Chapter 28
Quinn
August reappeared after a worrisome five minutes, and they picked up their date where they had left off. Quinn made good on his promise to talk about every piece they came across, but to August’s credit, he seemed far more interested in the artwork than Quinn had been about hockey.
They wandered slowly, August stopping them every time Quinn went into an explanation, not moving from where they were standing or sitting until the topic was exhausted and it was time to carry on.
Even his first trip to the gallery with Esme hadn’t been as fun as the two hours he spent talking to August while they explored. It had nothing to do with the added touch of holding hands, but rather, August’s genuine interest in whatever Quinn was saying.
The man hadn’t been lying when he said he liked listening to him talk. Quinn knew August couldn’t grasp ninety percent of what he was telling him, but his wonder-filled expression was adorable, and Quinn found that he couldn’t look away from him.
They were rounding the corner on their way to the exit when August checked his phone and cursed, his voice echoing loudly through the quiet halls.
“What?” Quinn asked, touching his hand to August’s arm. “Who’s hurt?”
He knew there was nothing to be worried about when August scowled and shoved his phone angrily into his pocket. “It’s nothing. These people just don’t know how to leave me alone.”
These people?
“You better not be talking about Niko,” said Quinn. “That boy is a sweetheart, and I won’t stand by and let you shit-talk him.”
August started blinking rapidly, so Quinn gave him a few seconds to process and turned his attention to the art lining the walls instead.
“I wasn’t talking about Niko,” said August. “I told Jett hours ago that I wouldn’t be joining them for supper because I was taking you out, but he keeps fucking texting me with sad emojis because he’s a brat, and it’s getting obnoxious.”
Quinn frowned and shifted his gaze back to August’s face so he could meet his eyes. “We’re done with our date, aren’t we? I wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to visit with your friends. I know you guys don’t get to see each other a lot when you’re on different teams, so it’s okay if you leave.”
Quinn would have thought he’d stabbed August in the heart, judging by the reaction he received.
“What? No!” August stuck out his bottom lip, looking hurt. “I want to eat dinner with you, not those idiots. I booked us a table at a restaurant I like, and I wanted to hear you talk about art more.”
If Quinn had to talk for another two hours, he was going to walk away from this date with a hoarse voice for all the wrong reasons.
But because he was maybe thinking of testing the waters with August, Quinn was willing to bypass his need to overthink everything and be spontaneous for once.
“Do they…know about me?”
August’s sulking abruptly stopped, and he frowned. “They do, but not in a personal way. I don’t share anything with them because I don’t want to talk about us without your permission. Except—Jett and Harrison know more because I needed advice, and they were the only ones who could give it.”
Quinn didn’t care about that. If anything, it confirmed that August was serious about them in some capacity.
And while he wasn’t ready to have that soul-searching conversation with himself tonight, he could handle a small group of nosy hockey bros for a few hours if there was free food being offered.
“Cool,” said Quinn. “You can hang out with your boys, and I’ll gossip with their wives. Win, win.”
August snorted loudly and said, “I’ll let Jett know that you expect long talks over champagne.”
Quinn was sure there was a joke he was missing, but he had to wait until August finished texting his friend to get an answer. His look of confusion made August laugh and wrap an arm around his waist, resuming their journey to the gallery exit.
“None of my friends in this group have wives,” August explained. “Jett is married to Harrison, and although I wouldn’t be surprised if they were into domestic roleplaying, Jett isn’t much of a gossip.”
“Oh.” Quinn knew where he recognized the name now, but it wasn’t like he knew anything about hockey players and their sexual orientations. “So, your friends are all gay?”
He expected August to be uncomfortable when faced with a question that would have made him squirm ten years ago, but he really had matured because his only response was a playful laugh.
Not cutting or arrogant—playful.
“Sébastien Blanchard and I are bi, and Nollan Haas is there, so not everyone will be gay,” said August. “And before it comes up in conversation, we don’t know what Jason and Ryan are.
I’m not going to point them out or explain because I don’t want to influence your opinion, but you’ll see for yourself. ”
Quinn was thrown by how easily August talked about his sexuality, so much so that he didn’t trust himself to say anything until they’d grabbed their coats and stepped into the cold to wait for a cab.
Apparently, there was an entire group of gay players who spent time together, and if Quinn had known that, he would have tried a hell of a lot harder to memorize their names.
