“Sure, man. See you around.”
Max opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it closed as the door opens and a man walks out with a bag slung over his shoulder. It’s not Marcos, but something about the look on Max’s face makes me think this is Luke.
“Max!” the guy exclaims, smiling so wide it takes up half his face. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump, and leans forward to kiss Max’s cheek. I turn away, trying to hide my grin. Max’s cheeks are red, and he’s got one hand clamped over the back of his neck.
“Hey, Luke. Hi.”
“Hello, you,” Luke responds. Max looks pleased enough to melt into the floor.
I don’t bother interrupting them to introduce myself, but do my best to become deaf and invisible against the opposite wall. Walking a few paces down the hall, I run my hands through my hair a couple times and smooth the front of my shirt.
Come on, Marcos, where are you?
4
Marcos
Max
Practice finished early, so I came to the game.
At the locker room.
Standingin front of my locker, half undressed, I stare down at the messages in surprise. With hockey taking up a lot of his time, it’s always been hard for him to make it to my games. This season, he’s come to even less. He hasn’t said as much, but I suspect sitting in the crowds makes him uncomfortable.
Tossing my phone back onto the shelf, I start changing quicker. If Max is outside, I don’t want to leave him waiting for too long. Vince, whose locker is next to mine, shuffles sideways to give someone else more room. His arm brushes across my skin, and I pull mine tight into my side in disgust. Today is not a good day. Today, the feel of that warm, slightly sweaty arm against mine makes the room spin and my skincrawl. I pull on a long-sleeved shirt, tugging the cuffs down until they’re almost covering my hands. I need to go home and take a cold shower.
“You going to come to Tidal Wave with us?” Vince asks, and I look over in time to dodge another elbow coming my direction. If it wouldn’t be weird to do so, I’d go change in a fucking shower stall. This locker room is a damn minefield.
“No.” My stomach clenches. “You guys will be all right without me?”
Vince gives me a questioning look. He doesn’t get it. Nobody gets it. Nobody understands the sick, churning feeling in my stomach when I think about my friends and teammates out getting drunk and the things that could happen to them.
“Of course,” he says nonchalantly, because people always think everything will be fine until the day it isn’t.
“Maybe…maybe I’ll stop by later.”
Vince knocks his knuckles against my bicep and I very nearly flinch away, forgetting I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt and my skin is covered.
“Don’t worry about it, man. Go home and ice those knees. See you tomorrow, yeah?”
Smiling, he shoulders his bag and steps around me to leave. Shaking my hands out, I finish getting dressed. Luke, I notice, is already absent. He probably walked out and saw Max waiting there for me, and the thought sets my teeth on edge. Fucking Luke Kelly, who bounces around partners like a goddamn squirrel collecting nuts, justhadto work somewhere with hours late enough for Max to walk in the door on one of his bad nights. I can’t imagine life getting any harder than it is right now, but Luke breaking Max’s heart would certainly tip the scale. The thought pisses me off to no end.
Scowling and now in a terrible mood, I exit the locker room to find Max standing a few yards away and talking to none other than Luke-fucking-Kelly. I’m going to kill him.
“Marcos.” A cheery and unexpected voice pulls my attention toward the opposite side of the doorway. Standing with a shoulder leaned against the wall and a smile on his face is Nate. Nate, who plays hockey with Max. Nate, who sucked my dick the other night, and apparently still remembers my name.
“Ay dios mío,” I whisper, closing my eyes. Maybe when I open them he’ll be gone, Luke will be gone, and it’ll just be me and Max.
“Nope, not God. Just me, Nate.”
I open my eyes to see him grinning at me, those green eyes bright underneath the brown fringe of his hair. Those fuckingeyes.
“You speak Spanish?” I ask, glancing away to make sure Max is still there and okay.
“Nah. Three years of high school Spanish didn’t give me much except the cuss words and how to ask where the bathroom is. You know, the important things.”
I stare at him, pulling my shirt down to make sure my hands are covered. He was handsome the other night, but he’s breathtaking in the daylight. It’s terrifying. People who look like him don’t pay attention to people who look like me. What the hell is he doing here?
