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Gabriel gave Victor a look full of so much pity it made Oliver nauseous. “I heard what happened.”
Victor started to squirm, and he cleared his throat. “Yes, well. It was for the best. And I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Of course,” Gabriel said. He extended his hand to Oliver. His palm was hot and very calloused, and he wondered how much time Gabriel still spent on the ice with a hockey stick in his hands. “It’s very nice to meet you, Oliver. Treat this one well. He’s a good man.”
“You definitely don’t need to tell me that,” Oliver said, still a little breathy because this man had been his wet dream as he was moving from adolescence into adulthood. Oddly though, he wasn’t as starstruck as he expected to be. In fact, his attention kept straying over to Victor, who looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.
“Babe,” Oliver said. “Wanna get me off my feet?”
Victor frowned, and then he rolled his eyes. “Right. Your injured knee.” He led the way to seats right near the front of the window and held Oliver’s hand until they were both comfortable.
Oliver bit his lip and tried for a coy smile. “Was that the wrong thing to say? You didn’t mention it at dinner, but I had a feeling I overstepped.”
“I can climb stairs,” Victor told him, a little testy. “My vacation rental has about twenty-five of them just to get to the front door.”
Oliver lifted his brows. “You booked that place on purpose?”
At that, Victor glanced away, guilty. “Well. No. I don’t prefer them, but I can climb them.”
“And I can fake a knee injury to get us the best window table in the bar,” Oliver said primly. “I wasn’t trying to offend you. I just kind of thought maybe you were tired of having to ask people not to do things that are uncomfortable for your body because they never stop to think.”
Victor stared at him like he had a second head and said nothing, so Oliver figured he’d fucked up again. He settled into his chair and did nothing, but after a long beat, he felt a gentle stroke of something very warm against the side of his hand.
He looked down to see Victor painting hesitant lines against his skin. He turned his hand over, and Victor’s settled over his, feeling like it had been made to rest there. God, what was he doing. This was fucking nuts.
“Will you do me a favor?” Victor asked as the box got more and more crowded. He leaned in to keep his voice low. “If I’m crossing some kind of line here, touching you like this, let me know. I paid you for a ride service tonight, but we’ve been flirting, and I think the lines are getting a little blurred.”
Oliver swallowed heavily. “I wouldn’t let you get anywhere near me if I didn’t want it.” And he meant that with his whole chest, hoping Victor heard his sincerity. “But I do want it. And the same goes for you, okay? Because I like you, but I’d be just as happy hanging out as friends.”
After a second, Victor’s hand tightened around his, and he nodded before sitting back.
They were offered drinks shortly after, and the room filled with the scent of popcorn, but they both declined any. The lights in the arena went down as the teams came out to warm up, and the music kicked up a few notches.
Oliver would never be any real kind of sports fan. He loved baseball for the way the men filled out those uniforms, and he had no trouble imagining what was under loose basketball shorts—or what it would be liked to be picked up and fucked stupid by a man as tall as a tree.
And in all honesty, he didn’t understand a goddamn thing about hockey, but he would never get tired of watching those bearded demigods sink into the splits on the ice. He leaned forward a bit as a guy with a big number seventeen on his back leaned forward, sticking his gloriously large ass into the air.
His concentration was shattered when he heard a soft laugh, and he glanced over to see Victor pressing fingers to his lips, watching him. His cheeks flamed as he sat back and cleared his throat. “Oh, let me live, will you. Those are gorgeous specimens.”
Victor’s eyes crinkled in the corners as he dropped his hand to his lap. “Should I be offended that my date is drooling all over himself?”
Oliver’s cheeks flushed deeper. “Yeah. About that. I’m totally sorry I said—”
“Don’t,” Victor said quickly, then leaned in close. “It’s not exactly believable, considering you look like that, and I’m…” He waved his hand down his front like he wasn’t one of the most gorgeous older men alive. “This. So, I was flattered.”
Oliver let out a slow breath. “First of all, I could only be so lucky. And I mean that with my whole chest, Victor. I’m still trying to figure out how the hell your ex was such a moron. And second, I still should have asked. For your sake and mine.”
Victor’s left brow cocked up. “Your sake?”
“Yeah. I don’t know if it’s super obvious to you or not, but I’ve never been the most masculine guy in the world, and people in certain crowds tend to overlook me so long as I don’t, you know, act too obvious.”
“Obvious about what? That you’re…”
Oliver could tell Victor was fishing for the right term. “Gay. Very, incredibly gay. And I’d rather not get my ass kicked by some security guard in front of these nice, rich folks in their Versace suits.”
Victor looked almost devastated. “You think any of these guys would call security on you for being openly yourself?”
“You’d be surprised at how badly people react to me sometimes. It triggers something sort of angry and visceral in them,” Oliver said. He was not going to mention that he was specifically talking about the couple of clients in the past who’d hired him, then tried to beat the fuck out of him for making them “feel gay.”
