Page 33

Xander, February 10th

“ I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh? Of course, man, what is it?” Nate looks up from his book, tilting his head at me. My resolve deflates like one of those flailing tube-guys in front of car dealerships.

“Uhm…it’s nothing big, just…something I wanted to tell you.” I hate dancing around the subject like this; it doesn’t feel right that again something to do with Nicko gets between me and Nate.

He raises his brows and waits for me to continue.

“I uh…mh…,” I hedge, unsure where to start. This would be easier if I hadn’t sworn that I had no intentions toward Nate’s brother before the Christmas break. Before I went and threw that resolution right out of the window as soon as the opportunity presented itself. I don’t even know why I suggested it. Just that I did not want to fall into some vague fuck-buddy arrangement with Nicko.

Not to mention that he’s still ghosting through my system, an aftertaste lingering in my mouth, even if I’m half worried he’ll lunge at my throat if I take a wrong step.

And I hadn’t thought about Nate fitting into this at all—until now.

It felt right not to tell him while there wasn’t anything serious between his brother and me. But now it’s a Date, capital D. Now it’s more than just fooling around.

“Yeah?” Nate prompts, and I become aware that I haven’t said anything for too long. I draw my shoulders up, even further away from finding the right words.

“There’s…I have a date.”

“Congrats, man,” Nate says, but his tone is flat, his eyes piercing. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

He’s going to make me say it. I bite my tongue and rub the back of my head, shifting on my feet. My eyes wander around our room, but neither my bed nor our bookshelves are offering any help. I throw a look out of our windows. Maybe someone will hold up a banner with a script for me.

Eventually Nate groans. “Jesus Christ, I know you’re sleeping with Nicko.”

“You…you know?”

“Yeah?” Nate grimaces. “Since Christmas. Wanted to ask you to go for a run before we left, and you had Nicko drooling all over your chest, so I let you sleep and figured you’d tell me when you were ready.” There’s a quiet accusation in his voice; a bit of sadness too.

I close my eyes with a sigh. I was certain that no one would catch on.

“We…it wasn’t supposed to be anything serious,” I start, ducking my head and holding up a hand when Nate draws his brows together.

“It really wasn’t. We thought we just had to get it out of our systems but…” I can’t help the way my lips curl as I think about last night, the noises Nicko made when lying on the backseat of his car. How his eyes glinted in the near darkness over me, and the way his mouth greeted me greedily when I came up.

“Ugh,” Nate grunts, and I feel my cheeks warm when I catch his raised brows. I don’t feel all that bad about it though. Nicko will be here in about two hours to pick me up for our date; until then, Nate can make as many comments as he likes.

“Is…is that a problem?” I ask hesitantly. I’m not going to let Nate make any decisions for me—though I briefly wonder if Nicko would let himself get talked out of seeing me—but I don’t want this to get messier than it already is.

Nate stares at me, looking me over like he seriously needs to think about this. His shoulders raise, and then his brows furrow.

“I don’t know, man,” he huffs, stemming his hands into his hips.

“What do you mean? It’s not like–”

“I mean I don’t know, Xan! This…you hated Nicko for three years and then what? You kissed him out of nowhere , when you didn’t even know it was him , then you fuck him, and now you’re going on a date with him? I don’t fucking get it!”

It’s hard, but I swallow down my annoyance along with the urge to correct him.

“I don’t get it either,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I just…” I shrug, unsure what there even is to say. I want to get Nicko out of my head. Want to not think about the way his mouth fits so perfectly against mine before he decides to bite me. And I definitely want to not think about how that stupid gesture makes my heart jump every time.

I also don’t want to feel so stupidly challenged by him. And I wish it wouldn’t make me want to prove him wrong.

“There’s just… something about him that’s…attractive.” That’s the best I can do.

Nate, who’s still looking at me with furrowed brows, has stepped closer. He’s now outright glaring at me in a way that makes me raise my head and straighten my shoulders.

