“Unless you got bad at it over the years, I don’t mind,” said Quinn.
“Texting? Can I buy you things?”
Quinn checked his nails, which were painted in the colours of the Bigfoot team today. “You can buy me whatever you want, and texting is fine. My hard line would be if you try to hide what we’re doing. Eren will know because I’m not going to lie if he asks, and I’m sure Niko will catch on. So don’t agree if you’re not ready to accept your sexuality because that would make the stress-relieving part of this pointless.”
August was too fucked up to care about hiding anything. He knew if his mother caught wind of it, she would have something to say—probably loudly and in front of cameras. But one of the many benefits of his mental breakdown was that he was no longer scared of her.
His mother could call him out if she wanted, and August would let her tell her sob story for a while before he tore his shirt off and showed everyone the scars that she allowed to be inflicted on him.
“Think it over,” said Quinn, flashing August a wicked smile. “Take all the time you need. If you decide you’re not interested, that’s fine, but if you keep showing up covered in blood, I’m charging a nursing fee.”
That was…understandable. Quinn was telling him they could be friends even if August didn’t want to have sex, which was good to know, but he wasn’t sure friends was what he wanted.
He knew Quinn would never love him again, and August wasn’t delusional enough to think he could change his mind. He didn’tdeserveto change his mind.
Friends or friends with benefits; those were the two paths open between them. One was acceptably platonic, while the other would get him as close as he would ever come to holding Quinn’s heart in his hands again.
And because August was a self-hating piece of shit—and because he deserved all the pain coming his way—he already knew his answer.
“Tonight, after the game,” said August. “I’ll knock on your door, and you’ll let me in.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow, but his expression gave nothing away. “It’s a deal.”
Chapter 17
August
“You’re like yin and yang,” said Bradshaw in a dramatic voice, like he was narrating for a movie trailer. “Darkness and light. Good versus evil.”
“The fuck is he talking about?” Niko snapped, that seething temper of his rising to the surface faster than it normally did.
“Giacomo Barzetti,” said August, nodding toward the gigantic defenceman on the Barbarians team. “He’s an inch shorter than me, and he has black hair, so Bradshaw’s being weird about it.”
Bradshaw bumped shoulders with him, and August was deeply regretting his decision to take a position on the forward bench.
“You’re both big, scowly bastards.” Bradshaw elbowed him again. “I’m trying to build a rivalry here, but you’re too easy-going.”
A rivalry? Barzetti was like six years younger than him. The kid looked miserable enough without being harassed into a pointless battle of scowls and heights.
“Going—” Bradshaw leapt over the wall as one of the other Bigfoot forwards raced to the bench, and August gave him a friendly tap for good luck.
The game was going great so far. There were still kinks that August needed to work out, but he felt good being on a line with Niko and Callahan. It was only the first period, and he’d already gotten an assist on Niko’s wicked wrist shot goal and had rung the pipes once on his last shift.
Maybe switching to forwardwasexactly what he needed. It had nothing to do with Quinn and the anticipation of meeting him in his hotel room after the game.
Nothing at all.
Bradshaw got a breakaway and the voices of the New York crowd grew loud as he approached the net, but a Barbarian defenceman stupidly threw his stick, tangling it under Bradshaw’s skates and taking him to the ice.
The whistle blew, calling for an interference penalty as August and every guy on the Bigfoot team aggressively smacked their sticks on the wall.
“He would have got it too,” said Niko, swinging a leg over the wall and grinning at August. “Let’s go get it back for him.”
“Agreed,” said Callahan. He was hopping the wall as well, meeting a frowning Bradshaw when he returned to the bench, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Shawzy. We’ll go out there and give them hell.”
Bradshaw was muttering something that sounded like, “Shit, fuck, bastard, motherfucker, asshole,” but August couldn’t make him out over the booing crowd and the whistles blowing.
August joined the power play team in the Barbarian’s zone, staying close to Callahan so he could get a briefing on the play.
