Chapter 14 Andrew #3
“My mistake,” Andrew says, relieved to note from Nicki’s relaxed body language that he doesn’t actually seem bothered by the question. “Let me rephrase, are you ready for tonight?”
“I’m always ready,” Nicki replies in the world’s cockiest tone.
“That confidence or bravado?”
“Guess you’ll find out tonight.” Nicki turns to smirk at Andrew, his fingers fluttering against the base of his skull. “And princess, one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Tonight, the only player you’ll be cheering for is me.”
“Cocky bastard,” Andrew laughs, something in his chest lightening.
Standing in the kitchen with Nicki, sharing breakfast and teasing, the soothing feel of Nicki’s buzzcut beneath his fingers as he freely stims, all he can think is how sad he’s going to be when this all ends.
* * *
“Andrew, you made it.” Mark claps Andrew on the shoulder.
Behind him stands Ruben, Steve and Santiago, who offer him cordial smiles.
Despite working in the same office, the only person Andrew has really gotten to know is Mark, and that’s only because Mark isn’t very good at boundaries and often traipsed over Andrew’s.
Maybe not the worst thing in the world since he’s not always great at making friends, as evidenced by the awkwardness in the air.
“I did say I would be here.” Andrew smooths down the front of his polo, suddenly wishing he’d brought one of his fidgets.
He got into his head about being judged, which is stupid but had him leaving them in the car.
He regrets that choice, desperately wanting something to do with his hands right now.
All around them, people are milling about, excitement filling the air and the noise barely tolerable outside.
He can only imagine the noise and crowds inside.
Some days, Andrew can self-accommodate, and other days when he’s overly anxious, he manages to shame himself into not needing the things he knows he needs.
“We can never be sure with you.”
“What do you mean?” Andrew frowns.
“You know how you’re always slipping away at lunch or after meetings,” Steve pipes up. “We know you don’t really like hanging out.”
“That’s not true,” Andrew says. “I just—”
“Andrew’s just a little antisocial,” Mark finishes with a laugh. Ruben and Santiago join in, and while Andrew tries to smile with them, it feels like more of a grimace. He’s not antisocial, he’s just—exhausted most days and particular about who he spends his time with.
He tries to figure out how to explain that without having to lay all of his cards on the table.
He’s not embarrassed or ashamed of being autistic, but he also doesn’t make it a point to tell every single person who knows him, particularly not at work.
He is perfectly aware of the internalized ableism built into the society he lives in, especially the capitalist driven work one.
Beyond that, he just doesn’t like people knowing things about him.
Being perceived by people he doesn’t trust makes Andrew deeply uncomfortable to the point it causes physical pain.
Unfortunately, he’s no closer to figuring out how to point out he is not anti-social when the guys announce they’re ready to head to the line.
Shoving his hands in his pocket, he stands as tall as possible, trying to follow along with the flow of conversation but feeling two steps behind. Somehow, he’d felt less out of place with Nicki’s actual hockey teammates the other night than he does tonight.
“Everyone has their tickets?” Mark asks once they’re close enough to the front of the line to need to have their phones out to scan.
“I thought you had the tickets, man,” Steve says.
“Let me check my e-mail. I think it’s there somewhere,” Ruben adds.
“I got this,” Andrew tells them, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “All the tickets were linked since Mark was the one who bought them. I’ve already downloaded the app and saved the tickets in my wallet.”
“At least we can always count on Andrew.”
Andrew relaxes infinitesimally, at least until Mark crowds into his personal space. His shoulder presses into Andrew’s, which even given the line of hockey fans behind them waiting to get in seems unnecessary.
“Did you save it the day I sent it?” Mark asks, leaning close enough his hot breath ghosts over Andrew’s throat.
“Yes,” Andrew answers, barely repressing a shudder of revulsion. “The instructions in the e-mail said to.”
“Sure, that’s why,” Mark smirks.
“What do you—”
“Tickets,” the employee at the head of the line barks. He taps the machine next to him, expression managing to seem both bored and impatient.
Squeezing through the group, Andrew holds out his phone to scan the first ticket, frowning when the machine beeps red.
“Invalid.”
“That can’t be possible. I checked the tickets before I left my apartment.”
“Try again,” Mark instructs, like Andrew wasn’t already going to do that. Being told to do what he was already going to do irks him beyond reason.
The second attempt to scan the tickets doesn’t work.