“If this is just…some kind of ploy, to get back at him somehow or–”

“What? Nate come–”

“If you don’t take this as seriously as if he were anyone else! I…swear to me, Xan. Swear that this is serious to you!”

“I swear.” I glare back at him, irked—not just by Nate, but by myself, too. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have to justify my interest. Not to Nate, and not to my conscience either. But as it is, I have to look at this differently. I’m not going out with Nicholas van der Hoff, the guy I shouted at and argued with every chance I got, who I told to quit bitching or quit hockey altogether.

No. I’m going out with Nicko, who I feel like I have only met a few weeks ago. Getting to know a version of him I had never allowed myself to see.

Something in my eyes or voice must have convinced Nate, because he backs off a few steps, his brows relaxing again, even if his hands remain firmly planted on his hips.

“Good,” he says, then takes a deep breath. “What are you going to wear?” It sounds and feels like a peace offering, and I gladly take it.

“Dark jeans and the button–”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, you absolutely cannot wear anything with buttons on a date with my brother.” Nate rolls his eyes like that should be obvious. I tilt my head to get him to elaborate.

“Oh, Christ. Really, Xan? Have you seen how Nicko dresses?” Nate pushes himself up from his desk to wander over to my wardrobe, pulling out clothes as he keeps talking.

“The day he leaves his sweatpants at home is the day hell freezes over. Plus, he barely has anything that isn’t sweatpants or a Badgers hoodie. Trust me, I’ve had to deal with it for two weeks!” He leans around the opened doors, holding up a sweater I’m pretty sure hasn’t seen the light of day for at least a year.

I shake my head and thankfully he does too, unceremoniously dropping it to the ground. I bite my tongue and stop myself from bending down to grab it. Tidying up before Nate is done is pointless.

“Usually, I don’t think about the clothes he has on ,” I say quietly, prompting Nate to stick his head out again, eyes narrowed. Quickly, I raise my hands.

“Sorry!”

“You better be.” He emerges with another sweater, a blue one that I wear often during spring and fall. I frown, but take it anyway. It’s soft and comfortable, but not exactly fit for a date. The collar is worn out, and the sleeves have always been too long. Still, I hang it over the rail of my bed.

“Jeans are fine, but wear the black ones. They like…hug your…legs,” Nate continues his instruction, flapping one hand in my direction while still digging around in my wardrobe.

When he finally reemerges, he glares at me as he presses the pants into my hands but then doesn’t let go.

“Just to clarify: If you hurt my brother, I’ll mess you up, Xan.”

I take the threat with a quiet nod. I still haven’t decided whether or not Nicko is an asshole, but I don’t want to intentionally hurt him.

“What if your brother hurts me?” I tilt my head with a tentative smile.

Nate huffs out something like a chuckle.

“I’ll mess both of you up then!” he promises with a snort, reaching out to punch my shoulder.

Two hours later, my resolution to my best friend is put to the test by Nicko himself. After picking me up, he drives us into the city, parking at one of the large shopping centers. The arcade I drag him into isn’t actually old, but made up to lay claim to all the nostalgia its games and badly-patterned carpets promise. Despite Nicko proclaiming that he never plays any games, he has obliterated me in every single thing I picked out.

And now he’s about to smoke me in air hockey too.

“What the hell!” I laugh when he smacks the round plastic disc hard enough to make me wince, smashing it into my goal.

“You should know that I can beat you at any kind of hockey, Hart!”

“Not yet!” I point at the flashing countdown that tells me I have thirty seconds left to make five points. Across the table, green eyes flash at the challenge.

I manage two points, but with three seconds on the clock, Nicko makes another goal. I lean down to grin at him over the table.

“Rematch?”

“So eager to lose again, Hart?” he taunts, pulling another token from his pocket. I hold up a hand and hurry to pull off my parka. It isn’t until I slide out of the sleeves that I remember what I’m wearing. We might only be in an arcade, with all the other twenty-somethings, tired parents and their hyperactive children, but I still feel underdressed. We are on a date after all, and I’m wearing a sweater that’s sliding down over my collarbones and fraying at the sleeves.

