These people?
“You better not be talking about Niko,” said Quinn. “That boy is a sweetheart, and I won’t stand by and let you shit-talk him.”
August started blinking rapidly, so Quinn gave him a few seconds to process and turned his attention to the art lining the walls instead.
“I wasn’t talking about Niko,” said August. “I told Jett hours ago that I wouldn’t be joining them for supper because I was taking you out,but he keeps fucking texting me with sad emojis because he’s a brat, and it’s getting obnoxious.”
Quinn frowned and shifted his gaze back to August’s face so he could meet his eyes. “We’re done with our date, aren’t we? I wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to visit with your friends. I know you guys don’t get to see each other a lot when you’re on different teams, so it’s okay if you leave.”
Quinn would have thought he’d stabbed August in the heart, judging by the reaction he received.
“What? No!” August stuck out his bottom lip, looking hurt. “I want to eat dinner with you, not those idiots. I booked us a table at a restaurant I like, and I wanted to hear you talk about art more.”
If Quinn had to talk for another two hours, he was going to walk away from this date with a hoarse voice for all the wrong reasons.
But because he wasmaybethinking of testing the waters with August, Quinn was willing to bypass his need to overthink everything and be spontaneous for once.
“Do they…know about me?”
August’s sulking abruptly stopped, and he frowned. “They do, but not in a personal way. I don’t share anything with them because I don’t want to talk about us without your permission. Except—Jett and Harrison know more because I needed advice, and they were the only ones who could give it.”
Quinn didn’t care about that. If anything, it confirmed that August was serious about them in some capacity. And while he wasn’t ready to havethatsoul-searching conversation with himself tonight, he could handle a small group of nosy hockey bros for a few hours if there was free food being offered.
“Cool,” said Quinn. “You can hang out with your boys, and I’ll gossip with their wives. Win, win.”
August snorted loudly and said, “I’ll let Jett know that you expect long talks over champagne.”
Quinn was sure there was a joke he was missing, but he had to wait until August finished texting his friend to get an answer. His look of confusion made August laugh and wrap an arm around his waist, resuming their journey to the gallery exit.
“None of my friends in this group have wives,” August explained. “Jett is married to Harrison, and although I wouldn’t be surprised if they were into domestic roleplaying, Jett isn’t much of a gossip.”
“Oh.” Quinn knew where he recognized the name now, but it wasn’t like he knew anything about hockey players and their sexual orientations. “So, your friends are all gay?”
He expected August to be uncomfortable when faced with a question that would have made him squirm ten years ago, but he really had matured because his only response was a playful laugh.
Not cutting or arrogant—playful.
“Sébastien Blanchard and I are bi, and Nollan Haas is there, so not everyone will be gay,” said August. “And before it comes up in conversation, we don’t know what Jason and Ryan are. I’m not going to point them out or explain because I don’t want to influence your opinion, but you’ll see for yourself.”
Quinn was thrown by how easily August talked about his sexuality, so much so that he didn’t trust himself to say anything until they’d grabbed their coats and stepped into the cold to wait for a cab. Apparently, there was an entire group of gay players who spent time together, and if Quinn had known that, he would have tried a hell of a lot harder to memorize their names.
“Do you still want to go?” August asked after they got into the cab, leaning close to get Quinn’s attention. “I can tell Jett to fuck off, and we can return to my hotel room and order take-out instead?”
“No way,” said Quinn. “Being in a room filled with sexy, gay hockey players might actually make me change my mind about the sport. Don’t pass up this opportunity, August—this is your chance.”
August tossed his head back to laugh, and Quinn glared at the cab driver when he shot them a scared look in the review mirror. After hearing how much August disliked seeing people fearful of him, Quinn was feeling a tad overprotective.
Luckily for him and the driver, the guy kept his eyes on the road from that point on, and August was none the wiser about the silent exchange.
They were dropped off at a building that stood on the waterfront of Toronto’s great lake, and were helped inside by staff members who showed them to the elevators and sent them on their way with a smile.
Quinn didn’t know what he was expecting a room full of gay, sexy hockey players to look like, but he was unprepared to be greeted by a bare chest, a six-pack of abs, and a backwards cap belonging to a hot brunette who was almost the same height as him.
“Blanchard,” August greeted, speaking the name through clenched teeth. “Are you fucking allergic to clothes?”
“Who the fuck cares about clothes?”Blanchardwas paying no attention to August. His eyes remained firmly locked onto Quinn, and Quinn could almost smell the sex pheromones oozing out of his skin. “Tabarnak, Gusty. I wanted to meet you at the door first so I could see what kind of guy it took to turn your head, but I get it.”
Quinn hadn’t caught onto the Québécois accent until he heard the curse, but the man was very good at hiding it when he switched back to English.
