Chapter 6 #2
Probably because Ramsey didn’t know how to even describe something that was more than flirting with the express intention of sleeping together shortly after, or him trying to get something he wanted.
“I don’t know,” Ramsey said, drumming his fingertips on the counter, trying not to sound testy.
Ramsey was good at lots of things. Lots and lots of things.
Hockey, obviously, and arranging things to everyone’s benefit.
Being a friend to Wes and Brody. Maintaining a killer poker face.
Putting people at ease. Looking fucking amazing.
Just glancing at a situation and knowing how to improve it without anyone being the wiser. Making money.
He was good at so many things it had never occurred to him that he might not be good at this, too. The only reason he hadn’t been sure was because he just hadn’t done it before.
“Yeah, you do. You never do this. You’re not going to be good at it.”
Ramsey sighed with exaggeration. “There’s lots of times I haven’t tried something and I turn out to be fucking amazing at it.”
Wes rounded the counter and smacked him on the side of the head. Hard enough it stung a little. “Come on,” he said. “I know you’re like ridiculously smart, but don’t be an egotistical jackass about it.”
“Okay.” This was why Wes was valuable. Well, this, and many other things.
Not for the first time, Ramsey missed Brody, who was across the country and not as readily available to puncture his ego.
He was always gentler about it than Wes was.
“So what else happened?” Wes asked. “Did you kiss him?”
Ramsey hesitated. He had, but not last night.
“No,” Ramsey said.
Wes looked surprised. “You didn’t?”
“Well, I wasn’t sleeping with him last night.” That made perfect, logical sense.
But Wes smacked him again. “Are you joking? Actually, don’t answer that.”
“What? Why?” Ramsey didn’t like thinking he’d screwed up. Even in the imaginary roleplay that he and Nate hadn’t actually engaged in. The fake memory where they’d talked and flirted and admitted, maybe not with words, that they actually liked each other. That they liked each other, for real.
“Kissing isn’t only something you do before you have sex with someone,” Wes said with an exaggerated patience.
“Okay, that’s . . .uh . . .good to know.” Ramsey hated feeling like he wasn’t doing things right. That he’d broken some kind of unspoken rule.
“Text him,” Wes ordered again. “Text him and tell him you want to see him tonight.”
For a split second, Ramsey wanted to argue.
Wanted to tell his friend that he wasn’t going to take orders about this, but then why wouldn’t he?
Whether it was fake or it was real, he didn’t know what he was doing.
Maybe Wes’ happily-ever-after had splintered apart, but he’d still had it for years. He still knew way more than Ramsey did.
So instead of arguing, Ramsey pulled his phone out.
There was already a text from Brody there.
How on earth had Wes managed to text Brody without Ramsey noticing?
But he clearly had, because Brody had sent him a whole string of question marks, followed up by a what the fuck, dude?
you go and fall in love and don’t even TELL ME.
“I can’t believe you told Brody I was in love with Nate,” Ramsey told Wes, aggrieved. “Now he’s never going to leave me alone about it.”
Wes shot him an unapologetic look. “Shouldn’t have brought up Marcus then.”
“You play dirty,” Ramsey muttered.
“And I learned from the best,” Wes agreed dryly.
“Fuck, okay. I’ll text him.” Ramsey didn’t say who him was, but he thought it was pretty obvious it was not Brody.
He didn’t expect Wes to check his texts, but Ramsey still made sure he kept up the charade as he typed a message out.
I’m glad we talked yesterday and that we’re on the same page now. We should hang out tonight.
“Oh my God,” Wes said, absolutely looking over his shoulder, with zero shame.
“What?”
“You can’t send him that. You sound like you’re still arranging a business meeting. I would ask if you know how to flirt but you flirt every fucking day, with everyone around you.” Wes hesitated. “Do you not know how to flirt with someone when you like them?”
“Of course I do,” Ramsey insisted. But he was secretly, terrifyingly worried that maybe he didn’t.
He could flirt with lots of people, sure, and like Wes said, he did it all the time.
But Nate was not everybody. He and Nate already had enough water under the bridge that it felt weird to employ his usual tactics, to fall back on his normal patter.
Nate wouldn’t like it; Ramsey wasn’t sure he would like it.
“You totally don’t,” Wes argued.
“Maybe I don’t have to be good at this,” Ramsey said. “Maybe I just have to show up looking hot and kiss him and it won’t matter.”
Wes’ expression was unimpressed. “Alright. You try that. See how well that works out for you.”
“I will,” Ramsey said, glad that this wasn’t actually real, and he wasn’t depending on his face and his skills in the bedroom to close the deal.
Normally, he wouldn’t have worried for even a second, but maybe Wes was right, and he kinda sucked at this.
He pressed Send.
“There,” he said, turning to Wes. “Are you happy now?”
“Yes.” Wes looked smug. “I can’t wait to tell Brody how bad you are at this.”
Ramsey groaned.
Nate was not surprised to get the text.
What he was surprised about was the contents. Stilted and awkward, nothing like the in-person Ramsey who was so amazing at charming anybody and everything within a mile radius of his person.
I’m glad we talked yesterday and that we’re on the same page now. We should hang out tonight.