“Do you still want to go?” August asked after they got into the cab, leaning close to get Quinn’s attention. “I can tell Jett to fuck off, and we can return to my hotel room and order take-out instead?”
“No way,” said Quinn. “Being in a room filled with sexy, gay hockey players might actually make me change my mind about the sport. Don’t pass up this opportunity, August—this is your chance.”
August tossed his head back to laugh, and Quinn glared at the cab driver when he shot them a scared look in the review mirror. After hearing how much August disliked seeing people fearful of him, Quinn was feeling a tad overprotective.
Luckily for him and the driver, the guy kept his eyes on the road from that point on, and August was none the wiser about the silent exchange.
They were dropped off at a building that stood on the waterfront of Toronto’s great lake, and were helped inside by staff members who showed them to the elevators and sent them on their way with a smile.
Quinn didn’t know what he was expecting a room full of gay, sexy hockey players to look like, but he was unprepared to be greeted by a bare chest, a six-pack of abs, and a backwards cap belonging to a hot brunette who was almost the same height as him.
“Blanchard,” August greeted, speaking the name through clenched teeth. “Are you fucking allergic to clothes?”
“Who the fuck cares about clothes?” Blanchard was paying no attention to August. His eyes remained firmly locked onto Quinn, and Quinn could almost smell the sex pheromones oozing out of his skin.
“Tabarnak, Gusty. I wanted to meet you at the door first so I could see what kind of guy it took to turn your head, but I get it.”
Quinn hadn’t caught onto the Québécois accent until he heard the curse, but the man was very good at hiding it when he switched back to English.
“Bash—what the fuck? Why are you still not wearing a shirt?”
Arms wrapped around Sébastien Blanchard’s ample chest, and Quinn caught the glint of a wedding ring on the newcomer’s finger before the Frenchman was removed from their path and replaced by a handsome young man.
And this had to be Jett because August’s comments about the guy looking like a golden poodle hadn’t been wrong. Everything about Jett was golden, and Quinn was a little awestruck by how pretty he was.
Apparently, Jett had similar feelings about Quinn, because his bright hazel eyes widened and he shot August a look of pure disbelief.
“No fucking way,” said Jett. “How the fuck did you land someone like him? I know you told me Quinn was beautiful, but you didn’t say he could compete with Jin.”
August huffed. “I didn’t realize Jin was pretty. And also—fuck you. What do you mean, how did I land him? Are you saying I’m out of Quinn’s league?”
“Dude.” Jett shook his head, tossing his curls in every direction. “What did I tell you about asking questions that you won’t like the answers to? Sure, you’re hot, but it’s hard to overlook the Abominable Snowman vibes you give off.”
Quinn attempted to hide his laugh behind a cough, but he knew it hadn’t worked when Jett’s mouth slid into a smile.
“Whatever,” said August. “Can you let us take off our shoes and make Bash put on a damn shirt before you start in with the name puns?”
“I’m fine with shirts being off,” said Quinn, grinning to match Jett’s giddy amusement. “Or tarps off—however you say it. I’m good with anything, so don’t listen to August.”
Jett’s gaze flicked to August, and Quinn had a feeling he would get along with Harrison’s wife just fine.
“August is worried because he knows he can’t compete with half of the guys here,” said Jett.
Quinn folded his arms and peered up at August’s scowling face. “I guess he’ll have to take his shirt off and flex a little to keep my attention on him.”
August’s brows pinched together, and Quinn blew him a kiss in return.
“Ohmygod, I love him,” Jett said to August. “If you fuck this up, Snow, I will never forgive you.”
August growled, and Quinn had no idea what he had said, but he wasn’t expecting the sound to do things for him.
“Would you—”
Jett turned on his heel with a laugh and bolted into the main section of the penthouse before he could get cursed at, leaving Quinn alone with August.
Talking and more laughter came from where Quinn guessed the living room was located, and it sounded as if there were a lot more people there than a smaller group like he was expecting.
August was ignoring the commotion and removing his shoes, making himself at home as he hung his jacket in the closet and gestured for Quinn to hand his over.
Quinn did as he wanted, waiting for August to finish and turn his attention back to him before he addressed the awkwardness between them.
“So, you told Jett I was beautiful?”