—but August’s hands shot out, seizing his arms and spinning them both.
The world tilted. Quinn’s back slammed into the edge of the counter hard enough to knock a hiss from his throat, but the sound never made it past his lips. August’s mouth crashed into his before he could exhale a curse.
This was…not what he had planned.
Quinn froze, eyes wide and every one of his nerves sparking. He wasn’t kissing back, but August didn’t seem to notice or care. His mouth moved with frantic hunger, like he was trying to tell Quinn something that he couldn’t put into words.
Quinn stared at the crease between August’s brows, at the trembling lashes, at the way his whole body shook with restraint and need. The confusion hit like a wave of why this? Why now? What was he trying to prove?
And then it clicked.
Unless—August wasn’t angry.
Unless—he was desperate.
Unless Quinn hadn’t been the only one who’d spent ten years haunted by that night.
August made an awful, choked sound that got caught in his throat, and then he was shoving away from Quinn, stepping back until he bumped into one of the stall doors and sent it crashing against the wall.
They were both breathing heavily, their shoulders heaving with every gasp. August’s ice-blue eyes were dark and wild with fear, and he had Quinn’s lip gloss smeared on his mouth. His hair looked even more unkept, his skin was flushed, and thatsneer—
When August took one step toward him, Quinn flinched and turned away, suddenly aware that he was in a locked room with a man he didn’t really know anymore. A man who was strong enough to hurt him if he wanted to, and fuck, it looked like he wanted to.
But August went motionless when he saw Quinn’s reaction, and the hardness in his expression shattered like a bullet ricocheting off glass.
“Fuck—fuck!” August swept his hand through his hair, giving Quinn one final look before he bolted to the door, barely waiting for the lock to click out of place before he was tearing it open and sprinting into the corridor.
Quinn watched the door swing closed, his lungs screaming for oxygen when his brain demanded more so it could sort out the temporary insanity he had just gone through.
His head was spinning from the champagne and what he assumed was hyperventilation, so Quinn spun and turned on the cold tap water, splashing his heated face to cool down.
His body moved on autopilot. He blotted at the smudged gloss, wiped away the streaks under his eyes, and redid the parts of himself that August had undone. His reflection looked back at him—damp hair, flushed cheeks, mouth swollen.
He forced himself to keep fixing, keep smoothing, until the person in the mirror looked passably composed and presentable. Like someone who hadn’t just been kissed breathless.
He left before Eren came looking for him, which wouldn’t take long after August had no doubt stirred things up by exiting the event early. Quinn found Eren where he had left him, jittering his leg impatiently as he waited for Quinn to sit.
As he suspected, August wasn’tat the table, and neither was the other guy, Niko.
“What happened?” Eren demanded, not hesitating to curl his finger into the cuff of Quinn’s sleeve and pull him closer. “If he did anything—”
“He didn’t,” Quinn lied, setting his hand over Eren’s until the jittering calmed down. “He’s just being a drama queen because he realized what a shitty person he’s been lately.”
Quinn wasn’t defending August to be nice. He was planning on using him to get Eren the Stanley Cup he so desperately wanted, nothing more.
After hearing Quinn’s explanation, Eren gave a relieved sigh, and Quinn could almost feel the heavy weight of concern lifting off his brother-in-law.
“Alright,” said Eren. “Thanks, Quinn.”
Eren was always thanking him when he hadn’t done anything to earn it, but a plan began to formulate in his head as he sat quietly and enjoyed the rest of the evening. He knew if he could pull it off, Eren’s gratitude wouldn’t feel so abrasive the next time he gave it.
August had once admitted in high school that he played better knowing Quinn was watching him, or when he travelled to games with him in secret. With August and Eren on the same team, going to games wouldn’t be difficult, and he wouldn’t have to stay hidden because the world had changed, and there were no parents around to disappoint.
The thought of getting involved with August appalled him, but it would accomplish two things.
Maybe August would perk up and stop playing like shit, increasing the Bigfoot’s chance of winning the cup.
