“Y’know, Gabe,” Sofia says, moving closer to her brother, “it only took you nine years, but your hockey career is finally benefiting me.”
“My hockey career pays your tuition,” Marco points out with a raised eyebrow. His sister flaps a dismissive hand.
“That’s just big-brother shit. You coulda been an accountant and done that for me. Butthis”—she grins, cheeks dimpling—“this is what I’m talking about. Making friends with rockstars… it’s about damn time.”
That makes everyone laugh, Marco mock-scowling and ducking away when Joel tries to ruffle his hair.
“Aw, we’re officially your coolest friends,” he crows delightedly. “Sorry, Trix.”
“I don’t think Sof’s ever thought I was cool.”
“Poor baby,” Matt coos, patting Nick’s hip. “We still think you’re cool, it’s okay.”
Suddenly, the song changes to something Nick doesn’t recognize, and Matt’s face lights up. He lets his head fall back, raises his arms in the air, and starts to dance.
And boy, can hedance.
It makes sense, Nick supposes, that musicians are also good dancers. But as the band all starts to move along to the beat, he almost doesn’t know where to look. They’re fluid, hips moving and shoulders twisting, sexy in that effortless way that comes from justknowinghow to move. It’s something Nick has never mastered; he always feels like he’s thinking too hard about every little movement all the time, except when he’s on ice. That’s the only time his body becomes an instinct.
Matt does this little hip-roll that sends heat sparking down Nick’s spine. His hair is no longer slicked down, escaping insweaty strands that fall over his forehead, and the black makeup around his eyes makes them even more intense. He moves in a sensual blur of UV paint. Nick can’t look away, but he doesn’t dare inch closer. If he gets caught in that orbit, he might not be able to hold himself back.
It’s safer, dancing with Lindsay and Sofia and Bianca—dancingnearMatt but notwithhim, not in any way that could be construed as intimate. Matt, thankfully, doesn’t press for more—unless you count the way he locks eyes with Nick before rocking his hips, black-painted lips curled in a taunt.
This is what you could have if you weren’t such a coward, Nick’s brain whispers poisonously.
For the next song, he ends up between Matt and Joel, entirely by accident but he’s not mad about it. They’ve got a few of the pin-up-girl-maybe-Instagram-models dancing around them, and Nick plasters on his best straight-guy smile, keeping a polite distance from them all the same.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” one of the girls asks drunkenly. Nick shakes his head, laughing awkwardly.
“I’ve just got one of those faces!” There’s a not-insignificant chance that they’ve met before, given the social overlap of NHL players and hot female internet celebrities.
When the models have left to find better targets for the night, Matt closes the distance between them, leaning on Nick’s shoulder to speak into his ear. “You’re killing me in those fucking shorts, Tiernan,” he growls, all while their posture says “two bros having a conversation.” Nick chuckles.
“What, these old things?” he demurs. “Like you don’t know how good your arms look in that shirt.”
He feels Matt’s stubble catch against his cheek, along with the corner of a smile. “Hey, follow my lead.”
Before Nick can ask for clarification, the musician is pushing away and looking across their little group, pointing at Spencer.He mimes drinking, the question obvious. Spencer grins, giving a thumbs-up.
The pointing finger moves through each of them—by the time he’s pointing at Marco, Nick has caught on. His linemate shakes his head and gestures a cutting-off motion, then does it again in Sofia’s direction; the younger Perez flips off her brother, giving Matt a thumbs-up with her other hand.
“I’ll give you a hand,” Nick offers, loud enough to explain away him following Matt out of the dancing chaos.
They turn towards the stairs, but instead of going up there, Matt says something to the security guard and nudges open theStaff Onlydoor beside them. Nick only hesitates for a second before following him through, his ears ringing when the door swings shut and suddenly the world is so much quieter.
It’s a déjà-vu of the last concert, following Matt through a maze of narrow corridors looking for a bathroom. He doesn’t know what they’re looking for this time, but he stays silent, sticking close. They don’t pass anyone on their way.
“It should be… aha!” Matt murmurs, reaching for a door to the side and pulling it open. In the same movement, he grabs Nick by the front of his tattered shirt and shoves him into whatever’s beyond the door. Nick stifles a yelp, throwing a hand back to steady himself against the wall.
It helps that Matt glows in the dark right now, because the room they’re in is near-black as soon as Matt shuts the door. “Are we in a broom closet?” Nick asks, incredulous. Familiar hands sneak beneath his letterman jacket, settling on his bare waist.
“I’m sorry, are you complaining?” Matt retorts, before his lips are on Nick’s, muffling anything else he might have said. Nick hums, pulling Matt towards him till their chests are flush, licking the taste of fruit juice and sugar off his tongue. Heat floods through him—the flimsy little gym shorts do absolutelynothing to disguise how turned on he’s getting, and as Matt presses him back against the wall he thrusts a leg between Nick’s, smirking wickedly into the kiss at the reaction it gets. “Oh, baby,” he whispers, hot breath on Nick’s cheek, stroking teasing fingers up the fine trail of blond hair on the hockey player’s stomach. “You’re that happy to see me, huh?”
“Been a while,” Nick bites out, wishing he could bite somethingelsebut not wanting to get a mouthful of face paint. It doesn’t stop him from staring intently at Matt’s black-painted throat, watching where it blurs at the edges as he’s been sweating it off, staining the collar of his tank top. “Do we have time for this?” People will notice if they’re gone too long, surely.
“For you, stud, I’ll make time,” Matt replies, kissing him once more. He lingers in it, sucking Nick’s lower lip between his teeth playfully, reaching down to squeeze his ass. “Fuck, I love hockey butts,” he declares emphatically, making Nick laugh.
“You can take the boy out of hockey…” he says, pointedly grabbing at Matt’s substantial backside.
