Wingman Score

Chapter 1

Zak Ashland

It’s far too cold to be standing outside, staring up at the swanky building. As I exhale, a puff of steam nearly encases my head. Trying to keep my teeth from chattering, I lean into Edgar and look around our small group.

Clarinda is wearing white leggings—brave of her—and a corseted top that has a Victorian styled train behind it. It’s made of denim and decorated with black lace. Black knee-high boots finish the look. It’s probably one of my favorites of hers. I love the way the corset shapes her body.

Gravity is nearly as uncovered as I am. His vest is skimpy, as it’s made with a series of ties sewn together. He wears it with a pair of pleather pants that have a strip cut out on either side and lace sewn in. He looks fucking hot.

And then Edgar is wearing this really cool black fitted button-down with rainbow splatter paint all over him. The pattern reminds me of little fairy lights. As opposed to looking like a mess, the colors are only slightly blended together but primarily stay in their own lane. Because the buttons barely reach, you’re seriously just looking at his muscles. He’s got nice muscles.

I look down at myself—my lack of muscles. There’s not enough body mass to create muscles. I’m reminded why I’m so cold when I look down, too.

Because half of my body is uncovered. My crop top is barely a top at all, the fabric just covers my nipples, and thin straps wrap over my shoulders. My pants are a play on overalls except that the front dips way down under my navel. The sides fall even lower, showcasing my narrow hips.

They’re straight legged for the rest of the way before falling to my boots. There’s a zipper in the front that drops to my crotch, so I don’t have to take the straps off to pull my dick out for a piss. But, that’s not why it’s there, I just liked the look of it. Honestly, this is one of my favorite outfits to date. Too bad I can’t wear it all the time.

“Okay,” Gravity says, rubbing his hands together and then blowing into them. “Here’s the plan. We have three checkpoints to break through before we’re in. All this freezing will be worth it because it’s going to be fucking crowded.”

I look back up at the building. It’s a newly remodeled hotel called Riot that’s designed to look modern while still giving a nod to its origins. From what I understand about it, there are fewer rooms than there are event spaces. They’ve curated this atmosphere in an attempt to draw the rich and famous.

Based on the festivities tonight, I think they succeeded.

My eyes scan back to the top of the building, where I can just barely see the dome on the roof from my position on the street corner. I’m not sure if I actually see the dome itself or if I just know it’s there because I can see the rainbow of colors shining through it as they dance into the freezing December night sky.

My friends and I are attempting to crash the biggest golden ticket event in the city on New Year’s Eve outside of being in Time’s Square, where the ball will drop. I’m hoping from the dome itself, we’ll be able to see a bit of the ball dropping. It’s only nine stories tall, so there’s a chance that the view will be entirely cut off by the surrounding buildings.

“We’ll split into two groups of two and reconvene right inside the dome to the right. Okay?” Gravity asks, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward him.

We’re going to get caught. I can feel it in my gut that we are going to get caught.

“We’re not going to get caught,” Gravity says. Maybe I spoke out loud. “Besides, if we do, we’ll just be kicked out. It’s not like they’re going to throw us in jail.”

He says that, but I’m not entirely convinced. These people are the rich and famous. They could probably have me executed on a whim if they chose! Money talks and all that.

While I don’t have two nickels to rub together. I might be able to scrounge up a couple pennies, if I try really hard.

“Come on,” Gravity says, linking our hands together and pulling me across the street. He has his sights set on a small group of people moving toward the entrance.

My heart races as we get nearer and meet up with the group just as they step up to the door. One of the girls smiles at us and offers a wave. It’s enough of a supposed familiar greeting that the attendant at the door doesn’t question us.

I release a breath of relief. I’d like to say it’s because we made it through checkpoint one, but it’s truly because we’re no longer in the frigid cold. Blessed warmth envelopes me and I nearly moan.

“I love your vest,” the girl who waved says as she touches the hem of Gravity’s vest. Gravity grins, throwing me a wide smile. “It’s amazing.”

