Chapter 15 Nicholas #2
Nicholas doesn’t want a snack. He wants Andrew.
But he also can tell this is not one of the times he should be a dick and argue, so he concedes, hurrying upstairs to change out of his game day suit and into something more comfortable.
If he chooses a loose cut tank top to show off his muscles and tattoos and the tightest pair of sweats he owns, well he’s only human.
He’s pretty sure it’s not going to have any effect on Andrew, but a man can try.
By the time he makes it back into the kitchen, the medicine cupboard mess has been cleaned up, leaving nothing on the kitchen island but the first aid kit, a plate with toast cut in little bite size squares along with a steaming cup of tea.
“I have tea?” Nicholas asks.
“I brought it,” Andrew answers, busying himself with wiping the counters. There’s nothing on them, but Nicholas suspects it’s better not to point that out.
“What kind is it?”
“Té de manzanilla,” Andrew answers, before clarifying, “that’s Spanish for chamomile. I always buy this brand at the local market, it was my abuela’s favorite.”
“And the toast?” Nicholas prompts.
“Just cinnamon and sugar. It was my favorite when I was a kid and didn’t feel good.
My dad cut it in little pieces because I didn’t like the way the cinnamon sugar dust would get everywhere when you bite the toast, and now it’s the only way I can eat it.
I probably didn’t need to cut yours though, so let me make more. ”
“The toast is fine, princess.”
Andrew makes a derisive noise, resuming his wiping of the very clean counter. The lines on his handsome face tighten, and Nicki makes a decision. A possibly stupid and reckless decision, but the one that needs to be made.
“You looked hot as fuck up in that private suite wearing my jersey.”
Andrew stops wiping the counter to glare at Nicholas. “Did someone hit you in the head during the game?”
The fact that this is Andrew’s response to being complimented has Nicholas unsure how to feel. Confused. Angry. Like he wants to keep this precious man and never fucking let anyone make him feel less than again.
“No.” He takes a single step closer to Andrew. “It looked good on you, then and now.”
The cloth in Andrew’s hand falls to the counter as he turns those big, brown eyes of his on Nicholas. There’s something there, confusion maybe, or fear. Nicholas is used to being able to read people, to being able to read Andrew, but this emotion is hard to parse.
“Don’t,” Andrew whispers, tone somewhere between demanding and pleading.
“Don’t what?” Nicki questions. “Tell you how much I liked you there at my game cheering for me? Tell you how perfect you looked—look—in my jersey. Tell you how you’re the only one I want wearing my number from now on?”
“You convinced everyone already, you don’t need to do this.”
“What are you talking about?” Nicholas questions.
“The suite, the showy kiss you blew me for the cameras, the jersey—all moves designed to get me on the big screen so people knew we were together. I’ll play that game for you Nicki, I know it’s what I signed up for. But here at home, don’t.”
“Andrew.”
Taking a shuddering breath, Andrew lifts those beautiful brown eyes of his, so rich and warm and so full of fucking hurt. “I know I’m not your type. You made that clear, so please don’t play games with me.”
“Who’s playing games?” Nicki moves towards Andrew, wanting so much to wrap him up in his arms but afraid to touch, too. Andrew looks fragile in a way Nicholas isn’t sure how to handle.
“Don’t,” Andrew begs.
“Princess.”
“Stop it. Stop pretending when there’s no one here.”
“I’m not fucking pretending.”
“Fuck you,” Andrew yells, some of that fire back in his eyes. “I can pretend with everyone else but not you.”
Suddenly, Nicki understands. He understands in crystal fucking clarity.
“Why not me, princess?”
“I don’t know why. It’s so easy with everyone else, but you do something to me, and it makes me so mad.”
“You can’t hide from me,” Nicholas says, crowding into Andrew’s personal space, slow enough he can move away if he needs to. Andrew doesn’t move a muscle, tilting his face up.
“You make me so mad.”
“What else do I make you?”
Andrew huffs, throwing his arms in the air. “What, it’s not enough that the entire world has a crush on you, you need to know that I do, too? Fine, I’ve got a crush on you. Are you happy?”
The fear that wrapped itself tightly around Nicholas’s chest unfurls. He wasn’t sure if he even had a chance, and now he knows he does, and it’s the single most victorious moment of his fucking life.
“Very happy,” Nicholas confirms, curling his hand around the back of Andrew’s neck and giving it a firm squeeze.
“Cocky fucking asshole,” Andrew gripes.
“Your cocky fucking asshole.”
