson tried to swallow, which had to be getting harder. “I’d, uh, never have done it if I knew it would piss you off, Riley.”

“How much, Mike?”

“Hell, Riley.”

“How much?” He screamed the words in Henderson’s face.

“Ten thousand. I needed it. My dad’s sick and can’t pay for college.”

“Didn’t this phony confession make you an accessory to a crime?”

Mike tried to shrug in the stretched hoodie. “You know how they are about guys and prostitution. They said I’d get off if I cooperated.”

“Have they paid you the money yet?”

“Half.”

“Who hired you?”

“Don’t know. Just a voice on the phone and money dropped in my mailbox.”

Shit.
Riley loosened his grip by half. “If I speak to the police, I expect you to come through with the real story.”

Tears filled Mike’s eyes. “They’ll take back the money, Riley. Maybe hurt me.”

“We’ll figure out something. But you are going to tell the truth when I ask you, right? Because otherwise, it’s going to be way worse for you than having to go to a cheaper college. Got it?”

“Yeah. Okay. I wouldn’t normally do something like this. You gotta believe me.”

Sadly, that’s why he had believed him. “Just be ready when I ask you to tell the truth. For now, keep going along.”

“Okay. Seriously, I only did it—”

“Don’t care, Mike. We all make mistakes, but we have to fix them if we can.”

“Okay. Yeah. I’d like that.”

Riley took a breath and adjusted the recorder under his sweatshirt.

“BLOODY FUCKING
hell!” She hurled the newspaper as far as it would sail, then picked up a coffee mug and slammed it against the granite countertop until it shattered.

“What is it now?” Hunter looked up from the idiotic adventure novel he was reading at the kitchen table.

“Look.” She gritted her teeth as she pointed at the pages lying on the floor.

He sighed. “Where?” He leaned over the newspaper.

“Am I boring you?”

“No, of course not. I just don’t know where to look.”

She stalked the few steps to the center of the room and turned one of the newspaper pages with her foot. She stepped on it, then back. “There.”

He twisted his head, then frowned. “Well, shit.”

“Yes, shit. Double shit. Shit to the hundredth power. Do you realize what this means?”

Hunter examined the headline of the full page ad, which read,
NorCal’s Own Snowden Reynaldi Leads the Pack at Anderson World Chess Tournament, Las Vegas. Get Your Tickets Now.

He pointed far down in the copy. “They mention you.”

“Thank you for sharing.” She kicked at the paper. “He’s obviously still in the tournament.”

“Yeah. They must not have cared about his terrible reputation.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Of course not, just an observation. So, you’re still in the tournament. All you have to do is beat him. That will double your triumph and your endorsements.”

She stared out the window. “Yes.” Slowly she turned to Hunter with her nails digging into her palms. “Do you, in your wormlike brain, have the slightest idea what it would take to defeat Snowden Reynaldi at chess?” She stepped toward him and he cringed back, which made her smile. “No, of course you don’t. Your intellect isn’t even on the same planet with Reynaldi. You couldn’t grasp what he can do on a chessboard if you harnessed the best thoughts you’ve ever had in your brain and rode them like Ben-Hur’s chariot. Of course I can’t defeat him, you idiot!”

“But you said you were good.”

“Yes, I’m good. Maybe even great. Reynaldi is another matter.”

The doorbell rang.

“What the hell?” She looked at Hunter. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No. Nobody.”

She looked around the kitchen, then walked to the mirror on the wall near the back door and checked her makeup.
Gorgeous.
She gathered her hair and fastened it in a knot at her neck. The grieving almost-widow. That was another source of irritation. Kingsley was still alive. Oh well, it wouldn’t be long. “Pick up the fucking newspaper, you idiot.” She strode to the front door and looked out through the peephole.
What?
Riley fucking Prince. What in the hell could he possibly want?
Look as defeated as possible.
Slowly she opened the door. “My, what a surprise. How are you, Riley?”