I should have never listened to–

“Oh, my God, I never should have listened to Olli!” Nicko groans, causing me to look up and over at him. He has stopped in the middle of unbuttoning his own jacket, his eyes sweeping over me. After another moment he huffs, then slips out of it, letting it drop to the ground. He’s wearing a neatly pressed dress shirt, tucked into his dark pants. Seeing the orderly folds of his button-down makes me even more self-conscious. At the same time warmth blooms in my chest.

The day he leaves his sweatpants at home , indeed . With a start I realize that Nate is right. I don’t know why Nicko acts allergic to proper clothes, because the dark gray material stretches perfectly over his chest. Two buttons are undone at his throat, exposing just enough pale skin to make my mouth go dry.

“You…you asked your roommate? About what to wear?” I manage to tie enough words together—and to also tear my eyes away from how the material shimmers in the lights of the arcade.

“Well, yeah? He said I couldn’t go looking like a hobo .” Nicko’s fingers draw air quotes next to his head.

“It…it suits you. Very well.”

“Yeah, but now I feel like an idiot.” His eyes flicker over me.

I look down as well, huffing out a half-strangled laugh as I pluck on the collar of my sweater so it’ll lie neatly over my collarbones.

“Nate told me to wear this,” I lean forward onto the table, letting him see the worn-out sleeve sliding up over my wrist as I reach for the paddle.

He stares at it, then looks up at me again. His cheeks are flushed, and there’s heat in his gaze that has me shift. I look at him for a moment too long and miss when he inserts the token, putting me at an immediate disadvantage as he smacks the disk toward my goal.

“Cheat!” I accuse, but within seconds I’m too involved in our fast-paced back-and-forth to care. The puck flits across the surface, smacking the sides as well as our paddles. Every time he scores, Nicko grins at me.

At the end the neon lights flash on his side, and I’m forced to concede the mastery of air hockey to him.

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff! Say it, Xanxan!” he prompts, weaving around the table and grinning broadly at me. I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed. His thrilled smile has my heart jumping into my throat.

“You’re the master of air hockey, Nicholas van der Hoff.”

“Damn right!” He nods in satisfaction, then saunters on, considering the machines nearby. When he stops next to one with two seats and steering wheels, I shake my head, pulling him onward by his arm.

“Oh, absolutely not!”

“Why not?!”

“Because you already beat me at three of these! No, let’s try that!” I point at a screen that has a checkerboard pattern laid out in front of it. Nicko stops short.

“No.”

“Come on!”

“No! I can’t dance for shit, Xan. Come on, let’s shoot some zombies again or–”

“I can’t dance either. Here,” I amend, putting a token into the slot and throwing my parka at him to hold. “I’ll prove it.”

Nicko crosses his arms and stands off to the side.

It’s a two-player game, and I have to admit that I do feel ridiculous jumping around on the flashing tiles.

Despite my best efforts, the virtual crowd boos me at the end. I don’t care, because I can hear Nicko laughing behind me. He’s doubled over, barely keeping himself upright when I finally turn around and take a mocking bow at him.

He tips his head back and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, really impressive. I think playing that was a loss in and of itself.”

I snort and bump my shoulder against his, not entirely agreeing that it was a total flop. “Let’s get something to eat. I know a good place.”

***

I confidently lead us outside of the mall, along only a few streets until we reach the waterfront. From there it isn’t far to The Gull’s Post, a small seafood restaurant. I hold the door open for him, looking over my shoulder when Nicko pauses.

“What’s up? Don’t you like seafood?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he assures me and walks ahead.

We’re a bit late for dinner, but we still get a table in a corner. Nicko has grown quiet and tense, so I hope being out of the spotlight will settle his nerves again.

I look around before I unbutton my parka and then quickly sit down, hoping to hide the ratty sweater Nate picked for me.

At least the waiter has left us right after leading Nicko and me to our table, but I feel like he’s judging me from across the room. I pluck at the collar of my sweater. Nicko fits in much better in his button-down, and I have to tear my eyes away from his throat once more.

