Page 7

Marcos

Max

Practice finished early, so I came to the game.

At the locker room.

Standing in front of my locker, half undressed, I stare down at the messages in surprise.

With hockey taking up a lot of his time, it’s always been hard for him to make it to my games.

This season, he’s come to even less. He hasn’t said as much, but I suspect sitting in the crowds makes him uncomfortable.

Tossing my phone back onto the shelf, I start changing quicker.

If Max is outside, I don’t want to leave him waiting for too long.

Vince, whose locker is next to mine, shuffles sideways to give someone else more room.

His arm brushes across my skin, and I pull mine tight into my side in disgust. Today is not a good day.

Today, the feel of that warm, slightly sweaty arm against mine makes the room spin and my skin crawl.

I pull on a long-sleeved shirt, tugging the cuffs down until they’re almost covering my hands.

I need to go home and take a cold shower.

“You going to come to Tidal Wave with us?” Vince asks, and I look over in time to dodge another elbow coming my direction. If it wouldn’t be weird to do so, I’d go change in a fucking shower stall. This locker room is a damn minefield.

“No.” My stomach clenches. “You guys will be all right without me?”

Vince gives me a questioning look. He doesn’t get it. Nobody gets it. Nobody understands the sick, churning feeling in my stomach when I think about my friends and teammates out getting drunk and the things that could happen to them.

“Of course,” he says nonchalantly, because people always think everything will be fine until the day it isn’t.

“Maybe…maybe I’ll stop by later.”

Vince knocks his knuckles against my bicep and I very nearly flinch away, forgetting I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt and my skin is covered.

“Don’t worry about it, man. Go home and ice those knees. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

Smiling, he shoulders his bag and steps around me to leave.

Shaking my hands out, I finish getting dressed.

Luke, I notice, is already absent. He probably walked out and saw Max waiting there for me, and the thought sets my teeth on edge.

Fucking Luke Kelly, who bounces around partners like a goddamn squirrel collecting nuts, just had to work somewhere with hours late enough for Max to walk in the door on one of his bad nights.

I can’t imagine life getting any harder than it is right now, but Luke breaking Max’s heart would certainly tip the scale. The thought pisses me off to no end .

Scowling and now in a terrible mood, I exit the locker room to find Max standing a few yards away and talking to none other than Luke-fucking-Kelly. I’m going to kill him.

“Marcos.” A cheery and unexpected voice pulls my attention toward the opposite side of the doorway. Standing with a shoulder leaned against the wall and a smile on his face is Nate. Nate, who plays hockey with Max. Nate, who sucked my dick the other night, and apparently still remembers my name.

“Ay dios mío,” I whisper, closing my eyes. Maybe when I open them he’ll be gone, Luke will be gone, and it’ll just be me and Max.

“Nope, not God. Just me, Nate.”

I open my eyes to see him grinning at me, those green eyes bright underneath the brown fringe of his hair. Those fucking eyes.

“You speak Spanish?” I ask, glancing away to make sure Max is still there and okay.

“Nah. Three years of high school Spanish didn’t give me much except the cuss words and how to ask where the bathroom is. You know, the important things.”

I stare at him, pulling my shirt down to make sure my hands are covered. He was handsome the other night, but he’s breathtaking in the daylight. It’s terrifying. People who look like him don’t pay attention to people who look like me. What the hell is he doing here?

“I enjoyed watching you play,” he says, stepping closer to me. I silently will him not to touch me. Not today. Not when Max is standing right there and I haven’t yet told him about what happened. It occurs to me that Nate might have told him, and my skin itches with another kind of discomfort.

“Thanks. Did you come with Max? ”

“No, I was here with a friend. Max showed up and sat with us, though. You didn’t tell me you played for the team.”

“No,” I agree. I didn’t tell him much at all, because I never thought I’d see him again. “Listen, I don’t?—"

“Can I have your number?” he interrupts quickly, as though fearing where I had been going with that sentence. “You didn’t give it to me at the party, and I didn’t know how to find you.”

“Find me?” I repeat dumbly. What the hell was he trying to find me for?

“Yeah. I wanted to text you. I thought maybe we could get together sometime. You know”—the right side of his mouth quirks upward—“somewhere nicer than a backyard.”

