Chapter 28 #2
August’s cheeks exploded with colour, mouth opening and closing several times before twisting into a frown. “You can’t shame me for telling the truth. I fucking meant it.”
The momentous effort it took not to physically react to August’s bold statement nearly broke Quinn’s psyche, but he somehow pulled it off.
“Don’t take me too seriously,” August said, timidly curling a finger around Quinn’s, like he was scared he would get chastised for his words. “What we are is good enough. I think I’ve made up my mind about what I want, but we’re not going to talk about that right now because it’s not time yet.”
Yet.
Not now, but soon.
“I’m starving,” said Quinn. “Are any of these guys good at cooking?”
August gave him an easy grin, and the tension that had been building before settled into bearable levels. “I heard Harrison and Arlo can cook, and anything Niko makes is always delicious, but if Jett is in the kitchen, we’re doomed.”
Quinn tightened his fingers around August’s before he forced himself to let go. He didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression by walking in like he was August’s boyfriend, and he was quietly relieved when August didn’t protest as they entered the main room separately.
Quinn’s gaze landed on Niko first, who was sitting on the large section that was big enough to fit an army of puckheads. Beside him was a curly redheaded man who Quinn recognized as the Bigfoot’s goalie, Haas—or Sauce as Eren called him.
He did his best to put faces to names that he had heard over the past few months, but he seriously didn’t know any of them. Quinn could never keep hockey information straight because the players were referred to by several different names, and sometimes only their jersey numbers.
Quinn was a nerd and an artist; his brain wasn’t equipped to memorize stats and facts about five hundred different men, who he rarely saw with their helmets off.
“Quinn, over here,” said Niko, raising a hand in greeting. “Max is normal—come sit beside him.”
Quinn looked at the freckled brunette sitting on Niko’s other side, who was wearing Naruto pyjama pants and had the cutest bedhead going on. The younger man appeared half-asleep, but he perked up when Quinn approached and waved excitedly.
“Everyone says you’re an artist,” said Max.
Quinn didn’t have time to sit before Max began digging into the bag at his feet and pulled out a sketchbook.
“I want to be a comic artist, but I need opinions. Think you can lend me your eyes?” Max asked, wiggling closer to Quinn and blinking at him with bright green eyes.
Quinn was distracted by their colour, which were the same green as his, but lacking the yellow halo of Quinn’s heterochromic eyes. Green eyes were supposed to be rare, but there were three people sitting on the sectional who had them, with Niko being the third.
“I paint more than I draw,” said Quinn. “But I never turn down a chance to look at another artist’s work.
He opened the sketchbook and browsed the pages, surprised by the talent he saw in the simple lines and popping colours. Max was not an amateur, and Quinn had read enough comic books to safely say the kid would have no trouble breaking into the industry.
“I know they’re good,” Max whispered. “Niko and I called you over so you wouldn’t get eaten by the sharks.”
Quinn looked up from the sketchbook, noting how many people were glancing at him while they carried on conversations.
“Fucking sharks,” Max concluded. “This sectional is the island of sanity. Only the smart ones are allowed to sit.”
Quinn chuckled and met Niko’s eyes over Max’s head, smiling at how unimpressed the grumpy hockey player appeared.
“Would you mind naming a few of the sharks?” Quinn asked Max. “Hockey players are—”
“Gross, I know,” said Max.
That’s not what Quinn was going to say, but he would take it.
“The blond idiot with the same green eyes as me is my older brother, Ryan Bracken, who’s the captain of the Toronto Sunbursts.”
Quinn took out his phone and jotted down the information because there was no way he was letting this opportunity pass him by.
“And who’s his boyfriend?” Quinn asked, mentally taking a picture of how cute the couple were as they sat snuggled together. Ryan was curled around the shorter blond, shooting glances at Quinn and laughing as he whispered into his boyfriend’s ear.
Niko made a strangled sound, and Max sighed in exasperation.
“They’re not boyfriends, they’re just idiots,” said Max. The dumber-looking blond is Jason Powers, the Sunburst’s goalie and Ryan’s best friend.”
Quinn knew he was being rude by staring at them, but it was hard to look away after Max’s jaw-dropping reveal. He didn’t know how they weren’t boyfriends. Ryan was holding Jason tightly in his arms, his lips coming close enough to graze Jason’s ear as he spoke into it.
Max wasn’t speaking quietly enough for Ryan and Jason to miss what he was saying, but they waved at Quinn with big smiles, unfazed by the scrutiny they were under.
“We’re straight,” Ryan said, like confirming it would somehow make things less suspicious.
Quinn was all for men who were secure in their sexuality, but those two were crossing every wire he had.
“Told you,” August said as he dropped onto the couch beside Quinn and handed him a plate of creamy chicken alfredo. “Fucking weird, right?”
Ryan flipped him off, and Jason stuck out his tongue, and even that seemed a little too in sync for Quinn to shake the mental assumptions he was making.
Max took advantage of his stunned silence to tell Quinn about the other guys in the room while he ate.
Arlo Killinger, alternate captain of the Montreal Basiliques and Harrison Killinger’s brother.
Harrison Killinger, who was an assistant coach for the Toronto Sunbursts and Jett’s husband.
Quinn recognized Su-jin Park, alternate captain of the Ottawa Conclaves because of his light pink hair.