“I really like this place. I brought my moms here when they came for a visit last spring. The food is amazing,” I comment to distract myself, looking at the naval-themed decorations. Fishing nets and anchors hang from the walls while oversized seashells are scattered on the tables.

I watch as Nicko’s fingers trail the ribbed back of one of the shells between us. Unable to resist, I cover his hand with mine.

He stares at it, then turns his head to look at the other guests sitting nearby, none of which are even remotely interested in us. His hand is warm under mine. I hum and brush my thumb over his knuckles, smiling at the soft contact that is new for both of us.

“What can I get you to drink?” The voice of the waiter makes us jump. Nicko’s hand disappears back under the table, and I resist the urge to growl.

“We need another minute, thanks.”

I wait until he has disappeared between the other tables before I lean over again. Nicko is back to looking around, brows drawn low over his eyes, jaw working.

“They make these really good mussels. It’s like this big pot, and you get fries with it. If you like, we could share it?” I suggest.

Nicko’s lips move, but there’s no sound coming out.

“Hm?”

He grimaces, looks at the ceiling, then closes his eyes for a second. I didn’t think he was that opposed to sharing food, but okay. “They have other–”

“I’m allergic to shellfish.”

His voice is a bit too loud, too fast, but the words register quickly, and I feel my brows shoot up my forehead.

“Really? But Nate isn’t–” I interrupt myself from sounding like an idiot. They’re two separate people, and I already know they differ from each other in many areas.

“Shit, why didn’t you say so earlier?” Now the tension in his shoulders makes sense. Eating here might very well...kill him?

“Just how allergic? Are you...like do you react to the smell? Or just if you eat…?” I ask, looking around. The tables closest to us are already finished.

“No, not that bad,” Nicko huffs and shifts in his chair. “But I definitely couldn’t share any mussels with you.”

“Yeah, no shit,” I mutter, then shake my head and get up. “Okay, let’s go somewhere else.”

“What? I thought you liked this place. I could just…watch you eat?”

I huff and look at him, pulling my parka on. “Nicko, please. Yeah, I like this place, but I wouldn’t make you watch me eat. Besides…” I bite my tongue and wait until we’re outside in the cool night air. Nicko does perk up, but he also looks at me uneasily.

I sigh, taking a step to the side to lean against him. The warm contact dissolves the lingering shock. “I want to kiss you later and not have our date end in the ER, so…what do you feel like?”

“Bit presumptuous to think that I’d let you kiss me,” he teases, a smile playing around his lips. “How about burgers?”

***

“Why did you even let me take you to a seafood restaurant if you’re allergic?” I ask. I can already laugh about the situation as we’re following the pier that stretches along the lakeside. We each grabbed a burger and some fries at a nearby food truck. Next to us the water is quiet and nearly black in the dark, the lights of the city shimmering on its surface.

“Uh, because this is a date , Xanxan. Didn’t you know?” he snarks, bopping me on the nose with a French fry. His sass makes me huff, even as the emphasis sparks a giddy feeling inside of me.

“Oh, we’re on a date? Damn, that almost slipped me,” I mutter, laughing when Nicko shoves me into the next bush.

“Ass,” he grumbles.

“I think,” I continue, once I have plucked a few leaves from my hair and off of my burger, “the point of a date isn’t to have an allergic reaction to the food but rather to get to know each other.” I look at Nicko from the side.

“God, Xanxan, you’re such a boomer,” Nicko groans, but I can see the light dusting of pink sneaking across his cheeks. I shrug again, unbothered by his jab. At least the awkward tension is broken.

We find a bench and sit down to eat. Nicko has already demolished half his fries when I reach over to steal one.

He glowers at me.

“I’ll buy you more with my first Rebels paycheck,” I promise easily, only noticing how presumptuous it sounds when Nicko chokes.

I focus very intently on my burger, as if I’m measuring where to take the next bite. “We’ll be playing together after all; I don’t see the scandalous headlines of ‘ Hockey Player Buys Fries for his Teammate in Big Gay Gesture ’ making a wave.”