Nate looked at the text. It said it was from Ramsey. It was right under his stupid, smug, Yes, I do text.
But it sounded nothing like him.
I’m sorry but did a pod person send this? he sent back.
A second later, another text showed up. Nate could practically hear the exasperation in it. Wes was trying to help me. Insisted I text. All part of our little scheme.
Nate just laughed, leaning against one of the weight machines.
It was technically a day off, after a game, but he rarely took one off.
Especially now, in the heart of the season.
Coming into the gym and working out some of the soreness of the game actually helped him recover better.
Keep his body moving, the way it was meant to be moved.
Doesn’t explain how shitty you were at texting, Nate sent back.
Do you want to hang out or not? was Ramsey’s answer.
Nate actually did, but he was enjoying pushing Ramsey’s buttons—especially when it felt like the last two months had been Ramsey pushing Nate’s.
Yeah, I think I could make some time. You don’t want to just pretend you’re coming over to my place?
Who says we’re not going to mine? Ramsey wanted to know.
You live with Wes. Is he going to supervise our date? As Nate typed out his reply, he couldn’t help but grin. This was the flirtatious Ramsey that he knew. That he liked, deep down, in spite of every reason not to.
I liked you better when you were nicer.
Lies.
Nate tucked his tongue into his cheek and typed out a second text. That mean you’re coming over tonight then? Six? I’ll get takeout. We can watch something on TV and pretend to make out.
He was ready for Ramsey to claim they wouldn’t be pretending to do that at all, and he was going to have to shut that down, because the one conclusion he’d come to since agreeing to this ridiculous farce was that he could pretend to like Ramsey and he could pretend to date him but he couldn’t do those things while sleeping with him for real.
But to Nate’s surprise, Ramsey didn’t. Instead, he replied with, Ok.
Nate asked next, risking bringing up that night two months ago. You remember where I live?
It was annoying, but Ramsey deliberately didn’t engage with that. He just sent a bloodless thumbs-up text, and that was the end of it.
After, though, Nate’s pulse was still high and his blood was still buzzing. Ramsey churned him up, even when he wasn’t trying to. Even the stupid swagger-less text he’d started out with had done that, and it had only gotten worse from there.
Nate considered sending Ramsey another text, telling him to forget it. That it was a bad idea. It still felt like mostly one.
But it also felt irresistible, a chance to be in on the joke with Ramsey for once, and God, even though Nate should know better, he apparently didn’t.
He finished up his workout and went to grab lunch from the cafeteria. Dawson and Cam were there, sitting at one of the tables with Cam’s dad, Marty, the special teams coordinator, and Coach Dell, who was Nate’s coach and ran the defense.
For a second, he considered stopping at their table and sitting and eating. Nate knew he’d be welcome, but he had film to watch.
Next week they were playing the Eagles, and he needed to be prepared.
Anticipate the schemes the coaching staff was already probably putting the final touches on.
Deacon had taught him that to be overprepared was to be just prepared enough, and he’d been trying to impart that wisdom on some of the younger guys.
Obviously some of them were doing better with it than others.
Jordan was one of the guys he practically had to drag kicking and screaming into the film room.
Speaking of Jordan . . .when Nate was halfway through the film he’d scheduled himself to watch today, he pulled out his phone and texted the bane of his existence.
You coming in today? he asked, despite already knowing the answer.
Jordan didn’t text back right away. Despite that it was noon, there was a strong possibility he was still in bed.
Recovery was important sure, but Nate had tried to stress to him more than once that wallowing in bed half the day was not the same as a solid recovery routine.
Had also added, more than once, that what had worked for him in college was not necessarily going to work for him going forward.
That being twenty was different from being twenty-five.
But Jordan always rolled his eyes and told Nate that he was too stuffy. Too serious. Too disciplined.
Nate didn’t like to think he was just those things, but he also knew that those things were going to make it possible for him to play deep into his thirties, barring injury, whereas if Jordan didn’t figure it out, he’d be lucky to see thirty in the NFL.
Finally, when he was just about finished up, Jordan texted back. Nah bro. How can you even think about football today? Such a solid fucking win.
Nate rolled his eyes. Football is my job and your job, that’s why.
God, you are such a fucking loser.
Nate was not really expecting anything else, but it still stung.
Maybe he was a loser. Maybe he had asked for all of this by being overly conscientious and responsible.
But then both Deacon and their teammate Jem Knight, now both retired, had been when Nate had come into the league as a rookie, and their dedication had been both inspirational and aspirational.
If Nate wanted a career like Deacon or Jem’s, then it was right there for the taking, with the right amount of hard work.
Yeah, a loser who’s gonna run circles around you tomorrow.
Probably, bro. Love ya anyway.
Jordan didn’t love him. He knew Jordan barely tolerated him. But it still felt better that they’d managed to move on from, you’re such a fucking loser.
Nate gave that last text a thumbs-up, his heart beating a little faster at how reminiscent that felt of how Ramsey had responded to him, and stood.
He had two hours to get home, clean up a little, order takeout, and get his shit together so that Ramsey wouldn’t catch him unawares.