12. The Sex Page
12
THE SEX PAGE
Hunter
Two hours later, we’re still in San Francisco and I’m pacing in front of the window, staring at the tarmac, wrapped up in a work call.
“Right, then we’ll want to make sure we have a full package for each athlete,” I say into my mobile before I realize my faux pas. That sounded really dirty. So dirty that my traveling companion, who’s standing by my side, looks up from his e-reader and shoots me a did you say that glance. I grimace, then say to my colleague Harry, “We’ll run them on the sub-channel. That’s what Ilene wants. Then we’ll also run them in the pre-game shows.”
“And where will I find this footage?” Harry’s an assistant producer, so I’m higher up than him. That’s still a weird thought, that anyone works for me. Took me a few years to land a job here. I applied post-uni, but no one gave me the time of day until Sarah passed along my CV earlier this year. I still feel like the new guy at Webflix. Mostly I am, but I snagged a promotion at the end of the summer.
If only the promotion would help me remember where that damn footage is. Think, Hunter, think . I snap my fingers. “It’s on the hard drive,” I say, more victorious than the matter calls for.
Nate snickers.
“The shared hard drive,” I add, stifling a laugh that’s Nate’s fault.
I hear a louder snicker from his direction.
“Thanks. I’ll look there,” Harry says. “And you’ll be back for the Sunday morning breakfast meeting?”
“Of course,” I say, quickly calculating the time difference between Vegas and London, then the flight length. “Thanks so much, Harry,” I say, then hang up.
Nate arches a brow. “So, Harry should be able to find the package on the hard drive?”
“Well, where else does one put packages?”
“I’ve got a few ideas,” he says, all low and sexy.
A blush creeps across my cheeks. “Me too,” I say.
I have so many ideas that have fueled so many solo flights. I’m dying to bring them up. But here at the airport, surrounded by tired, annoyed travelers, is not the time to break out the hey, are we going to bang tonight, and when, and how should we prep and plan for it, and sex with you is going to be so much better than porn, but I’m also mildly freaking out because I don’t want to mess it up.
But I’ll have to broach the subject soon because the heat of the moment won’t be the ideal time, either.
Nate nudges my elbow, and my insides jump.
“So is this a new gig for you, working in sports?” he asks.
“Yes, it is,” I say, grateful to talk about something other than the myriad questions I have for this man. Like , how exactly do you want your hands and mouth all over me ? “It all came about unexpectedly, but a lot of my colleagues figure I know something about sports since I went to uni in San Francisco.”
That sparks his interest. “Oh yeah?”
“Let’s just say I was eager to get away from home,” I say. Translation—I wanted to be far away from my dad.
“You picked really far,” Nate says, and he probably assumes I mean England, but I don’t add that my father lives in New York. I only applied to schools in London and California—since neither are quick car rides away from New York.
“Yes, definitely far enough,” I say, a little evasively.
“When did you graduate?”
“Three years ago.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, man. You’re young.”
Is that a problem for him? “I’m not that much younger than you,” I point out.
He arches a brow. “You know my age?”
“Well, we are covering you now. It’s part of the full media package on you,” I say, and he laughs. Then I add, “So, I looked you up.”
That’s not the whole truth. I looked Nate up the second I left his home last summer after our fantastic afternoon. I looked him up again yesterday, along with the other athletes, as I traveled to San Francisco. “You’re twenty-nine. Does it bother you that I’m twenty-four?”
The question comes out full of tension. If he’s bothered by this small age difference, will he be bothered by the experience gap?
Nate moves closer, bumping his shoulder to mine. “Shoot. No, sorry. Didn’t mean to make it sound that way. But I played a rough game last night. I always feel old the day after a game.”
Ah, that makes sense. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you looked super sexy all sweaty and banged up.”
“I’d like to see you all sweaty,” he says in a low rumble.
Maybe this is the moment. Maybe the moment doesn’t need to be big and weighty. Just tell him this is all new to you. He likes you.