“Goddamnit, Nicki. What did I just tell you? Don’t—”
“Play games,” Nicholas finishes, so close he could kiss Andrew if he moved just a few inches. He won’t though, not without permission. “I’m not playing. I want you, Andrew King.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I fucking do.”
“No,” Andrew repeats sharply. “I label things. I make spreadsheets. I have a shower schedule, Nicki.”
“I’m aware, princess.”
“I can’t satisfy you,” Andrew says, an edge of panic in his tone.
“I know everything the gossip sites say isn’t true, but you like sex, Nicki, and I don’t.
Not like you do. Sometimes, maybe, it might happen.
I’m not sex-repulsed, but I don’t care about it.
I don’t crave it, I don’t need it. I could go the rest of my life never having sex again, and I’d be happy, but you wouldn’t. ”
“Says fucking who?”
“Says me,” Andrew all but yells. “I can’t satisfy a man like you.”
And there it is, the thing bothering Andrew.
“I do like sex,” Nicki confirms, because he won’t lie to Andrew.
“Yeah, yeah,” Andrew mutters, wrapping his arms around himself. “Everyone likes sex.”
“You know what I like more?”
“Money?” Andrew says in a tone that is clearly meant to be a joke.
Neither of them laugh. Nicholas moves his hand to Andrew’s jaw, gripping firmly but gently so he can tip Andrew’s face up to meet Nicholas’s gaze.
“I’ve had all the sex and money I wanted for as long as I can remember. As much as I wanted whenever I wanted.”
“Is there a point there?” Andrew asks in that slightly haughty tone of his that gets Nicholas’s heart going as hard as his dick.
“Yeah, princess. The point is it was never enough. I treated people like I treated money—something to be used and thrown away, as something disposable. I’ve had everything and everyone I wanted, and I was never fucking satisfied because it turned out, I didn’t want that.”
“And what is it you want?” Andrew whispers.
“You.”
“No, you—”
“Don’t you fucking dare tell me what I want,” Nicholas challenges, slipping his hand up from his jaw to cup the side of Andrew’s face. “I might not have known before, but I do now. I want you, Andrew King.”
“But the deal?”
“Fuck the deal. Give me a chance. I’m going to fuck up, and I sure as shit don’t deserve you, but let me try. Let me learn to be the kind of man who deserves you.”
“You say that like I’m out of your league,” Andrew scoffs.
“You are out of everyone’s fucking league.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” Andrew says. “Maybe they should’ve checked you for a concussion. Maybe I should get the first aid kit and check you over. Let me do that. I just need to—”
“Stop,” Nicholas says, grabbing Andrew’s wrist before he can start sorting the already labeled and organized first aid kit.
“I can’t stop,” Andrew says, voice wobbly. “I don’t know how to let go, Nicki.”
“Yes, you do. You did it in that rage room, you did it in your apartment. I’ve seen you let go.”
“You’re not supposed to,” Andrew finally snaps. “You saw that because you weren’t supposed to mean anything. I wasn’t trying to impress you. And now—”
“Now I know the real you, princess.”
“The real me is messy,” Andrew says, sounding unexpectedly broken. “I’m not perfect, I don’t have it all together. I’m so tired of pretending.”
“Then don’t pretend with me.” Unable to resist a second longer, Nicki pulls Andrew into his arms, everything slotting into place when Andrew moves willingly into his arms. Nicki’s always loved his body, loved the attention his looks got him, the power his size afforded him on the ice, but being able to hold Andrew is the best thing his body has ever done for him.
“I want you. Perfectly imperfect and mine.”
“You’ll change your mind.”
“No, I won’t.”
“You might,” Andrew says, the warmth of his breath against Nicholas’s collar bone causing him to hold Andrew just that little bit tighter. “It might just be the deal.”
“It’s not—”
“But it might be.” Despite the protest, Andrew holds him so tightly his sore ribs ache, but he doesn’t make a sound to indicate the discomfort, afraid Andrew might step away. “We need to give it time. If you meant it.”
“I don’t say shit I don’t mean, princess. If you hear something come out of my mouth, then I mean it.”
Andrew’s entire body shudders with the force of his exhale.
Part of Nicholas wants to know who fucked Andrew over bad enough to make him believe he could in any way be unsatisfying or a disappointment, and the other part doesn’t because he knows he would do something really fucking stupid if he ever met them, like make them regret the day they were born.
“Now that we’ve established what I want, what do you want?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Princess.”
“No, thank you.”
“I can out stubborn you,” Nicholas says.
“No one can out stubborn an eldest sibling, trust me. Besides, I'd much rather talk about myself later. Maybe tomorrow.”