Chapter 2
August
“This better be worth all the theatrics,” Nate muttered under his breath as they walked down the dark alley towards God knew what bar. Wes had insisted that he knew the best place to take the group to, and Nate had gone along with it because that was what he was doing these days.
Not just floating along, not necessarily, but all summer Nate had felt one step removed from the world around him.
Like the only thing that had been real had been the blond man he’d met at the bar.
Ramsey had turned out to be exactly like he’d thought he was, but even having his initial suspicions justified hadn’t stopped Nate from thinking about him.
From replaying that night over and over in his mind, even when he shouldn’t.
Sterling, the other defensive captain, had pulled him aside more than once during camp, making sure he was okay. Making sure his head was on straight.
Well, it wasn’t on straight.
“It’s worth it,” Wes reassured him. “It’s just down here.”
Nate supposed he shouldn’t be all that surprised when Wes led their group further into the alley and then down a set of stained concrete steps set into the ground.
“It’s like we’re descending into hell,” Lane said, sounding delighted.
“Only you,” Trevor, the other demon twin, muttered.
There was a black wooden door at the bottom of the stairs, its surface unexpectedly shiny and new. A key, outlined in gold, shone to the right of the door.
That was apparently the only sign they were going to get.
“We’re gonna get killed,” Cam complained behind him. “Our organs harvested. That happens in big cities, right?”
Nate chuckled under his breath.
Heard Dawson murmur, “Rook, I promise you, I’m gonna personally make sure your organs stay unharvested.”
Wes knocked on the door, and a hidden window in the door opened.
“Holy shit,” Lane exclaimed.
Nate was intrigued, in spite of himself, as they stepped into the main bar. It was like the whole room had been transformed—from the huge oval-shaped wooden bar to the couches and the walls upholstered in richly luxurious fabrics and colors.
“Holy shit,” Lane said again, hushed and reverent again, and yeah, it was pretty damn cool.
And then Nate glanced over towards the bar, and everything inside him froze.
Leaning against the bar, like a daydream and a nightmare rolled into one, was Ramsey.
Nate told himself not to react, even as his insides liquified into a nauseating combination of terror and regret.
How many times had he regretted the way that night had ended?
He’d lain awake too many times over the summer, wishing that instead of making up that stupid as fuck Tim Horton’s lie he’d just told the goddamn truth.
Said, “Hi, I’m Nate Bishop, and I play defensive end for the Toronto Thunder.
That’s football, in case you didn’t realize. ”
But he hadn’t, and Ramsey had apparently gotten freaked out about it.
Because up until that point, it had been going even better than Nate had hoped.
Ramsey hadn’t immediately left after sex.
He’d seemed like he wanted to stay. But then they’d walked into the kitchen of Nate’s place, gotten a glimpse of those jerseys on the wall, and everything had changed.
“Oh hey, there he is,” Wes said, and it took Nate—still stupefied that Ramsey was here—a beat too long to realize that Wes was gesturing in his direction. Like they knew each other.
Ramsey pushed off the bar and sauntered towards them, looking every bit as gorgeous and untouchable as he had that night in June.
That Ramsey merged with the one Nate tried not to remember. The one who’d lain beneath him and that he’d kissed and who had squeezed his eyes closed against the something that had bloomed, unexpectedly, between them.
“This,” Wes said, waving towards Ramsey, “is Ramsey Andresen. He’s a hockey player for the Buffalo Wolves.”
If Nate had thought the way his organs curdled was bad before, it was nothing compared to how they felt now. Shrinking up into a wrinkled package. Churning away. Nate thought he might go over to the bar and puke into one of their shiny glasses.
“Hockey,” Ramsey had said, “I’m a hockey player. Up here for summer training.”
Nate hadn’t believed him. He’d laughed at him. And the whole time, he’d been telling the truth.
He’d even called him Willy Nylander’s fucking dog walker, for God’s sake.
It was actually fucking amazing that Ramsey had been willing to go home with him after that, honestly.
But maybe it explained some of why Ramsey had panicked at a glimpse of who Nate really was.
Maybe, anyway. He wasn’t sure how much credit he was willing to give Ramsey just yet.
“Hey,” Ramsey said. “Welcome to Vault.”
Nate was trying not to have a whole dissociative episode as the Ramsey in his mind and the Ramsey in front of him melded together into one person.
That was the way his voice had sounded, that night. It had been cocky, then surprisingly soft, and then cruel.
