31. Chomping on Eggplants
31
CHOMPING ON EGGPLANTS
Hunter
I feel like a stalker.
I’ve been watching Nate for the last thirty minutes, looking for any sign he might wake up.
Hell, I even tried to rouse him by chomping on this fantastic eggplant dish louder than my mum would have let me get away with at the table.
But I’m finished with my late-night meal, and I can’t exactly scroll through my phone noisily in the hopes he might perk up.
Maybe he’ll stir if I get ready for bed. I move around the room in the dim light, but after I’ve brushed my teeth and stripped out of work clothes, the football stud is still conked out.
At least the sheets are riding low, so I enjoy the view of his abs as I settle under the covers. I dim the light the rest of the way.
He shifts to his side. “Hey,” he murmurs.
Hallelujah! We have a live one!
“Hey, stud,” I say, with hallelujah in my voice too.
Barely opening his eyes, he smiles sleepily. “Stud. Ha. I like.” His words slur together.
But I fight on. “Thanks for the dinner,” I say, upbeat.
“Spicy. Like you,” he mumbles.
Please rally. Pretty please.
“It was great,” I say, but he’s a lost cause, and his eyes flutter closed.
In seconds, Nate’s snoring lightly, and I’m cursing time and fate.
It’s Wednesday night. We only have two more nights together. I won’t even see him after Saturday morning when he goes into lockdown mode before the Sunday kickoff, then he’ll fly home mere hours after the game ends.
My heart thuds painfully.
I’d thought a week would be enough, but now I don’t want it to end.
As my limbs grow heavy and my eyelids flutter, the day floats past me in a slow, sleepy blur. At least we have Thursday morning.
My mobile buzzes at seven. Grabbing for it, I click on the message from Ilene.
Ilene: Can you come in early? I’ve been brainstorming some extra promo packages! Could use your brain and its storms.
Sleep would have been nice but won’t win me promotions.
I hop out of bed and shower quickly, sans singing, then tug on clothes without Nate even stirring.
Should I wake him to say goodbye? I imagine he’d get up and dressed and insist on walking me to work.
I’d love that. But the man has a game in three days and needs his rest.
I drop a kiss onto his forehead, then leave the hotel, feeling like I haven’t seen him in forever.
As I head down the steps to the tube, my mobile vibrates with Ilene again.
Ilene: Oops! Come to Triumph Stadium. We’ll be working from there today.
I’m no longer cursing fate. I’m smiling as I cross to the other platform to catch the train in the opposite direction. I get to see my guy at the stadium. It’s hardly a date, but I’ll take whatever I can get.
Ilene crunches on raw green beans from a Ziploc bag as we take the cavernous hallway underneath Triumph Stadium on our way to the field. She’s a multitasking executive.
She finishes a bean and says, “It seemed like a good idea at the time—to ask the Leopards and Hawks what they’re most looking forward to in the game. But now it feels so blah.”
Her voice sounds downcast. I’ve rarely seen her so creatively frustrated.
“I want something fresh. A snappy question. We’ve got the whole starting line-up here and I want something…” She rubs her thumb and forefinger together, like she’s hunting for an idea just out of reach, and it’s not another bean. “Something catchy.”
I wrack my brain. What would I want to hear from the football stars? “How about asking what football means to them in five words or less?” I suggest. “Sometimes when they have to give a snack-size answer, you get something juicy.”
Ilene’s gray eyes pop. “Yes! Bite-size is best. We’ve got an hour with the players. We’ll shoot now and cut the promos this afternoon to start running tonight,” she says. “It’ll be a crash edit. Can you do it?”
“I’m on it,” I say as we reach the elevator.
She stabs the button for the field level, and as the lift doors close, she tilts her head, studying me. “You know, Hunter, you have such a natural affinity for sports production and broadcasting. I’d love to see you do more of it.”
Well, hello there, praise. It’s nice to see you. “Thanks, I’d love to keep doing this.”
“I’m going to keep an eye out for more projects to send your way. Can you come to the reception Friday night? There are some executives I want you to meet.”
Wow. I was happy to go as Nate’s arm-candy hubby. Now I have my own professional reasons to be there. “Absolutely. I’m going with Nate,” I say.
“Of course! That’s great that you’ll already be there. We’re going to be expanding all our sports divisions and pushing forward with more sports in Europe. Would that interest you?”
Do warm nuts taste better in first class?
“Absolutely,” I say, trying to tamp down the glee bursting inside me.
I can’t wait to tell Sarah, my sister, my mum, and most of all, Nate.
We film the promos on the field an hour later. Each player gets their turn in front of the camera crew, where I ask them the football-in-five-words-or-less question.
Xavier gives a confident, “Football is life.”
Jason declares, “The best game there is.”
Then, it’s Nate’s turn. I’ve only once seen my temporary husband dressed for a game. He’s imposing in all that gear, glowering and badass. He must terrify his opponents.
“What does football mean to you?” I ask him. “In five words or less.”
He stands with his helmet tucked under his arm, and his blue eyes lock with mine. My stomach flips as he pauses and holds my gaze before he answers, “Best time I’ve ever had.”
I don’t know if he means football or me.
But I choose to believe the latter.
We spend the morning finishing the spots with the players and getting some footage of practice. The crew packs up the equipment and leaves for the offices. I make my own way to the exit, mentally listing all I need to do in the next five hours, when a big hand darts out from a doorway and curls around my shoulder. A voice comes in a harsh whisper. “Get in here.”
It’s Nate, and he sounds pissed.
He tugs me into an equipment room, then shuts the door. “Don’t ever do that again,” he hisses.
I back up against the wall. We’re surrounded by shelves stacked with pads, gloves, and helmets. “What do you mean? Show up at your work?” It’s hard to think when he’s only wearing football pants and a sweaty workout shirt.
