Nick snorts. “Try my best. Thanks.”
Once he’s alone in the cramped bathroom with the door locked, he lets out a deep, shaky breath.Jesus, he is out of his depth here.
It’s okay. He’s fine. Nothing has happened yet, and they probably won’t stay much longer. He and Marco have a game toplay tomorrow, after all. It’s been a fun night, hanging out with everybody, taking some pretty giant steps into acknowledging that this kind of crowd might be one he feels comfortable in,belongsin. That’s all it needs to be, right?
He leans over the sink, staring at himself in the grubby mirror. He’s not drunk, though there’s a definite sluggish warmth to his limbs after two vodka Cokes. Despite that, he looks a little bit wrecked. His blond curls are the kind of riotous mess they usually turn into after a workout. His eyes are a touch red from where he maybe criedjust a littleduring “Skin To Skin” because hearing a song about loneliness in a crowd like that hit him right in the soft part of the chest.
When he smiles at himself, his cheeks ache.
Abruptly realizing that he’s been in the bathroom a suspiciously long time, Nick relieves himself and washes his hands quickly, neatening his hair the best he can.
He opens the door and swears quietly at the face that greets him.
“Sorry!” Matt says with a half-grimace. “I, uh, didn’t want you getting lost on your way back.”
Oh. Right. Nick hadn’t even thought about that.
Matt pushes off the wall he’s leaning against, his brows furrowing slightly. “Everything okay?”
God, does Nick look that bad?
“Yeah. Just needed a minute, y’know?” He chuckles, the sound too loud in the narrow hallway. Matt is barely a foot in front of him, his chin tilted down to look Nick in the eye. He’s so close that Nick could reach out and touch the bare skin of Matt’s waist like he’s wanted to all night.
He keeps his hands resolutely by his sides.
“You looked like you were really having fun out there tonight,” Matt says, his voice soft and a little husky, like that’s asecret he hardly dares speak. “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about… our kind of crowd.”
“I—You could see me?” Sure, Nick knows Matt looked over his way a couple times, but… he talks like he was watching for a while. Like when he was up there performing and being worshipped by all those people, the thing on his mind was Nick.
“Nick, I think I’d have seen you even if you were in the back row.” His lips curve, showing a flash of white teeth. “Hard not to look at you when I know you’re in the room.”
There’s a pause, barely the length of a startled inhale, and then Matt is closing the scant distance between them. His hand settles on Nick’s shoulder and his head dips, pressing their lips together gently.
Nick freezes for the briefest of seconds, but as Matt goes to draw away he grips the hem of that damn crop top and yanks him back in, letting his other hand palm smooth skin. Matt hums in pleased surprise when Nick deepens the kiss, his blood turning to fire, his skin tingling, his head reeling. There’s a buzz in his ears as Matt’s tongue licks into his mouth, as his back hits the bathroom door—and then that buzzing turns to sirens.
He pulls away, eyes wrenching open in alarm. “I—” His breath catches. Matt looks incredible, lips rosy and gleaming, brown eyes darkened. “I don’t… do this.”
Immediately, Matt’s expression shutters. “Kiss guys?” It sounds like an accusation. Nick flinches.
“Kiss guys who know who I am.” It’s mostly been dark clubs and sketchy bathrooms, his hat shadowing his face. Anonymous hookups, never going back to hotel rooms, never catching the eye of anyone who looks like they might be able to name a single NHL team, just in case.
His stomach sours. Suddenly, that fire in his blood burns too hot, like acid, like ants marching up and down his veins. Hedrops his hands, leaning further back against the door. “I don’t—I can’t—Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Matt whispers, cupping his cheek. His hand is so warm and Nick can’t help the way he leans into it. “You’re safe. It’s cool. I won’t say anything to anybody.”
“But… the band, your crew, theyknow?—”
“They all know how to keep secrets,” Matt assures him firmly. “Especially this kind.”
Something sharp twists in Nick’s chest, rising viciously up his throat. “Make out with a lot of closeted celebrities, do you?” he asks, bitingly. Matt doesn’t react.
“You’d be the first, actually,” is his even response. His thumb lingers on Nick’s jaw for a moment, and then he pulls away, an unreadable look in his eyes. “Look, we can forget that happened. I just—I couldn’t not take that chance. But if you aren’t into it, that’s fine. No one’s going to out anybody here, Nick. I promise. We all know what kind of world you live in, remember?”
Nick grimaces—of course, even from playing at the college hockey level the band are probably all too familiar with how kind the sport is to people like them. People like Nick.
The sirens in his head fade as he takes a deep breath, gathering his senses. His lips are still tingling from the force of the kiss.
He hasn’t been kissed like that in alongtime. He can’t just walk away.