Now it just sounded neutral. Nate might’ve been fooled, but there was a reason Ramsey wasn’t looking at him. Was looking anywhere but at him.
“This place is so sick, isn’t it?” Wes said excitedly. He pulled Ramsey into a hug. For a split second, over Wes’ back, his gaze found Nate’s, and then it slid away, like they were the opposite ends of a magnet.
Well, Nate wasn’t about to say anything about what had happened. Wasn’t about to go over to Ramsey, pound him on the back and say, “how about that fuck we had in June? You ever think about that night?”
Nate would rather walk over hot coals than ever admit to anyone, nevermind Ramsey himself, that he remembered him.
That he was still thinking about him.
“Here,” Wes said, “let me introduce you to the team.”
Nate had a feeling if he hung back, Aidan would do the Aidan thing where he took over, and not surprisingly, he did, stepping forward. Offering his hand and introducing himself.
“You’re the QB, huh? Mentoring Wes here?” Ramsey asked.
But Nate had a feeling that if Ramsey was as close to Wes as it seemed, Ramsey knew exactly who Aidan was. This was just another part of the act. Another facet of the shiny, hard surface that he worked so hard to maintain.
Aidan nodded. “Hockey, huh?” he said to Ramsey.
Nate felt a little more justified then that he’d missed it too. But then Ramsey was so gorgeous, he’d never have expected a hockey player to look like him. Maybe that was stupid or short-sighted, but it was still true.
Dawson approached next, and Nate wasn’t surprised by that either. Dawson was single, and while he and the rookie punter hung around each other some, anyone with eyes was going to make a move on Ramsey.
Speaking of the rookie punter, he added a flustered, “Oh my God, you’re hot.”
Ramsey didn’t look even the tiniest bit shocked by that outburst. How many times a day must he hear that? Nate wondered if he got tired of it. If he ever wanted to walk around with a paper bag over his head.
But Ramsey did surprise Nate because he didn’t shoot Cam that cool and careful put-down, the way he had the bartender back in June. He just smiled, a glimpse into the Ramsey behind the mask, and teased back, “Hey, so are you, kid.”
Nate was still smarting over how their one night together had ended. Ramsey had the capability to be cruel, even if he hadn’t been cruel to the kid, now.
The demon twins approached next.
Wes listed them all off. “That’s Cameron, we like to call him Cam. Then there’s Levi. Lane. Trevor. And Nate.”
Nate was pretty sure Wes wasn’t aware they knew each other. Instead, his final inclusion on the list was because he was hanging back. Maybe he didn’t want a night out after all. Maybe he actually wanted to escape this bar and go far away, somewhere Ramsey wasn’t.
Ramsey greeted everyone smoothly, with the kind of charm Nate expected of him. He hoped that by the time Ramsey got to him, there wouldn’t be much left. But of course that wasn’t true.
When Ramsey looked over at him, meeting his eyes for what felt like the first time since that night—since they’d walked into the kitchen and Nate had stupidly flicked the lights on—he smiled, and even though nothing Nate had said to any of the other guys had even registered, Nate absorbed every word Ramsey said to him.
“Nate, yeah? It’s good to meet you.”
It was only seven words, but every single one hit.
He should say something but all he could do was nod, stupidly. Relieved when Ramsey moved on, like it hadn’t really mattered what Nate did or didn’t do.
“I got us one of the private rooms,” Ramsey said, the whole group clustering around him like he was starting a cult. Nate hated it.
Nate had known Ramsey was going to play it like they hadn’t ever met. That they’d never kissed. That he hadn’t ever been inside of him. But it was one thing to be sure of it, in his own mind, and it was another entirely to hear Ramsey perform the lie.
He’d expected it, but it still felt like shit.
Like he’d been just another guy, despite that he’d been telling himself the whole summer that he’d, in fact, been just another guy.
Was he hurt? Was he angry? An ugly, toxic blend of both?
“There’s different private rooms?” Dawson asked as they headed to the bar.
Nate had spent the last minute debating whether he’d turn around and leave, but if he did that, even if he figured out a half-assed excuse, it would look weird to his teammates.
But even more than that, Ramsey would know.
He’d know he was bothered by his presence, and Nate refused to give him the satisfaction.
“Oh yeah. Several different gaming rooms. Pool tables and darts. A poker room. A library. And the vault,” Ramsey said, his voice weaving around the group like he was the Pied Piper in that children’s fairy tale.
“There’s an actual vault? Holy shit. That’s so fucking cool,” Lane said.