Yeah, Niko was awesome. It was like having a little brother, which was something August hadn’t thought would be fun, but he was enjoying their time together.
That morning when August woke up, Niko had already left for their mandatory morning skate before the game that night. Meanwhile, he was running late.
Living with someone as disciplined and career-driven as Niko had done wonders for him, but there were still mornings when he slipped back into old habits. Niko never waited or pressured him to leave the house, which August appreciated.
Now, if he could only find a way to deal with his super fan, who seemed to find him wherever he went, then life would be perfect.
Not that August went many places besides his house; the practice arena, the game arena, and the Tim Hortons drive-through on occasion. But when it came to doing anything with hockey, August couldn’t seem to shake the guy.
The other thing that he couldn’t understand was that the man always appeared startled every time August caught his gaze. He chalked it up to the guy being a terrible stalker, who was surprised about getting spotted.
That wide-eyed, blushing expression would almost be endearing if August were into guys.
Or into stalkers.
August tore into the parkade and swung himself out of the car, almost forgetting to lock it in his rush to get inside and get geared up and on the ice. He barely spared the media team a glance when they clocked his arrival time—just like they had with everyone else.
Being the last one in, they trailed after him, cameras and chatter close enough to make his skin prickle. He tried to shake off the feeling that he was a zoo exhibit animal with people tapping on the glass while he pretended not to notice. He had to remind himself that it was just a fun behind-the-scenes video; nothing to get pissy about.
Did he get the fascination with fans wanting to see them off the ice? Not really. But he could grow up, slap on a grin, and deal with it.
“Gusty?” a timid voice called his nickname, and he half-turned to see that it was…Penny? No, maybe it was Polly. He remembered flirting with her a lot last year, leading up to the playoffs, until Callahan told him off and reminded him that it could cost the nice girl her job. A single member of the media team wouldn’t be picked to stay over a first-line d-man if their relationship went south.
“Uh, yeah?” he said, hoisting his bag higher up his shoulder and slowing his gait, but not slowing down.
“Can we interview with you after practice? Just a funget-to-know-youthing? The fans have been asking for more content with you.”
Annoyance tugged at him. Couldn’t they bother someone else? He didn’t want to be fodder for the online trolls with how he’d been playing lately. He could hear it now, ‘who cares if he prefers coffee to tea, the man skates like it’s his first day! 14 mil a year—what a fucking waste. Trade his ass already.’ Or his favourite ‘is this what the NHL has come to? Affirmativeaction with queers? Ottawa got Strawberry Shortcake, Toronto got Fraser the Fruit, and now Vancouver can’t get rid of Snowflake?!!’”
Before he could answer her, he crashed into someone.Again.
August managed to catch himself before he fell—he had good hockey reflexes to thank for that, but the other person wasn’t so lucky.
August’s heavy body hit him like a freight train, slamming him into the wall. The stranger’s bag burst open, scattering pens, papers, and a tablet that clattered loudly to the cement floor.
“Oh my god!” Paige exclaimed, rushing forward to grab August’s bag from the floor and handing it to him, her other hand resting on his forearm. “Are you okay?”
A snort sounded from the floor as the stranger got to his feet. “Same fucking shit…”
“Wait, it’s you!” August said, pointing a finger at the man, side-stepping Phoebe to get a better look at him.
It was the first time the man had stood still long enough for August to study him up close. He was shorter by a whole foot; slight and lean, his warm brown hair a sharp contrast to the angles of his cheekbones and the striking symmetry of his face.
Apple-green eyes, rimmed in black liner, were narrowed at him, making them seem almost too large for his face. His cupid-bow lips twisted into a scowl. He didn’t answer August; he just raised a hand to his soft-looking hair, and when he drew it back, his fingers were streaked with blood.
“Oh my god!” Piper echoed, glancing at the stranger and then back at August. “Are you okay?”
The stranger had knelt to collect his belongings, not responding to either of them.
“Hey!” August grabbed the paper closest to him, noting that it seemed to be a folder with loose drawings that had exploded everywhere.
An artist’s portfolio, maybe?
He shoved the paper in the man’s face. “I was right! You’ve been stalking me! How did you even get down here? Everywhere I’ve been lately, you’ve been there too! And now you’re what—using me as your muse?”
The man made to grab his papers, cussing under his breath before saying, “The fuck are you even talking about?”
“This!” August thrust another hand-drawn portrait under the man’s nose. “Naked photos? I’m calling security.”