“Thanks,” Gravity says.

I press my lips together as we follow the small group to the elevators. There are three but already there’s a small cluster of people so we’re left waiting our turn.

Gravity is still gripping my hand tightly. Probably so I don’t run. That’s less likely, now that we’re somewhere warm. You know, maybe.

We’re jostled and a big body backs into me. I trip over someone’s foot behind me and nearly fall to my ass, my hand ripped from Gravity’s. An enormous hand seems to wrap around my entire body as they pull me back to my feet before it becomes that serious.

“You okay, buddy?” he asks, his voice so deep I think I feel it in my bones. I look up. Like way up.

I think I’ve seen this man before, but fuck if I know where. I just nod.

He sets his arm around my shoulders. “Stick close, bud. I’ll be less likely to bowl you over.”

And that’s how we make it into the elevator without a question. I’m tucked into this giant’s side securely under his arm and I once again am gripping Gravity’s hand like a lifeline.

Silently, I watch the numbers climb. Seven. Eight. Nine. My heartbeat gets a little harder as we do. There’s still another obstacle to get through.

As soon as we step out, Giant lets me go. “You made it,” he says, winking at me. My throat nearly closes because all I can think is he knows we don’t belong here. “Without being trampled.” He laughs and it’s booming. I flinch and continue to stare at him with wide eyes.

“Thanks for the assist,” I say in a small voice.

“The assist,” he says, laughing again and slapping my shoulder. I don’t think he means it with force, but I end up getting pushed forward a couple steps. “Nice play, bud. See you inside.”

He leaves and there’s a quiet part of me that wants to chase after him and ask him to get us through the last door. But as it turns out, the attendant there asks for the person in front of us to produce their invite but bypasses us entirely with a single nod and a smile.

“He saw us chumming it up with Elroy,” Gravity says close to my ear.

“Elroy?” I ask.

He sighs in exasperation. “The man who helped us through the elevator?”

“Giant?”

Gravity laughs. “Yes. That’s Elroy Lester. Fucking star center for Chicago. He’s broken so many records this year!”

I try to guess what we’re talking about. Sports, obviously. But which teams have centers? Don’t they all? Gravity rolls his eyes and deadpans, “Basketball, Zak. Fuck.”

Giving him a sheepish smile, I turn my attention to the party we managed to get into. There are bodies everywhere. Dressed to kill. Elegant and rich and obviously elite. It makes me self-conscious, and I look down at my outfit again.

I don’t blend in. What was I thinking with this?! Not that I can change that now.

“Made it,” Clarinda says, latching onto my forearm. “Let’s get lost in the crowd before someone realizes their mistake.”

“We’re likely not the only uninvited guests here,” Edgar counters.

I stick with them as they talk and make our first stop at the open bar. I’m not surprised. My friends don’t drink often but when we’re celebrating something, we’ll have a few. I’m handed something that’s a rainbow of colors. Red on the bottom, orange in the middle, and green on the top. Curiosity makes me take a sip and I close my eyes with a hum. That’s good!

My friends jostle me through the crowd and we find a couch where we can watch from the outside as people continue to come into the party. I’m sipping my drink leisurely, watching as they point out different celebrities, rich people, internet stars, sports guys, and whoever else.

The name that makes me sit up is Prince Henrik. Okay, not the name itself. I mean, it’s kind of familiar in the way that the world can’t just let royalty live their lives. Especially since the US doesn’t have royalty, we spend an awful amount of time obsessing over them.

“Look,” Gravity says, pointing discreetly. I follow his direction until I find someone who looks like a fucking prince. Except, he’s not the one wearing the crown. Is it a real crown? Or just one like so many other people are wearing tonight? There are crowns, tiaras, and hats in abundance. Tacky, if you ask me.

“Who is Prince Henrik again?” I ask, taking a sip of my drink.

The only reason I don’t get another eye roll is because there are literal stars in their eyes as they stare.

