His Secret Santa: A Phoenix Club novella

Chapter 14

Holden slowly opened the VIP room door, his guts a writhing bundle of nerves. In the back of his mind, a small voice insisted he was wrong about the stripper—he had to be—that the idea of him and Lincoln being the same was just too... surreal. He had to have misread the signs and evidence somewhere along the line.

As he quietly closed the door behind him, Holden seriously considered he may be wrong... and couldn't decide if that was good or bad. If the stripper was Lincoln, then that meant Lincoln was, indeed, gay and very into him... but it would also mean Lincoln definitely wasn't ready to be out and would therefore continue to ignore or even be mean to Holden outside the club.

If the stripper wasn't Lincoln... then nothing with the quarterback had changed. He wasn't gay. He had no interest in Holden. His indifference wasn't an act to hide his true feelings.

Rationally, Holden knew he should hope for the second option. But his heart stubbornly clung to the first, despite all the drama and hurt that came with it.

He stood at the door, hands behind him, grasping the knob, as he stared at the stripper's back. The young man scrolled through his phone. He wore the same costume as before, along with the red leather mask. Had the mask simply been for effect... or to hide his identity?

If it was Lincoln standing before him now, then he knew the answer.

Holden didn't speak. Couldn't speak. His throat had closed so tightly he could hardly breathe, much less squeeze out a syllable. His gaze roamed helplessly down the stripper's back and came to rest on his ass, barely contained in the tight, shimmering red shorts. These were new. Last time, he'd worn skin-tight red leather pants that laced up the back of his legs.

A tremor rippled through Holden as the memory of that night flooded over him, submerging him in erotic sensations. Had it really been Lincoln's mouth on him, sucking him with such desire and enthusiasm? Lincoln's body beneath Holden's touch? He remembered too vividly how the man's ass had felt in his hands as he rode Holden's lap. And his kisses and caresses and whispers.

It isn't Lincoln, Holden thought with a sudden lump in his tight throat. His eyes stung. Lincoln would never want me that much... even if he was gay. It's just a random stripper who took a liking to you... nothing more.

The stripper stopped scrolling and went still, abruptly aware of Holden's presence. He didn't turn around. Holden was glad and he took the moment to blink back the tears blurring his vision. He should be thankful it wasn't Lincoln. Too many questions and uncertainties were attached to the situation otherwise.

Is that what you want—for things to be simple and uncomplicated? No questions or mystery?

It should be an easy yes. But Holden stumbled over the answer. He'd gone four years believing it would take a solid gold miracle for Lincoln to ever notice him—or become interested in him. What if this was that miracle... as messy and convoluted as it was?

It isn't. Just get this over with and get out of here.

Holden's throat worked as he wrestled with his words. "I-I'm here," he whispered, the words forcing out with a gravelly texture.

The stripper took a slow, deep breather and exhaled softly. "Make yourself comfortable," he murmured. Holden strained to detect a familiarity in his voice, but he spoke too low to know if it was there.

Holden walked over to a large plush chair with a wide back and no arms. He sat on the edge of the cushion, unable to relax. The stripper docked his phone in a speaker and turned on some music, then he faced Holden.