“I know more than nothing,” Andrew frowns.
“Do you know who we’re playing tonight?” Santiago asks.
“Uh, no. Should I?”
“Yeah, Whitmore’s old team. The first team he played with after going professional. Rumor is he fucked someone closeted on the team?—”
“Wasn’t it the coach?” Ruben interrupts.
“I don’t know, I don’t pay as much attention to where Whitmore sticks his dick as you do.”
“Fucker,” Reuben laughs. “Not my fault he’s a hot man. Our Andrew here gets it. He’s gotta have good dick, right Andrew?”
Andrew sighs, wishing they knew how uncomfortable they were making him and he didn’t have to spell it out. He’s never understood why the default in so many groups involve inappropriate jokes or speculating about other people’s sexual proclivities. He should be able to easily assert his boundaries, but somehow Andrew’s always found it easier to assert them for other people.
That, and he has to work with these guys every day. It’s one reason why fraternizing outside of work is so stressful. Whatever happens tonight could directly impact his job.
Suddenly, his mind is going a mile a minute trying to pin down every possible outcome of tonight.
“King,” Steve says, shaking his shoulder. “You zoned out again, dude.”
“Sorry,” Andrew says, immediately plastering a smile on his face but unable to completely shake his thoughts. Shouldhe have been honest? The constant desire to be honestly and accurately known while also being a deeply private person who doesn’t want to be perceived stresses Andrew out.
“Andrew, get your ass over here,” Mark yells, waving him towards the box office.
Confused but eager to escape the current discussion about who Nicki may or may not have fucked, he squeezes through the line until he’s beside Mark.
“This is Andrew King,” Mark says.
“If I could just see some identification,” the employee behind the window requests.
“What’s going on?” Andrew questions.
“I don’t know,” Mark says. “Apparently the original tickets were voided and there’s new upgraded tickets, I think, but for some reason they’re in your name. Maybe because of whatever you did when you saved them.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Andrew once again points out while withdrawing his wallet from his back packet to produce his driver’s license. He turns his attention to the attendant inside the booth. “Is there a reason the tickets are in my name?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. The system flagged Mr. Smith’s tickets here as connected, but these new ones are in your name.”
“They better not be worse seats,” Mark grumbles.
“They’re not individual seats,” the attendant says, typing away at her computer but clearly listening to the conversation.
“What does that mean?” Mark demands.
“It means Mr. King’s party has been upgraded to one of our luxury suites.”
“No shit,” Mark whistles, looking like a kid whose Christmas came early.
“Indeed.” The employee diverts their attention to Andrew. “You’ll find the luxury suites on the third floor. These tickets will also grant you access to the private club elevators, waiter servicewith our premiere dining menu, an on-call suite attendant should you need anything and a complimentary wet bar.”
Mark shakes Andrew’s shoulders making him grimace.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Mr. Whitmore, would it?” Andrew asks.
“I couldn’t say who authorized the upgrade or payment, sir. Only that the change was made in your name.”
“Whitmore,” Mark repeats, dragging Andrew away from the window once they’ve secured their access. “Did your boy toy upgrade us?”
