Chapter 13
Quinn
Quinn gave it a week before he went to another hockey game. A week was how long he needed to take a step back and really decide if revenge was the right thing to do in this situation, and all answers seemed to point toward yes, no matter how hard he tried to deny it.
But he had set rules for himself because he wasn’t a terrible person.
Firstly, August had to approach him on his own because Quinn wasn’t about to pursue a guy if he had moved on from the past. That sounded far too desperate.
Secondly, if August wanted to hook up in any capacity, Quinn would ensure that it stayed a friends-with-benefits scenario. The point was to tease August’s interest enough so that it stung when Quinn put a stop to it, but it wouldn’t break his heart.
Third, and most importantly, Quinn was, under no circumstances, allowed to fall in love with August again.
If he stuck to those three rules, it wouldn’t come close to the betrayal that Quinn had suffered, but it would give August a taste.
It wasn’t like he was going to leave him at the altar on their wedding day.
He wasn’t even going to date him. From Quinn’s perspective, this would be an enemy-with-benefits arrangement and nothing more.
And it all depended on August, as per rule one.
To make things fair, when Quinn went to the next home game, he invited Bea and bought two tickets in the stands, away from the Bigfoot’s bench, so August wouldn’t see him.
The people around him were loud, and Quinn had to cover his ears when there was a goal to keep from going deaf, but he was enjoying Bea’s company.
“Number eight is on fire tonight!” Bea shouted, her voice lost in the hollering and blaring horns. “He’s one away from a hat trick!”
Number eight was…
Quinn searched the numbers on the backs of the players, brows lifting when they landed on the name Snow.
That was surprising because Eren had been grumbling about his star player all week, asking Quinn probing questions about what happened during the charity ball, like he could use the information to solve a problem.
“Logan said the guys are worried Snow may be traded if he didn’t step his game up,” Bea said after the screaming had died down enough to hear each other. “I don’t think it will happen, but they’ll do anything to pressure their players if they think it will help.”
That fitted with August’s personality. In high school, he had been the same way; one critique, and he would be sure to prove that person wrong.
Bea elbowed him. “You’re making a face.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Quinn.
She leaned into his space, coming so close that her nose was practically poking his cheek. “Give me the tea. You said you knew him when you were kids.”
The whole point of not sitting in the box where it was quieter was to avoid talking about the tea, but he hadn’t accounted for Bea’s stubborn streak.
“We crossed paths. Our parents were familiar with each other, and we went to the same school.”
“That’s it?”
Quinn became a wall of steel. “That’s it.”
He was staring intensely at the ice, like he was captivated by whatever the fuck was happening down there, but he could tell that Bea wasn’t convinced. She sighed and flicked her hair to be dramatic, and then slumped in her seat.
“Fine, keep your secrets. You’ll tell me eventually.”
Not likely.
The people around them began rallying their voices in anticipation of something that Quinn couldn’t see, and Bea joined them, slowly rising to her feet.
When the crowd erupted into a frenzy, Quinn jumped up so he could see what the fuck just happened, only for a barrage of hats to go sailing over his head and land on the ice.
“Hat trick!” Bea screamed, grabbing Quinn’s shoulders and jumping up and down. “First for the team this season!”
The Jumbotron showed a zoomed-in image of August with his helmet off, skating toward the bench. It was truly impressive how big he was compared to the other players on the ice, and even more impressive was how nonchalant he was after doing whatever a hat trick was.
The announcers were still talking as people came out to collect the hats off the rink, reviewing August’s stats while keeping the camera on him.
He wasn’t doing anything interesting, just drinking his water and brushing his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, but the Bigfoot fans were going feral.
“He’s using green tape again,” Bea said, like that wasn’t the most random remark she could have made.
Quinn could see the green tape on the end of his stick, but he wasn’t sure what it meant. August abruptly disappeared behind a player that he was fifty percent sure didn’t belong to their team, and the crowd began to clamour again.
What the fuck was happening?
“That’s Jett Fraser!” Bea said, as if that explained everything.
Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve the pain in his head. He needed to learn more about this sport if he was going to keep watching it.