Page 88 of Seal the Deal
“This is Andrew,” Nicholas says through gritted teeth.
“Andrew King,” Andrew offers, holding a hand out to Tony. “Nice to meet you. You’re Tony Wilson. Impressive stats for scoring, longest running captain in Santa Leon history making you a shoe-in for the hall of fame, and you put up with Nicki.”
“Nicki,” Tony echoes, eyes widening.
“Call me that again, and the only place your name is going to end up is a tombstone.”
His teammates' laughter is so goddamn loud, it’s a miracle they don’t get kicked out.
“Nicki,” Pavel grins from beside Tony.
“Pavel Terov,” Andrew starts. “Called up to Santa Leon from the AHL. Your numbers are always good, but this season you’ve had an impressive plus-minus ratio. Overall, your stats indicate you’ve got strong decision making skills on the ice but also strong defensive plays.”
Pavel looks like the moon shines out of his goddamn fucking ass. Nicholas wonders how much trouble he’d get in for punching him.
“I like your boyfriend, Nicki.”
“You also have a large number of high danger shots and a history of unpaid parking tickets.”
Nicholas’s lips quirk up in the corner as Pavel sinks into his chair, flipping off the entire table. His girlfriend, whose name Nicholas can’t remember, kisses his cheek, which has him cracking a smile.
“You’re going to fit right in,” Tony laughs. “Sit next to me, Andrew. Tell me everything you know about hockey.”
“To be honest, I don’t completely understand hockey,” Andrew admits, lowering himself into the chair beside Tony. “I’m more of a numbers man. The stats I understand. The meaning of those stats on the ice and the real world implications of certain choices not so much.”
“Nicholas, why haven’t you taught your guy hockey? Hell, why hasn’t he come to watch us play? There’s only a handful of games before the regular season is over.”
“Nicholas has never invited me to a game,” Andrew says in a way that would make it seem like they’ve been together a lot longer than they have. It’s a tactful choice, smart, and it has Tony shaking his head.
“You better bring him before the season ends.”
“Actually,” Andrew says, “I’ll be at your next home game.”
“Since when?”
“Since Mark invited me.”
By sheer luck, Tony chooses that moment to yell something to Sergei at the end of the table diverting everyone’s attention away from Andrew. Everyone but Nicholas who hasn’t looked away. Nicholas grits his teeth so hard his teeth grind.Mark. Thatbland as shit weasel who was flirting with Andrew the day he surprised him at work.
“If you wanted to go to a game, you should’ve asked me,” Nicholas all but growls, crossing his arms petulantly. “I can get you rink side seats. Or a private box. Anything you want, I’ll get you.”
“None of that is necessary. I can handle one night in the stands with everyone else,” Andrew tells him, laying a hand on his knee under the table and giving it a squeeze. That one little touch does more to calm Nicholas than a rage room ever could. “Mark invited me as a friend, along with a few other guys from our department. It’s not a big deal, but I usually pass. They pointed that out, and I ended up agreeing to smooth things over.”
“You can pass on socializing if you don’t fucking want to do it,” Nicholas points out, not liking the idea of Andrew agreeing to things just to make other people happy.
Like he agreed to help Nicholas with his fake boyfriend problem, his brain unhelpfully points out.
“I know and I usually do, but with the season ending, a bunch of the guys wanted to do something, and I guess most of them are big hockey fans.”
That does nothing to placate Nicholas. If Andrew is coming to one of his games then it should beforNicholas.
“I’ll get you a jersey.”
“I don’t need a jersey. Besides, that material is disgusting. Polyester should be illegal.”
Nicholas frowns. The idea of Andrew at one of his games with other people, not wearing his jersey, has him feeling some kind of way, and he doesn’t fucking like it. He doesn’t care if some players think it’s cringe or bad luck for a significant other to wear their jersey at a game. Nicholas wants everyone who looks at Andrew to know exactly who he’s there for—him.
“Besides,” Andrew continues, “I’d much rather watch football or soccer.”