Nate prowls closer, fire blazing in his blue eyes. “You know what I mean.”
My heart rate skitters, fear and arousal twining together. “I have no idea what I did.”
“It’s what you didn’t do,” he seethes, grabbing my tie and jerking me against him. “Next time you come home while I’m asleep you damn well better wake me up with your mouth on me. On my lips. My stomach. My cock. Wake. Me. Up. I had plans for you , ” he says in a sharp reprimand.
A ridiculously hot one.
“That was terrible of me,” I say, playing along. “Why don’t you tell me your plans now?”
“You’ll have to wait. But you would have loved them. You would have been shouting my name. Instead, I’m going to make sure you never forget what to do when you come home late,” he tells me.
Do I have a new boss-me-around kink or what? My dick must think so from the way he’s standing at attention right now. “I was very, very bad.”
“And you’re going to take your punishment in the form of a blow job.”
Left is right and up is down, and I’m about to get blown because I failed to wake him with my mouth last night? I never want to leave this topsy-turvy world. “This isn’t really incentivizing me to ever wake you up again,” I say, but then I shut up and groan since Nate has dropped to his knees.
He undoes my belt and rips open my trousers, freeing my cock.
He wastes no time in taking me down his throat. I’m still in a state of disbelief as he swallows my dick. And I study him as he sucks. It’s like blow job school, and he’s demonstrating the art of the deep throat.
Relax your neck. Suck hard. Don’t be afraid to choke.
I take copious mental notes because later, I want to do this to him.
But soon it’s impossible to take notes as my brain goes haywire, then I come hard.
When Nate stands, I’m seeing stars—distant planets too. I’m not so far gone that I’ve forgotten sex manners. I curl my hand into a fist, move it back and forth in the air, demonstrating. “Want me to finish you?”
He shakes his head. “I gotta go. Team meeting.” Then my temporary husband threads a hand through my hair and drags my mouth to his, claiming me with a rough kiss. “Mmm. You taste so fucking good.”
When he breaks the kiss, he says, “Let’s go to the coffee shop in Bloomsbury tonight. The one with the affogatos. I really want to go out with you and your buddies. Trevor and Liam, right?”
“Yes.”
“Invite them if you want. Can you be there at eight? That doable?” He sounds so eager.
I’m glowing, both from the sex and the sweetness of his request. “I’ll work faster than any producer has ever worked,” I say.
I’m not missing one of my last nights with him.
Trevor and Liam are in rare form later at Coffee O’Clock, the shop in Bloomsbury near my home.
With a glint in his dark brown eyes, Trevor roasts me with the recounting of a trivia night last year. “And then Hunter jumped on the buzzer and shouted, We’re gonna need a bigger boat , but the emcee said Oh, sorry, that’s…wrong .”
Next to me in the spacious booth, Nate tilts his head my way, squeezes my shoulder sympathetically. “You’re , babe. You’re gonna need a bigger boat ,” he says as a honey-voiced singer croons at the mic in the corner of the café.
“I know that now,” I point out. “And I haven’t lost movie quote trivia night since that ignominious fail.”
Trevor snort laughs. “ Ignominious . Hunter never uses five letters when twenty-five will do,” he says as he lifts his glass.
Nate runs a hand through my hair affectionately. “He’s right, Mister Stupendous.”
“Stupendous is not a fancy word,” I insist.
Nate coughs. “Is so.”
“It is,” Liam seconds, then smacks a kiss to Trevor’s dark skin, a contrast to Liam’s pale, freckled face.
With an I told you so grin, Nate picks up the affogato and takes a sip. Then he says to the table, “Damn. This is almost better than the one near my house in San Francisco. Almost. ”
“Where do you live in San Francisco?” Trevor asks Nate as the singer croons about stolen time.
“The Marina,” I say, answering quickly for Nate.
Nate turns to me. “Good memory,” he says softly with a soft smile to match.
“Well, it was a good day,” I say.
Liam bumps his shoulder to Trevor, then whispers something in his boyfriend’s ear. I can’t hear him, but I can guess it’s about me.
“Shut it,” I warn playfully.
Liam brings a hand to his chest. “Why would you think I was talking about you?”
“Yeah, Hunter,” Nate prods. “Why would you?”
Liam looks at Nate but points at me. “Because he talked about you a lot when he returned from that stupendous trip to San Francisco.”
For a second, I want to tell Liam to stop, but then I let go of that feeling, realizing I’m not embarrassed. I’m kind of glad they told Nate. I know I loved when Nate’s friends talked me up in front of him in Vegas. I hope Nate likes this insider detail.
And I suspect he does since he nudges me with his elbow. “So you told them how you picked me up at the dunk tank like the determined stud you are?”
I square my shoulders. “I did. I told them I met this jock in San Francisco.”
“And he had it bad for the jock,” Trevor says.
I swear I can feel Nate’s happy pride as he says, “That so?”
“Yes,” I say, glad I can give Nate this moment now.
“So, what’s the deal?” Trevor cuts in. “You guys met again last week and fell in love straightaway and got hitched?”
Oh, shit.
Nate and I didn’t discuss what to say to my mates. This is seriously exhausting, maintaining a fake romance, and I don’t want to lie to my friends. It’s hard enough to lie at work.
I’m about to say, It’s kind of a funny story , then invite them into the inner circle when Nate answers with a decisive, “Yes, that’s what happened.”
I sit straighter, feeling admonished and resenting it. That’s how we’re doing it? His mates know the truth? Mine get scraps of lies?
“That’s so sweet,” Trevor coos.
“I love it,” Liam seconds.
Nate drapes an arm tighter around me, pulls me close.
But I don’t feel close anymore.