“I told you, he’s not?—”
“What did Andrew’s boyfriend do?” Santiago yells over him.
“Upgraded us to a private suite,” Mark answers.
“Told you it wouldn’t be boring if he came,” Steve tells Santiago, though whether Andrew was supposed to hear or not is unclear. Either way, Andrew’s heart sinks.
The guys continue to horse around and laugh like they’re thirteen and not all in their mid-thirties, but then again Andrew supposes it’s kind of a big deal. If Jason ever got a private box at an NFL game, he’s pretty sure his brother would sob.
Andrew can’t help but feel like the splurge was wasted on him. He hardly understands hockey, and he did tell Nicki this was entirely unnecessary. The moment they step into the arena he rethinks everything he just said. It’s loud and crowded, people in his personal space trying to get into food or bathroom lines. By the time they’re stepping off the elevator onto the club floor, Andrew’s been clapped on the back by Mark three more times and endured two more jokes about the size of Nicki’s dick to wallet ratio.
“Right this way,” an employee announces after verifying their tickets. They’re guided to a private suite that is easily half the size of Andrew’s small apartment with a small kitchenette laid out with an array of snacks, a massive television on the wall setto silent but playing highlight reels from Nicki’s last game and filled with comfortable leather seating. There’s also a massive glass wall with a row of leather seats that line a marble counter, affording them an incredible view of the rink where the players are already on the ice stretching.
Andrew might not be wrong often, but he can admit when it happens, and he definitely was wrong about not needing a suite. This is incredible, and he’s grateful Nicki arranged it. The idea of being cramped in those other general admission seats, likely being touched or elbowed while also listening to screaming has Andrew itching with unease.
This suite, on the other hand, is amazing. Quiet, private, and big enough to move around while still watching the game. It’s not just the bigger seats or the luxury, it's the extra personal space and privacy that Nicki knows Andrew would prefer but never dream of asking for.
“This is fucking nice,” Santiago whistles.
“No shit,” Steve agrees. “Please keep fucking Whitmore for us.”
“Fuck your own hockey player,” Andrew retorts before he can think better, as surprised by the words as the guys are. There’s about ten seconds of silence before everyone laughs, making the sharpest edge of tension in Andrew recede.
Maybe trying to blend work Andrew with normal Andrew won’t be so hard.
Thankfully, there’s no more jokes after that as the guys settle in, filling their plates with an impressive array of appetizers. It’s only a few minutes before a waitress appears with a full menu, letting them know their dinner has already been covered before the guys lose their minds like they’ve never been allowed to order anything they wanted before.
Andrew keeps it simple with a sushi platter, but before he can figure out how to ask if it’d be possible for everything to come separate, the waitress smiles and takes his menu.
“Mr. Whitmore already let us know about your dietary preferences and needs, Mr. King.” Andrew exhales a heavy breath, both at the confirmation that this was all Nicki’s doing and the extra care he put into prepping them. “Everything will be prepared and plated separately. If there’s anything else you need please let me or your suite attendant know.”
“Thank you. If it’s not too much trouble, I noticed there was only beer in the mini fridge. Do you think I could get a glass of wine,” Andrew asks.
“There’s a drink menu on the table, but Mr. Whitmore has already had a bottle of wine sent for you—a 1982 Chateau Lafite Rothschild. Will that be satisfactory?”
Andrew might love a red wine, but usually he and Amanda buy it at Trader Joe’s or maybe a local liquor store when he gets his yearly bonus and wants to splurge. He has no fucking idea how much a bottle like that must’ve set Nicki back. For once, he doesn’t care.
Nicki got him a suite. Nicki is taking care of him. Nicki is spoiling him with good food and wine. Nicki did this for Andrew, and Andrew can’t deny he wants it.
“That’ll be wonderful, thank you.”
“Of course, sir. Would you like your wine brought to you now or with your meal?”
“With the meal,” Andrew answers, offering her a polite smile. It’s not until she’s gone that he realizes everyone is staring at him.
“Damn, Andrew. How did you land money bags?”
“He’s not money bags,” Andrew retorts. “He’s a person with feelings.”
“Who happens to be one of the wealthiest fuckers in the country. His family is loaded. And that’s without his hockey and endorsement deals,” Santiago says wistfully. “Man, I want a sugar daddy.”
“He’s not my sugar daddy,” Andrew groans.
“Also,” Steve says around a mouthful of food. “You’re not gay.”
“Details,” Santiago shrugs.
Andrew barely resists the urge to laugh. As long as their attention isn’t on him, he can handle them fine.