Again, Nicko snorts, shaking his head, but when he looks across the water his shoulders are drawn up. He takes a few more bites of his burger before he suddenly stops, two fries on the way to his mouth. “Do you think it’ll be different this time around?”

“What?”

“Playing together,” he says, turning the fries over before he looks at me. He doesn’t have to mention all the things that might come between us on the ice this time.

“I mean…you still hated me when we played against the Grizzlies, right? And we absolutely destroyed them. Together.” I pick up another fry, considering it as I keep talking. “And I…liked when you called me out for not playing my wings. And for my backhand.” I finally take a bite, looking at Nicko as well. He’s staring at me, food seemingly forgotten about.

I give him a smile that shakes him out of his freeze.

“You can’t really compare the NHL and college teams, though.”

I hum, balling up the empty wrapper of my burger.

“Of course not. And it’s assuming the Rebels put us on the same line, but I think we make a great team and that we can learn a lot from each other. And then we’ll be absolutely unstoppable!” I grin, wagging my brows at him. “Could even win a certain cup!”

“That again? You just want me to shut you up.” Nicko raises his brows at me. I don’t miss the way his eyes slip down to my lips for a second.

“Maybe?”

“So predictable, Hart,” Nicko says airily and finishes his fries. He too crumples up his wrapper—and then throws it at my head. Laughing at my perplexed expression, he jumps up.

“Come and get it!”

With a snort I jump up, pausing to throw our empty wrappers in the nearby trash can before I chase after him.

We race along the edge of the pier. I have longer legs than him, but Nicko is insanely fast. I’ve noticed it on the ice, and even running he stays several paces ahead of me—for a time. We’re almost back to where he parked his car when I finally catch him. Grabbing him by his arms I pull him into the darkness of a nearby alley.

We’re both panting, chests heaving as I trap him against the bricks. I’m breathing too hard to claim his lips for long, but I still catch them between my own again and again.

“This,” Nicko groans, still breathless but managing to snark at me, even without air. “Why did you make me ask you out when we were already doing this? ”

I hesitate, reluctant to admit that I don’t want to just be his dirty little secret; that was my personal reason for going public in such a spectacular way. Not that I’d force Nicko to out himself, but even going to the arcade and the restaurant felt like a big step toward something more official.

He must have seen the answer on my face though, because he groans again, then laughs, turning his head to press his nose against my cheek.

“You’re such a girl, Xanxan.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” I snort, shaking my head and then turning to bring our lips together again.

“Why not? Why not date properly?” I sincerely ask. Sneaking around with Nicko at Christmas was different, since he’d been my sworn rival for a solid three years. Fuck, our first time in the locker room I was certain we’d punch each other’s lights out. Now that that has changed, I can’t keep myself from imagining how things could be next year. We already know we’ll be playing for the same team, living in the same city, after all.

So why shouldn’t we give this a chance?

Nicko huffs out a laugh, but when he catches my eyes, he squirms against me, shaking his head.

“We can’t–”

I know exactly what he’s going to say; I can feel my stomach sink with the obvious answer: It’ll be too complicated, too risky in our first season. And maybe Nicko just plain doesn’t want more than sex. I don’t want to think about not being able to kiss him, touch him, or just banter with him in the future, when I can do all those things right now.

Growling lowly, I bite along his jawline to his neck and throat, pressing the length of my body against him. My hands are in his hair, pushing the soft strands back.

“We can right now,” I murmur against his skin, sucking over his pulse. It hammers away under my lips, in time with my own. “And we can tomorrow. We can next week. We’re not in the NHL yet,” I remind him, my mouth trailing lower.

Nicko’s hands slide over my chest, pushing my coat away. Then he turns us around so that it’s my back against the wall.

“Fine,” he declares, a gleam of determination in his eyes. “Until the end of the season.” His words are barely above a whisper, but they feel as solid as the bricks behind me. He pushes closer until there’s nowhere left to go.

“Until the end of–” I start, but Nicko steals the words from my lips.