I stare at him incredulously. Did he really follow Max down here to ask for my number so we could hook up again? It takes me a moment to formulate a response, after another glance to make sure Max isn’t within hearing distance.

“You…are you serious right now? I thought that was just…I thought that was just a random hookup. You don’t actually want to…”

I trail off. This really isn’t a conversation I want to be having ever, let alone in the damn hallway as my teammates walk by.

Luke laughs suddenly, and the sound echoes through the concrete hall.

My gaze snaps over to him and Max. He’s standing very close to my friend.

I clench my fingers around the desire to yank him away.

“Are you busy tonight?” Nate asks, bringing my attention back to him. He’s watching me closely, eyes unwavering on mine. Beneath my shirt, my skin itches horribly and I think once more of the cold shower and cool sheets waiting for me at home.

“No, Max and I are just going home,” I tell him truthfully .

I hate lying, and I can’t bring myself to make up plans to get out of whatever he has in mind.

He thinks about this for a second, gaze almost uncomfortable now.

I wish he’d look away. I can’t get a read on him, and I’m really not in the mood to try tonight.

Perhaps some of this comes through in my expression, because his own softens and he pitches his voice low.

“Okay. Can I have your number, though? I’d like to talk.”

I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to that.

Silently, I hold out my hand. My neck burns as I bend my head and tap my number into his phone.

I can feel his eyes on me, as surely as I could feel his hands on my hips the other night.

I roll my shoulder absently as I hand his phone back, the memory of last weekend at war with my dislike of being touched tonight.

I want him, but I also want to be left alone.

“Thank you.” He grins down at his phone when I hand it back, thumbs flying over the screen as he immediately sends me a text. “There. Now you have my number, too.”

“Great,” I say, unable to gather any excitement. I’ll never use it. I’m not even convinced he’ll use mine. He doesn’t need to use me for booty calls—the man could just walk down the fucking street and find someone willing. Someone a hell of a lot better than me.

“Hey, Marcos.” Max’s soft voice has me whipping my head to the side. I look him up and down, before glancing over his shoulder and watching Luke’s back as he walks away from us. Good.

“Hey, Max, thanks for coming. I didn’t think I’d see you.” He grimaces, and I mentally slap myself. Now all I’ve done is made him feel bad about missing most of my games. “What did Luke want?”

I try very hard to keep my tone even and expression blank. Last weekend, Max went on a spontaneous beach trip with Luke, and apparently there was talk of a dinner date. I don’t bother hoping that Luke forgot about that. I’m not that lucky.

“Oh. We’re going to grab dinner this week,” Max answers softly, looking half excited and half apologetic.

“That’ll be fun,” I manage to say, even as my stomach clenches and my skin prickles with pain—tiny little needles, stabbing their way up my arms.

I know Luke isn’t a bad guy. I know it’s okay to sleep around and enjoy your college years.

But this is Max, who’s good at putting on an act and pretending to be fine, but wakes up shouting from nightmares most nights.

Max, who requires an act of Congress to eat something these days, and has stopped finding pleasure in even hockey.

Looking at his bright, hopeful face, I realize I’m going to have to talk with Luke before this date.

I won’t tell him what happened, but the least I can do is make sure he knows this isn’t a one-and-done thing.

If he wants to go out with my best friend, he’s going to treat him the way Max deserves to be treated. If not, I’ll wring his damn neck.

“Did you drive here?” I ask him, but he’s already shaking his head before I can finish the question.

“No, I was already on campus for practice, so I just walked over. My car’s still at home.”

“Okay.” I sigh, relieved. That means he can ride home with me, where I can keep an eye on him. “You ready to go?”

“Sure. You want to ride with us, Nate?”

My gaze snaps around to Nate in time to see him shrug. Every time I look at him, it’s like a jolt to the senses. He must have known what he was doing when he put on a shirt that color. He shouldn’t be allowed to wear green. Green on Nate is a felony offense.

“I can walk. I don’t live too far, and it’s a nice night,” he tells Max, hands tucked into his pockets and a comfortable smile on his face.

Max told me that Nate, or Bas as they sometimes call him, is the fun guy on the team.

That he’ll have the entire locker room laughing, and has even been known to get the indominable Coach Mackenzie to crack a smile.

I don’t have to strain myself to picture it.

Nate looks like he was born to be under a spotlight.