“Brad, you need to start thinking about changing into your uniform,” Coach said, coming back from the register, change in hand.
Brad Williams, retired defensive lineman and now owner of The Other Team—a gay sports bar in Milwaukee—looked around the room. Where the fuck was Nick?
“Brad?” Coach said again, setting several bottles of beer on a tray.
“In a minute.” Brad bent and refilled the freezer with mugs.
The bachelor auction was to raise money for a new gay community center. The bar had been asked to take part in a number of events, that evening’s being the biggest. There’d been a lot of buzz about the auction in the Pink Post, the local gay newspaper. As a result, the bar was packed with eager and thirsty customers. Brad was glad he’d called all his bar staff in to work.
Brad had initially refused to offer himself up for auction. He wasn’t a bachelor after all. Sean Wilson, coach of the Vipers, their local independent league baseball team and second in command behind the bar, had told Brad he’d be the biggest draw and without his presence the event would be a flop. Brad wasn’t so sure about that. But the next morning at home when he’d mentioned the event to Nick Dailey, his boyfriend of over two years, Nick had told him he had to do it.
In a rare moment of uncertainty, Brad asked, “You’ll bid on me, right?”
Nick smirked. “Depends.”
“On what?” Brad’s dick began to thicken, images of some of their more…inventive sex games filling his mind.
“On what other beefcake is on the menu.”
Brad flexed his biceps and treated Nick to his scariest glare. Nick laughed.
Nick caressed Brad’s cheek before kissing him on the lips. “Of course I’ll bid on you.”
Brad smiled, internally flushing with relief. But, thanks to his milk chocolate skin, he was confident his earlier unease hadn’t shown.
“Now whether I win you…that’s a whole other ballgame. Do you think you’ll go for more than say…seven twenty-five?”
“Seven twenty-five?”
It looked like Nick was trying to stifle a grin. “That’s the hourly minimum wage in Wisconsin.”
“Fuck that.” Brad wouldn’t take part in the stupid auction if Nick wasn’t going to take it seriously.
Nick began kissing the tattoo of the three interlocked B’s on Brad’s right biceps. “You’ll be the biggest, beautifulest, baddest, bodaciousest Brad there.”
Brad smiled and shook his head. “I’ll be the only Brad there. And, like I keep telling you, I ain’t beautiful.” His nickname during his playing career had been Triple B—Big Bad Brad. Hence the tattoos. After he met Nick and cut out the badass shit, he’d been renamed Big Bodacious Brad. But Nick always insisted on his own version of Triple B.
“And as I keep telling you, you’re beautiful to me. And I bet to a lot of the bidders, too.” Nick held up a hand to stall Brad’s next comment. “But I’m the one who thinks you’re the most beautiful Brad on the planet.”
That had resulted in a mega-make out session, both men coming twice, and Nick a third time when Brad promised he’d wear his old football uniform—complete with shoulder pads and helmet—for the auction.
Just in case anything went wrong and Nick carried out his threat to bid on other bachelors, Brad had made sure he would be up first. This had annoyed Coach as well as the organizer from the Pink Post. But Brad had remained resolute.
* * * *
“Hey, man, can I get another?” a patron called out, waving his empty bottle.
Brad snapped back to the present, nodded at the guy, and popped the cap on a Bud Light.
After setting the bottle on a napkin, Brad noticed the bowls of nuts were running low. He did a quick check and found there were no more bags behind the bar.
“Hey, Coach, just going in back for more nuts. You need anything?”
Coach, who was serving a customer at the other end of the bar, shook his head then immediately seemed to change his mind. “I’ll get ‘em. You finish serving Billy here then go get changed.”
That didn’t make sense, Brad was closest to the door to the store room and he wasn’t currently serving anyone. But before he could say anything, Coach had passed Brad and was heading through the door of the store room, closing it behind him.
“Where’d Coach go?” the customer asked when Brad asked for his order.
Brad shrugged. Coach had been acting weird all evening.
“Must be his time of the month,” the man said after telling Brad to put the beer on his tab
Brad shrugged. “Who knows?”
In his early forties, Coach still looked after his body and was in great shape. Brad had tried to persuade Coach to put himself up for auction but the man had merely shaken his head and muttered something about maybe he’d have considered it ten years ago.
