Chapter 2 #2
“I mean, arguably we are also, like, legit famous,” the blond guy retorts. “But I get what you mean. Fucking ridiculous, bro. I’m Spencer.”
The last two introduce themselves as Joel and Casey, and also as secretly a Pittsburgh fan and a Minnesota fan respectively. Nick can’t begrudge them that, he supposes.
Throughout the introductions, Kat and some skinny dude who probably works with the band are taking photos from the back corner. Nick nudges Marco, holding up his phone invitingly. “Dude, you wanna get pictures? Make Sofia jealous?”
“I—If that’s cool with you guys?”
Casey’s the one who nods enthusiastically, adjusting her hair over her shoulder.
Nick sees a flash of hot pink, and realizes the underside is dyed.
“Absolutely!” she exclaims, stepping up beside him.
“We can get in real close if you want to make her extra mad.” She gives a flirtatious wink that has Marco turning bright red—Nick snaps a quick picture, trying not to cackle with glee.
His linemate is never going to live this down.
Nick might be enjoying laughing at Marco for this, but he’s still a good friend, so he makes sure to take several pictures, stepping back to get the full splendor of Casey’s outfit in the shot.
She surprises them both by ducking down to press her lips to Marco’s cheek just long enough for Nick to snap a picture, and it’s immediately his favorite. “Oh, there’s the ’Gram shot for sure.”
“I know the rest of us aren’t quite as lovely as Case—”
“Speak for yourself, man,” Spencer cuts in.
“But,” Matt continues, “we’d all be happy to take pictures, if you want.”
Marco looks like his birthday has come early, so Nick happily plays photographer a little longer, filling his camera roll with something other than his cat for once.
“How about you, captain?” Matt says after a while, eyes meeting Nick’s. “You want in on this?”
Nick has to bite his tongue on the first three responses that jump to mind.
“Sure thing.” He pockets his phone and tries not to grin like an idiot when the space that opens up for him is between Matt and Marco. Matt’s long arm falls comfortably over his shoulders, fingers curling ever so slightly around his bicep. Through his shirt, Nick’s skin burns.
“Smile, everybody!” Kat warns, stepping up with her Dragons-branded phone.
Nick forces himself to pay full attention to the camera—anything to stop himself from zeroing in on the weight of Matt pressing into his side.
He smells kind of citrusy, almost floral, and Nick really needs to not sniff the guy.
Jesus Christ, why can’t he be normal? He meets hot guys all the time. This one isn’t any different.
Except he is. Ugh.
Nick tries not to sigh when Kat declares the photos acceptable and Matt steps away. Thankfully, he doesn’t go far.
“So it looks like you guys are off to a pretty strong start this season, huh?” he says, looking at Nick as he talks.
“It was a bold move picking a goalie that early in the draft but I gotta say, if his stats from last season are anything to go by, Picard might be a real game-changer by playoffs. And that new kid on your line, Ohlson, he’s got some serious wheels on him!
” He smirks, gaze trailing pointedly over Nick.
“I guess he’d have to, to keep up with Mr. All-Star Fastest Skater over here. ”
Now, Nick tries not to stereotype. He knows better than anyone how looks can be deceiving; he’s survived five years in the NHL as a closeted gay man, after all.
But he did not expect actual hockey knowledge and analysis to come out of some pretty-eyed emo boy. What the fuck.
“Shit, you like, actually follow hockey,” he blurts, regretting the words almost immediately. Thankfully, Matt doesn’t seem offended. His bandmates laugh, and he just chuckles and shrugs.
“We all used to play in college,” he explains. “We were teammates before we were a band. Go Wolverines.” He raises his fist in a mock cheer.
Well, damn. Michigan are Division 1 for hockey, and a good D1 at that. The upper draft rounds are littered with Wolverines, most years.
Then the rest of Matt’s words register, and Nick’s gaze goes unthinkingly to Casey—she’s looking at him, expecting it, one dark eyebrow slightly raised. Daring him to comment.
Oh.
Wow.