“Try again,” Mark demands. “Maybe you saved it wrong, Andrew.”
“There’s no wrong way to save a ticket,” Andrew gripes, uncomfortable with the amount of attention they’re garnering by holding up the line.
He knows it’s not his fault but it feels like it, likely because the employee and his coworkers are all frowning at him and don’t seem to understand this is Mark’s situation and Andrew was only trying to help.
“Sir, you’re going to have to step out of line,” the employee instructs, waving his hand around the side of the stairs in clear dismissal. “The box office is that way.”
“Why?”
“All ticket issues have to be taken to the box office.”
“It’s fine, guys. And look, don’t worry too much Andrew.” Mark lays his hand at Andrew’s back. “I’m sure you didn’t do anything wrong on purpose.”
Unable to politely respond to the dig, Andrew takes an extra long stride to get away from Mark and his stupid overly friendly physical contact.
The touch was so light, his skin was crawling.
The touch was nothing like the firm, solid touches that Nicki has been giving him lately.
He could go for one of Nicki’s neck squeezes right about now.
Those giant, strong hands of Nicki’s always feel so good.
“Seriously, don’t overthink it, Andrew,” Mark continues, catching up to him in just a few steps. “You didn’t know you’d make a mistake. We have plenty of time to head to the box office before the game starts. Hopefully it’ll be quick enough that we have time to grab a bite before the puck drop.”
“I hope so, I'm starving,” Steve pipes up. “I’m getting food no matter what I miss.”
“You can mobile order—” Andrew starts, fully prepared to explain the system despite the fact that he’s never been here when Reuben claps his hands and interrupts him.
“Andrew’s mobile ordering for everyone.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Andrew sighs, reminded why he rarely goes out. Somehow, his desire to streamline and clarify things always means people assume he’s going to take over.
“We can just order in person,” Santiago says, giving Andrew a tight smile as they walk towards the box office. “Just so there’s no errors like with the tickets.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Andrew points out.
“Hey, no one is blaming anyone,” Mark says. “Let’s all calm down and have a good time tonight. Word on the street is that Andrew's boy toy might get in a fight.”
“He’s not my boy toy,” Andrew protests, unsure why he dislikes that phrasing so much. “And why would he get into a fight?”
“Here, let me fix this little issue since the tickets are in my name,” Mark says, ignoring Andrew’s question and moving towards the box office.
Despite the long lines of fans who were waiting to get into both entrances of the venue, the box office only has a few people in line.
Likely because like Mark, most people got their tickets online for tonight's game or might even be season ticket holders.
Nicki mentioned a lot of the fans who are local come to most home games.
“Why would Nicki get in a fight?” Andrew asks, directing the question to no one in particular.
“Dude, how the hell did you bag a hockey player when you know nothing?” Steve asks.
“I know more than nothing,” Andrew frowns.
“Do you know who we’re playing tonight?” Santiago asks.
“Uh, no. Should I?”
“Yeah, Whitmore’s old team. The first team he played with after going professional. Rumor is he fucked someone closeted on the team—”
“Wasn’t it the coach?” Ruben interrupts.
“I don’t know, I don’t pay as much attention to where Whitmore sticks his dick as you do.”
“Fucker,” Reuben laughs. “Not my fault he’s a hot man. Our Andrew here gets it. He’s gotta have good dick, right Andrew?”
Andrew sighs, wishing they knew how uncomfortable they were making him and he didn’t have to spell it out.
He’s never understood why the default in so many groups involve inappropriate jokes or speculating about other people’s sexual proclivities.
He should be able to easily assert his boundaries, but somehow Andrew’s always found it easier to assert them for other people.
That, and he has to work with these guys every day. It’s one reason why fraternizing outside of work is so stressful. Whatever happens tonight could directly impact his job.
Suddenly, his mind is going a mile a minute trying to pin down every possible outcome of tonight.
“King,” Steve says, shaking his shoulder. “You zoned out again, dude.”
“Sorry,” Andrew says, immediately plastering a smile on his face but unable to completely shake his thoughts. Should he have been honest? The constant desire to be honestly and accurately known while also being a deeply private person who doesn’t want to be perceived stresses Andrew out.
“Andrew, get your ass over here,” Mark yells, waving him towards the box office.
Confused but eager to escape the current discussion about who Nicki may or may not have fucked, he squeezes through the line until he’s beside Mark.