“Prince Henrik of Mrandek,” Gravity says, discreetly taking out his phone to try to sneak a picture. “Don’t you remember? He’s the prince in line for the throne who was always in the news for international scandals and shit. One day he disappeared and when he resurfaced, it was with a peasant fiancé—tabloid words, not mine. His parents were pissed.”

“Huh,” I say, watching them as they get lost in the crowd. I think we’re all too busy trying to catch a glimpse of actual royalty when a woman stops in front of us.

“I’m sorry, but I need to see this outfit,” she says, looking at Clarinda.

Clarinda grins and gets to her feet, doing a little spin and pose.

“Wow,” the woman says. “Where did you get it?”

“One of a kind, custom made, from Zak’s Closet,” Clarinda says.

I grimace, waiting for her to implicate me as the designer. Thankfully, she doesn’t. She does, however, pose for the woman to take pictures and then they take selfies together.

Gravity leans in and mutters, “If you’d let her tell the world, you’d be rolling in money, Zaky.”

Rolling my eyes, I turn my attention away. I appreciate they think so, but the truth is, the elite would take one look at me and realize that I deal in rags. There’s no degree. No schooling. Not even a business. Just a hobby that I don’t get to enjoy most of the time.

Edgar grabs my hand and hauls me to my feet. “I just saw Quenton. Come on, we’re dancing.”

“Who?” I ask as I stumble after him. My drink disappears from my hand, for which I’m grateful, otherwise it might have ended up all over me.

“Oh, Zak. He’s the son of the guy who owns ReachMe, ShareIt, and some other media shit. The high and elite rich guys, you know? There was a huge thing when he made headlines for dating a stripper,” he says.

His voice nearly gets lost in the music now that we’re closer to the crowds.

“Don’t you remember? It was like… three years ago, maybe?” Edgar says. That’s the last thing I hear now that we’re between bodies.

I don’t know where to look and lose Edgar almost immediately. Even as I spin around, trying to catch him, I’m alone in a sea of strangers.

Taking a breath, I push down the panic and begin dancing. It’s not long before people join me. Gravity always says that as long as we act like we belong there, no one will question otherwise. Dancing in the middle of a dance party? That says I belong.

When people crowd around and dance with me, I begin to relax. A woman spins me and then leans in to yell that she loves my outfit. With the second compliment, I find myself bold enough to compliment someone on their top and, just like that, we’re instant friends. She takes our picture together.

Someone hands me a glass and we drink down the bubbly before placing them on a tray passing by. I’m laughing and enjoying myself. I can admit when my friends first told me about their plan last month, I wanted nothing to do with it. But they bribed me by acquiring any old clothes and fabric I wanted, and asked me to design their outfits. It was a dangling carrot I could not pass up. Besides, it gave me a valid reason to stay with Gravity for the month without feeling like a charity case.

People in the group I’m dancing with come and go. Gravity catches up at one point and then gets shuffled away after he yells something about the prince. When the crowd shifts and surges, I’m caught up in it and nearly lose my feet again.

I’m not the most balanced person in the world. I think my center of gravity must be off or I have weak core muscles. But I’ve never nearly fallen on my ass twice in one night until now.

Once again, I’m rescued by strong hands. Those hands pull me against a chest. I look up to thank my rescuer and my tongue suddenly lodges in my throat, cutting off my ability to take a breath as I stare into the most hypnotic blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

And then he smiles and I nearly come undone entirely.

The man is… holy fuck, I may pass out. Have I ever seen someone so divine? He’s a god, isn’t he? There are peasants like me, royalty like the prince, and this god with the bluest blue eyes to ever be blue.

His lips quirk up as he stares at me, keeping me pressed against him like I’m not staring rudely. He’s blond and beautiful. Messy facial hair. Here with a devil may care attitude in a gray v-neck tee and jeans. Muscles everywhere. Did I say muscles?

I want to lick him. Yep, that’s what I want.