And Detlef Wolf, who was a defenceman on the Sunburst team—straight, but also might be bicurious because he had his dick sucked by Arlo once.
Quinn hadn’t needed to know that, and judging by the scowl on Harrison Killinger’s gorgeous face, he wasn’t happy to hear it either.
“I couldn’t imagine sucking dick on a dirty bathroom floor,” said Haas, the curly, red-haired goalie sitting beside Niko.
The guy was covered in a startling number of freckles, and he had a unicorn sticker stuck to his cheek, leaving Quinn with many questions that would likely go unanswered.
“I’m as ace as it gets, so my comment is irrelevant anyway.
But keep talking about all the hidden relationships because I’m new and I don’t have all the tea yet. ”
Niko ruffled Nollan’s red curls. “Why, so you can write us into one of your songs? Hard pass.”
“Goalies are fucking weird,” several of the guys muttered as Nollan and Niko started bickering and smacking each other like they were kids.
“Sauce got an invite to the All-Star game because he’s an odd duck, even for a goalie,” said August over the commotion. “They keep micing him up during games, and the social media team has been posting his insanity all over the internet, and now everyone loves him.”
Harrison huffed and rubbed his face. “And he’s a damn good goalie. He’s top five now, you ignoramus.”
“And he’s hot,” said Jinn between bites of his pizza. “Feel free to cuddle with me in bed tonight, Sauce. I’ll keep you warm.”
The battle between Niko and Nollan stopped, and Quinn could sense something more than irritation brewing behind Niko’s dark eyes.
“And,” said Niko, pausing for emphasis. “Sauce is ace, Park. Keep your hands off my fucking goalie.”
Jett picked the worst possible time to swallow his pasta, and some of it came out of his nose when he inhaled too quickly. Everyone groaned in collective horror. Quinn had tears in his eyes from laughing, but he still got up to help Jett pull the noodles free and fetch paper towel from the kitchen.
“Dude—” Jett stopped to cough, and Harrison smacked him on the back to keep him breathing. “You are the nicest person ever. I’m sorry for being gross.”
Okay, now Quinn understood why Jett was called the NHL’s golden boy. He truly was a sweetheart behind the fuck boy exterior.
“No need to apologize,” said Quinn. He ruffled Jett’s curls before returning to his spot beside August. “Everyone panicked, and I handled it.”
He didn’t want to point out that he had been dealing with August’s nosebleeds, which were arguably worse than pasta, but maybe it was just him.
“I can’t believe Gusty got a man before me,” said Jin, interrupting Jett before he could speak. “He’s so broody and serious all the time.”
Jett smacked the Korean man on the arm. “They’re not together yet! Gusty still needs to man up and make his move. Let him cook.”
“Cook what?” said Wolf. “He will brew love potion or something? Is this how Canadians do things?”
Max buried his face into his sketchbook to laugh, and Bash pulled off his cap to do the same.
“I’m sorry about Jett and Jin,” said Harrison, who was turning red the more his husband continued to talk about cooking and English slang. “They have no filter, and one shared brain cell that sometimes gets lost in transportation.”
“I don’t mind,” said Quinn, and he didn’t. He was having fun, and no one was being serious enough to make things awkward. He could handle light teasing as long as August got the brunt of it.
Which was exactly what happened because despite the group being August’s friends, they were more respectful toward Quinn, but held nothing back when the attention turned on August.
Were they loud? Yes.
Did they talk about hockey a lot? Yes.
Did Quinn adore them? Also, yes.
He was in such a good mood by the time they had to leave—or risk staying up all night and messing with several hockey routines—that Quinn didn’t realize he had followed August to his hotel room until he collapsed onto the bed.
The moment of clarity struck when August groaned beside him and sat up to turn off the lamp, sending the room into darkness.
“Fuck, what a day,” August mumbled, sounding like he was already asleep. “Wanna get breakfast tomorrow?”
But Quinn didn’t have time to answer because August drifted off, his quiet snores filling the empty silence.
How he could sleep through the pounding of Quinn’s heart was unbelievable. Quinn was fairly convinced Eren could hear it from the top-floor suite, given how damn loud it was. Because holy shit—he was in bed with August Snow.
And they weren’t having sex.
They weren’t even cuddling; August had made a point of leaving a few inches of space between them, like it would keep things uncomplicated. Like distance could somehow prevent their inevitable fall into stupidity together.
But still…they were in the same bed. Breathing the same warm air. Sharing the same quiet.
Quinn stared at the ceiling, wide-awake and drowning in the realization he’d been avoiding for weeks.
He shouldn’t be there. He should’ve gone back to his room.
He should’ve made up some excuse, but August had looked at him with a tired, soft expression on the drive back, and Quinn had folded instantly.
Because he was weak where August was concerned. Because every touch, every laugh, every goddamn look had been chipping away at his resolve until there was nothing left but an aching want he couldn’t ignore anymore.
He turned his head, even though he shouldn’t, and watched August sleep. Calm, oblivious, and completely unaware of the emotional disaster lying six inches away from him.
Quinn’s chest tightened so hard it hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a hand over his racing heart as if he could smother the panic, but he was already in too deep.
And lying there beside August, he knew with terrifying clarity that the one rule they had set was about to be broken, not by August, but by him.
And the truth of his failure wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, keeping him frozen beside August until morning light crept into the room.