Chapter 30 Pack a Bag （Nate）
PACK A BAG (NATE)
We come apart in a tangle, her body clenching, my shout bouncing off the gym walls. For a beat we stay as we are. Her back to my chest, me still inside her, both of us shaking.
She melts. I ease us down and settle her on the mat. She’s limp beneath me now, cheek to the vinyl, skin damp and flushed. I gather her in and murmur steady nonsense until her breathing evens.
She looks wrecked and beautiful.
Her lashes flutter. “I should…take a shower.”
I cup the back of her neck and bring her eyes to mine. “If I want you showered, I’ll put you there myself. Right now I want you here. Breathe.”
A tiny pause. She nods, voice barely there. “Okay.”
I reach for the T-shirt I’d left here earlier, soft from a hundred washes, and pull it over her head. “Wear this.” It swallows her, leaving her bare legs streaked and shaking. Perfect. “I want my come dripping down those pretty thighs.”
Her gaze goes wide, but she doesn’t argue.
“Open.” I guide her knees apart and press a slow finger to her, slick with us. “Keep it in for me,” I murmur, pushing my come back where I want it. She shivers and holds on to my wrist, breathing hard.
I grab a towel from the rack, kneeling between her knees to wipe her down, enough so she’s not uncomfortable. She whimpers at the gentleness, her stare glassy.
“There.” I brush a kiss to her temple, then stand, tugging her up with me. “Kitchen. You need food.”
She leans into me, boneless, letting me guide her down the hall. For a moment, neither of us speaks. This feeling, her trusting me, soft and pliant in my arms, is everything I’ve been missing.
“Sit.” I tap the stool at the counter. She settles, my T-shirt skimming her thighs, still wrecked and soft around the edges. I grab what I need from the fridge and pantry.
“Southern or Italian?”
She tips her head. “Can you do both?”
“Creole meets Calabrian. Watch.”
Olive oil blooms in the pan. I sweat down onion, celery, and bell pepper with a little pancetta, then stir in Calabrian chile and a hit of smoked paprika.
Arborio goes next, toasting till it clicks against the spoon.
White wine hisses. Stock ladles in, one by one.
Shrimp wait on a plate with salt, pepper, and a dusting of cayenne.
On the back burner, zucchini flowers get a quick cornmeal dredge—my dad’s trick—then I slide them into the air fryer, flip halfway, and pull them crisp and gold. She watches everything, sipping her water.
“Zucchini flowers in December?”
“Off-season score—my produce guy had a crate flown in from Mexico this morning.”
“That’s…very sophisticated for a bachelor,” she teases.
I shower the blossoms with lemon and flaky salt, then look up at her, mouth hitching. “Do I look like a bachelor to you?”
Color climbs her cheeks. “This is an Antonio thing, isn’t it? He used to spoil us rotten with his nonna’s recipes.”
“Guilty.” I swirl in another ladle of stock, slip in the shrimp, and finish with parsley and the barest kiss of butter. “He always said food is love. Guess it stuck.”
She goes quiet, studying me. Then, ”Hey, guess what. I’ve got some exciting things going on.”
I plate a few blossoms and slide them to her.
She bites, eyes closing for half a second that does terrible things to my self-control.
While the risotto relaxes on the heat, she spills it all—the lease she signed, the clinic opening, treatment rooms and a logo and a schedule that makes my head spin in the best way.
Her hands fly as she talks. “There’s so much to do. Paperwork, renovations, accounting, website, marketing.”
“What’s your timeline?”
“A bit less than six weeks. Crazy, but doable.”
Raising my eyebrows, I add lemon zest to the dish and set it down in front of her. “Jambalaya, Italian style.” She blinks up at me like I just dropped a five-course meal from the sky. “Eat.”
By the time she winds down, her cheeks are pink, her stare gleaming. I set down the knife, leaning on the counter. This woman—flushed and glowing, drowning in my shirt, talking about her dreams. Christ, I’ve never wanted anyone more.
I round the island, catch her wrist mid-gesture, pull her against my heart. “Breathe, baby.” She stops, takes a deep inhale. “I love it. High-end place, athletes first.” I brush hair off her cheek. “You’re brilliant. And devious.”
Her throat works, stare shining. “You really think so?”
“Yes.” I kiss her forehead, then guide her back onto the stool.
“My mom called yesterday,” I say casually as I grab my own plate.
“She’s pulling the whole circus to Fire Island for Christmas.
Two days—the twenty-third, after our game, through the twenty-sixth.
Ryan’s family’s staying at Dmitri’s place.
She even had a boxing bag installed in my gym so Leo can train.
” I pause, watching her reaction. “I want you there with me, Eden. “
Her fork stills midair. “Leo told me about it. But I can’t go.”
I arch a brow, settling across from her. “Why not?”
Her lips press tight. “Aside from the fact it’ll be painfully awkward with both our families there while we’re.
..whatever this is?” She shifts on the stool, and I can see her brain racing.
“This is happening so fast, Nate. Part of me wants to slow down, but a bigger part never wants this feeling to end.” Her tone rushes out, “Plus, I’ve got less than six weeks to launch.
If I don’t use the holidays to push ahead, I’ll lose momentum. ”
I lean forward, elbows braced on the counter. “You can work there. And you’ll have help.” I catch her hand. “These past few weeks, having you back in my life...I don’t want to go back to pretending you don’t exist. Two days. That’s all I’m asking.”
“But what we just did,” she gestures vaguely toward the gym, “I never expected to feel this way with anyone. It scares me a little.”
“Good scared or bad scared?”
She shrugs her shoulders, shaking her head. “Leo…I think he’ll lose it when he finds out about us.”
I grin, sharp. “Yeah, he was always protective, wasn’t he? He’ll get on board. Let me worry about him.”
Her lips twitch. “You do know he’s the US heavyweight champion, right?”
I laugh, deep and certain. “All the more reason I need my PT with me over the holidays.”
Her stare narrows. “Come again?”
“Yeah.” I reach across the counter, hook a finger under her chin, make her meet my stare.
“I need to train. And my PT is going to keep me in one piece while I’m there.
” I pause, leaning in. “What do you think? Could you handle two days with me? You get your own room. Right across the hall from mine. We don’t need to make any announcements. ”
She swallows, caught between bristling and melting. “Nate—”
“Daytime, you’ll treat me and work on your business. Our parents will feed us, and you’ll let everyone help with the clinic.” My thumb drags over her bottom lip. “Nighttime, you’ll let me ruin you.”
Her face goes crimson. “I’ll think about it.”
I sit back, satisfied. She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see her weighing it. Two days of pretending in front of our families while sneaking into my bed at night. When she finally speaks, her tone is quiet. “This is really happening, isn’t it? Us.”
The vulnerability in her words makes my heart race. “Yeah, Trouble. It’s happening. We’re leaving Wednesday after the game. No need for a bathing suit. Fire Island’s freezing this time of year.”