Page 94 of Seal the Deal
He makes a mental note to cook bigger portions next time.
“I did. Charlie tried sometimes, and he was great with Alec, but—” Andrew breaks off with a shrug.
“S’bullshit,” Nicki says around his last bite.
“It’s family.”
“Like I said.” Nicki gulps the last of his coffee next. “Family is bullshit. Expectations and obligations and stress.”
“Not all families are like that, Nicki, and I’m sorry for whoever it was that made you think family and love was transactional.”
Nicki grunts, moving to the coffee pot. Andrew strongly suspects he hit a nerve, every one of his carefully honed body language reading skills telling him to take a step back. To give Nicki room to breathe. But beyond that is what he knows of Nicki—a silver spoon in his mouth with no one there to hold it. Given everything yet denied the kind of love and emotional stability that money can’t buy.
What Nicki needs more than space is to be reminded that sometimes people do things because they care. Maybe this started out as nothing more than a deal, maybe the boyfriend thing is fake, but all of his feelings aren’t. He’s come to care about Nicki, to appreciate the man behind the hockey mask and the carefully crafted media persona.
Nicki is his friend, and Andrew isn’t going to leave because things are hard.
“Let me make you another coffee.”
“I can make my own fucking coffee.”
“Sure you can, and I can make it for you.” There’s a flicker of surprise, his shoulders sagging. Andrew takes the opening and steps between Nicki and the machine and easily makes him another cup. By the time he’s turning around, steaming mug in hand, Nicki is leaning against the counter and staring morosely at the sea.
When Andrew passes him the coffee, he doesn’t expect or need a thank you, but he gets one anyway.
“So you do know those two words.”
“You’d be surprised how well polished my manners are, princess.”
“Just choose not to use them,” Andrew teases, resting against the kitchen island beside Nicki and staring out the window.
“They’re fake, just like my parents. Everything they ever did was transactional. Hell, having me was transactional. My mother got a house in the South of France after she had me, she was rarely around except for notable occasions where her missing might look bad on my father.”
“That sounds lonely.”
Nicki shrugs, bringing the coffee to his lips. “It is what it is. I think most people are like that.”
“Now that is some bullshit,” Andrew says, leaning into Nicki’s shoulder.
Nicki arches an eyebrow. “Language, princess.”
“Fuck off, you’ve heard me curse. I’m serious, though. I mean some people are pretty shitty but most people, when they’re given the right support—food, housing, a sense of community—they do the right thing. The worst of us comes out when people are denied the access to the things that would make a society flourish.”
“My parents didn’t want for anything and they’re still fucked.”
“Well, maybe they were wanting in the things money can’t buy, or maybe they’re just shitty people. But I still think most people are good.”
“Too much thinking so early,” Nicki grunts.
Without consciously deciding to do it, Andrew reaches out and smooths his fingertips over the back of Nicki’s head just like he had at the brewery. Almost immediately, Andrew’s body relaxes at the contact, just like he had during the dinner with Nicki’s teammates. At the time, Andrew didn’t even realize he was stimming on Nicki’s buzz cut, but touching it had grounded Andrew through the overstimulating evening.
Even now, when things are calm, he seeks it out again, eager to feel that soft, almost velvety sensation where Nicki’s undercut has clearly been freshly buzzed recently.
“Fuck,” Nicki groans.
“Sorry,” Andrew apologizes, yanking his hand back.
“Princess, you can touch me whenever you want.” Nicki grabs Andrew’s hand, placing it back against his skull. “Particularly like this.”