I’m working out the best way to start when the crackle of the loudspeaker interrupts my thoughts.
“The flight to Vegas is delayed another hour.”
There’s a collective grumble from the passengers including me. The delay is eating away at the time we have together.
Just say it.
But my phone trills with another work call. “Better take this.”
“Go for it, handsome,” he says.
Handsome . I’ve officially earned a nickname, and it’s a sexy yet classy one too.
Oh, settle down.
But I turn away so he can’t see how much I like it when he calls me handsome.
Around four-thirty, we finally board, heading down the jetway together. This is new to me too—traveling in style with a date.
My ex Penny and I fancied ourselves world beaters, but we were more camp, hike, and bike people. We didn’t visit sinful cities or lounge in first class.
As we reach the mouth of the plane, Nate points to my oxfords. “Right foot first,” he says in playful warning.
I glance at Nate, confused, and he says, “Humor me.”
Okay, so it’s a superstition. “When in Rome,” I say, following along in the spirit of things. When we reach the second row, he gestures for me to go in first. I moan in pleasure as I sink into the comfy chair next to the window. This is so much nicer than the sardine quarters at the back of the plane. But I don’t want to look too wet behind the ears, so I play it cool as I ask, “So, you’re a superstitious bloke?”
He seems to weigh the question for a moment. “I never thought of myself that way. But my dad boards planes right foot first. He did it since we were kids. Said it set the vibe for a family vacation if we all did it too. Same way he’d say the first song on the radio set the vibe for a trip too. Guess I adopted his rituals.” Nate chuckles in remembrance. “I found out later the sneaky dude would scroll through tunes till he found the first one he liked.”
“Did you take a lot of family trips?”
“We did. Still do. They’re pretty cool, my parents. And my sister,” he says affectionately.
“The picture of Nate fills in a little more,” I say as if I’m pitching a show. “The laidback athlete getting on well with his family.”
His lips quirk up. “Is that part of your full media package on me?”
“My keen powers of observation.” I gesture to his trim beard. “Since you’re not superstitious, I’m guessing this isn’t a winning-streak beard. Though it looks like about four weeks’ worth of growth.”
He whistles. “Damn, you’re good. We’ve won the last four games.”
I smile, pleased I impressed him with my football knowledge. “I know, Nate. I know.”
He absently runs a big hand across his jawline. “Though it is a winning-streak beard. Some of the other guys on the Hawks started this. The X-Man, our cornerback, didn’t shave after we beat Seattle a month ago. He declared it his winning beard. Jason followed suit.” Nate shrugs easily. “I don’t put much stock in rituals, but they do. And they’re my teammates. So…”
That tells me even more about Nate. He’s a roll-with-it kind of guy.
I want to ask more about his friends and family, his likes and dislikes, but that feels super date-y, like we want to get to know if we’re right forever and ever.
Please .
That’s so not what tonight is.
I swallow down the questions I have for him, and I stay firmly in the compliment zone. “Well, I’m certainly glad your teammates like rituals. Since I like your beard.”
Nate’s eyes sparkle. He fights to hide a smile. “Your beard interest has been noted.”
Good. I hope he’s taking copious notes on how he plans to use his beard against me tonight. Against my face. Against my thighs.
God, I’m going to be aroused the whole flight if I don’t focus on something else.
I run a hand along the smooth leather of the armrest. “This is nice. Thank you again for the upgrade. It’s been a while.”
He lifts a brow in question. “Are you a former first-class traveler?”
Hmm. I suppose I’ll have to tell him sometime. “My dad likes to travel in comfort, but I’ve not been close with him lately.”
“Ah. Is that good or bad?”
The question is judgment-free. A curiosity more than anything. “It’s for the best. He has some…issues,” I say as tactfully as I can.
So many he doesn’t want to deal with them. My sister and I have tried to get him to own up to them to no avail.
