Page 20 of The Head Game

“Auggie, can I call you Auggie?” Nico asked, tone conversational, as he turned away, sauntering toward a dresser holding liquor, an ice bucket, and some glasses.

“No. You absolutely cannot call me that,” August protested.

Nico continued like he hadn’t heard him. “Auggie, I think you need to loosen up a little.”

“I’d rather get this over with,” he said tightly.

August heard the clink of ice being dropped into a glass, then a splash of liquid.

Nico turned toward him and held out the drink, silent.

“Trying to get me drunk, Arents?” August asked, ignoring the offer, though he did step farther into the room.

“Well, you’re a little tightly wound, dude. It seemed like you need it.”

“I don’t need it,” he protested. “I just don’t know why we aren’t getting down to business already.”

“Damn, you sure know how to romance a guy there, Manning,” Nico shot back. He looked down at the glass August hadn’t taken, shrugged, then took a sip.

August sputtered. “This isn’t about romance.”

“Figure of speech.” Nico grinned over the rim of the glass. “And if we’re going with trite cliches, why don’t you take off your coat and stay a while? I don’t mind getting fucked by a guy who’s fully dressed but an overcoat and scarf might be a bit much.”

August glanced down, belatedly realizing he was still wearing all of his outerwear. Minus the toque he’d left in the alley because it had been too covered in grime to pick up. “Oh. Right.”

He cleared his throat and stepped closer to Nico.

“Nice buttons, by the way.” Nico reached out and flicked one with the tip of his finger. “Very … nautical.”

August gritted his teeth, regretting he’d come tonight. The longer Nico’s stupid prattle went on, the less he wanted this.

“Thanks.”

August turned and hung his coat over the back of a chair, then carefully draped his scarf over it.

When he turned back, Nico was still standing there like he had all the time in the world, sipping his drink.

“Seriously. Are we going to do this or what?” August snapped.

Nico gave him an annoyed look but he set his glass down—not on a coaster, of course, because he absolutely was that kind of slob—and sauntered forward.

He was barefoot, August realized. He had long, narrow feet, highly arched with … purple nail polish on them?

“Nice color,” August’s tone was dry.

“Thanks. I like it.” Nico wiggled his toes. “I’m due for a pedicure soon though.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” August said with a groan.

“Well, you brought it up.”

“Right.” August crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, if we don’t get something going soon, I’m leaving. I might as well get a good night’s sleep if a vodka on the rocks and your purple toes are the best you can manage.”

“Gin,” Nico countered. He locked his gaze on August, then licked his lips.

“Of course it is.” The alcohol August liked least. Drinking it was like licking a pine tree.

Absolutely nothing about Nico fit with anything that appealed to August. And yet, he was still here, in this stupid bland hotel room. And August was about to fuck him. Because somehow, Nico had made August forget about Daniel for at least ten minutes.

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