Marco doesn’t seem surprised by this information. Is that what the headlines Nick had seen floating around Twitter were about? That’s brave as hell.
God, these guys are cool. Maybe Nick should’ve listened when Marco told him to check out their music.
“That’s awesome,” he says, after a silence that stretches just a little too long.
He feels like an idiot, the only one in the room blindsided by this, wondering how to show that he’s cool with it without looking like he’s trying too hard to seem chill.
“What year did you graduate? Didn’t Michigan win a championship a couple years back? ”
“That was after we left,” Spencer says, a little rueful, still watching Nick warily. “We were class of 2018. They won in 2020.”
“Not that we’re bitter or anything,” Casey adds.
“I mean y’all had two albums out by then—I’d say you weren’t doing too badly,” Marco points out.
“Says the guy with two Stanley Cup rings by 2020,” Spencer says. Then a wicked smirk takes over his face, his lip ring catching between his teeth. “Race you to number three?”
“Wow, okay, that is not a challenge you need to make where Lord Stanley can hear you,” Nick scolds, glancing out towards the ice in the direction of their championship banners, as if the cup embroidered on them could somehow tell.
“Oh, I see, you’re that kind of hockey player.” Matt’s words sound like a taunt, and Nick bristles.
“What kind is that?”
“The superstitious kind. That’s adorable.”
Nick’s tongue is suddenly far too big for his mouth; an offended noise is all he can manage, and Matt laughs.
“Look, okay”—Nick finally finds his words—“there’s a whole lot more chance involved in us winning a cup than you making a new album. I just don’t wanna tempt fate, y’know?”
“Adorable,” Matt repeats, those brown eyes sparkling. Nick hates the heat that trickles down his spine. It takes an absurd amount of effort not to sway closer to Matt’s frame, his chin tilting up that little bit further to look the taller man in the eye.
Thankfully, there’s a gentle interruption from Kat bringing out the merch to be signed, including Marco’s precious vinyl, and offering an array of Sharpies. Nick takes the opportunity to catch his breath and get a hold of himself: he is twenty-three, he can keep it cool in front of a beautiful man.
“You don’t have anything for us to sign, cap?” Matt’s voice cuts him out of his internal pep-talk. The man has a Sharpie held in long fingers, and he wiggles it invitingly.
“Oh, I, uh … I’ll be honest with you, I haven’t actually really listened to your music. Sorry.” He gives a sheepish shrug. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m just more of a Top 40 kind of guy.”
“Wow, ouch.” Matt reels back with a hand to the heart. “I’ll have you know our last single hit number 52 on Billboard.”
“He means Top 40 from like, 2003,” Marco corrects, because he’s the worst.
“2003 was an excellent year for pop music!” Like Marco has any room to talk—his list of favorite bands reads like the line-up of Warped Tour 2006.
“If I had a Wolverines hat on me, I’d sign that for you instead. Maybe that would be more your speed.” Matt winks at him, and Nick’s heart flutters.
They chat for a little longer while Nick and Marco sign jerseys and pennants and pucks.
It’s mostly Marco talking about music while Nick tries to pretend he’s following, and when someone mentions that they should probably be making a move, Nick doesn’t know whether to be sad or relieved about it.
He’s probably done embarrassing himself in front of the hot rockstar, now, yeah.
Thankfully, Nick manages to get through goodbyes without doing or saying anything weird—they all shake hands again, and he tries not to stare too intensely into Matt’s eyes as he thanks him for coming—and at last he and Marco are on their way down to a probably deserted locker room to grab their stuff and head home.
“Man, that was so cool,” Marco whispers, awed. He’s holding the signed vinyl like it’s made of glass, and if Nick wasn’t still trying to get his shit together he’d chirp the crap out of him for it.
“Yeah they, uh, seemed like pretty good guys.” Thank God Marco was too busy being starstruck to notice Nick’s sad gay yearning.
“Wouldn’t it be wild if they came to more games? Like, now they’ve moved to Vegas and all?”
Nick swallows hard. “That would be something, yeah.”
He’s just not sure it would be something he could survive.