Nate leans closer, his broad shoulders shielding us from view of the passengers streaming to their seats. “Did I push you back there by insisting on the upgrade?” he asks, lowering his voice for privacy. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No.” I’m quick to reassure him. I don’t want any funky vibe between us ruining our trip. “I’m glad you did, since this is fun.” I end on a note of let’s just have a good time, shall we and I veer far away from family. “But I really like other kinds of pushing.”
His tone grows husky as he says, “Up against the door. Against the wall. Into the bed…”
“I’ll take all three please and thank you.”
Nate laughs, then drops a hand to my thigh, squeezing. He’s touchy, and I’ve discovered that I do enjoy PDA from a guy I like.
Just tell him the whole truth. You’re talking about sex anyway.
But a lifetime of being told I’m not good enough stops me. “So, are you good at the tables?”
Nate rolls with the shift. “I’d like to say I’m good, but…” He flashes a what can you do grin.
“But you’re rubbish at card games?” I supply, and he nods.
This delights me. The superstar athlete so steely on the field, so bad at the tables. “Good at football. Bad at cards. The universe gives and the universe takes away.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I can’t complain. But I do want to be good. My buddies are aces, and they clean up when I play. Or they did, I should say. I haven’t had the chance to play cards with them in a long time,” he says, chagrined.
I tilt my head. “You haven’t seen them in a while?”
“Well…” He winces, like he possibly regrets bringing this up. But then he pushes on. “I’m going to sound like a dick for saying this…”
I’m too curious. “Go ahead. Sound like a dick. Come on.”
With a slightly guilty sigh, he turns to me. “My ex didn’t like to gamble. Or to go out in a group. So I haven’t played cards with my friends in a while. Or…”
I can read between the lines—Nate’s ex didn’t like him seeing his mates much either.
I want to kiss away whatever baggage he has about this weekend. I want to make him forget everything that went wrong with his ex by being the opposite of that twat. “I love a night out, and I love a game of chance. I’m also pretty good at poker.”
Nate smiles. “You challenging me?”
“Maybe I am,” I say, a little cocky, too, to match his confidence. “Especially since you’re rubbish.”
“You’re on, Colburn.” With a contented sigh, Nate leans back in the chair, then shifts gears. “So you had a lot of work to deal with before we left. Are you liking this new project so far?”
“I do like it. I love the excitement of new things. Producing this coverage should be a mint experience,” I say.
“Mint,” he repeats, laughing softly. “So English, and your accent is so sexy.”
He’s sexy. He speaks so openly, so honestly. I ought to do the same. I can’t keep stalling. I’m ready to man up right now when the flight attendant swings by, a redhead with a spray of freckles across her nose and a smile that’s equally cheery. “I’m Grace, and I’ll be taking care of you. Would you like some champagne?”
Nate turns to me. “In the mood?”
You have no idea. “Yes, I’d love some.”
He looks to her. “We’ll each have one. Thanks, Grace.”
“Wonderful, Mr. Chandler.” She pours in front of us. “And here you go, Mr. Colburn.”
“Thank you,” I say as I take my glass.
As she moves to the next row, Nate lifts his in a toast. “To the gods of hot, sexy single men, Mr. Colburn.”
There’s never been a more perfect opening. After I down the champagne in one gulp, I meet his eyes and blurt out, “So, here’s my deal. I’m bisexual, and I’ve had some girlfriends, but I’m not the most experienced guy with men, and I’d really like you to fuck me tonight, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sit or even walk to the concert after that, so maybe we could fuck after the concert?” I barely stop to breathe. I just pile on more words. “And I hope that’s not too presumptuous to ask, but I want to ask, because we should be upfront, and it’s good to be upfront, especially about…sex, and I’d really like to have sex with you tonight. Like, hot hotel sex that’s just fucking top-notch, which I know it will be since I’ve basically been thinking about it forever.”
Whoa. That was a lot. Fine, I didn’t say everything. But I said enough.
Nate’s blue eyes flash with wicked deeds. Then he shakes his head, like he can’t believe his luck. “Here’s my deal, Hunter. I’ve been thinking about fucking you since I met you.”
Good to know we’re on the same page. The sex page.