12. 12 Nathan
12: Nathan
I wake to my phone blaring on the bedside table in Poppy’s spare room. “Hello?” I groggily say into it after seeing Evan’s name flashing up on screen.
“I’ve been texting you for the past two hours.” His tone is cold. Grumpy fuck.
“And I’ve been asleep for the past two hours.”
Evan clearly doesn’t appreciate my comment. He steers the conversation towards his son, who I’m certain is still sound asleep in the room next to me. I’m hyper-aware of his presence, but it’s not just him I can feel in the apartment.
Mae stayed over last night. I heard her and Poppy giggling in her room a little past midnight. I even left my door ajar just so I could hear Mae’s laugh a little clearer, which is something I’m not proud of.
“Leo’s still sleeping off his cold. Poppy was great with him,” I tell Evan while brushing my teeth and throwing on a pair of sweatpants.
“Well, maybe if cheerleading doesn’t work out for her, being Leo’s nanny is on the cards.” Evan’s tone is semi-playful.
“Did you just make a joke?”
“Shut up. Get my kid ready.” He pauses. “But, in all seriousness, Nathan, thank you. It means a lot.”
“Hmm. I accept payments in either cash or bank transfer,” I kid before hanging up the phone and entering the kitchen, desperate for a cup of coffee.
I struggle to function without the stuff.
As I step through the curved archway into the sleek kitchen, my gaze is immediately drawn to a barely covered Mae, and I’m unable to look away. It’s clear she’s just woken up—the puffiness of her lips, the frizziness of her hair, and the haze in her eyes all give it away. She’s leaning against the granite countertop, a large glass of water in hand, and her fingers grip it a little tighter as she spots me.
“Morning,” she says, voice light and airy.
My eyes skate down her body before I snap them back to her face. She’s dressed in a pair of tartan pyjama shorts and a cropped T-shirt, her nipples hard against the fabric.
Fuck my life.
What is this woman trying to do to me?
“Hi,” I gruff out, turning and boiling the coffee pot.
The last thing I need to see is Mae in skimpy sleepwear, fresh from the bed sheets. My mind is wandering into enemy territory. And it feels fucking good… which isn’t ideal.
Because I wish it weren’t Poppy’s bed sheets she’d just slipped out of.
“Leo slept well,” she says, keeping her voice hushed, face a little drained from last night.
It had been the first time I’d seen her so vulnerable. Granted, my sister had pried far too much. It wasn’t fair, and I’m definitely going to be having a word with her about pushing people too far.
I dip my chin at Mae’s comment as I turn towards her and pray that I don’t have a hard-on from thinking about waking her up with my lips on hers.
My hands on her waist.
Head between her legs.
“Yeah, Poppy’s great with kids.”
“I can tell. She’s great with everybody.”
My sister’s never had many friends growing up. Her brash personality often scares people off when she first meets them.
I’d noticed how her old friends would roll their eyes and look at each other with expressions that said Why are we friends with this girl?
It cut me deep to see her repeatedly dropped by people who didn’t understand her. Who didn’t value or accept her.
But Mae seems different.
She speaks to my sister compassionately and values what she has to say. She doesn’t make her feel bad for her views; she accepts her, quirks and all.
“I want to thank you for how you are with Poppy.”
Mae’s eyebrows arch. “What do you mean?”
“You accept her. You treat her like she’s an actual person.”
“Of course. Why wouldn't I?”
It confuses me how vastly different Mae is from her mother. In the beginning, I’d assumed she would be a little princess. A brat. Just like her flesh and blood. But she’s slowly proving me wrong.
The coffee pot behind me reaches its boiling point. But neither of us moves, and of course, she’s standing right in front of the cupboard where Poppy’s mugs are. I stretch my jaw as I take a few strides in Mae’s direction.
She looks up at me, pink lips popping open, and I’m concerned she’s going to drop the frosted glass of water she’s desperately clutching onto.
Her tits look incredible from this view, and I do my best to be a gentleman and avert my gaze. Even though I don’t want to. Even though all I want to do is drop my head and press my lips to the space where her neck meets her shoulder.
The tension is thick, our shared glance creating a buzz in the air that causes my eyebrows to collapse in on one another as I tower over her.
We’re so close.
Too close.
I lift my arm, my palm flat against the cupboard above her head, fingers slowly gripping onto the small knob.
Her sweet strawberry scent lingers in the air around us, her glossy hair gliding across her tanned shoulders as she asks, “What are you doing?”
Her pupils are dilated, and she takes a heavy breath.
My nostrils flare.
I want to tell her how fucking beautiful she looks. How tempting she looks. But there are so many reasons why that can’t happen.
She’s twenty-five, in the prime of her life. She doesn’t belong in a place like Missarali. She’s too good for it. Too good for me.
My fingers pull the cupboard open—my elbow just skimming the side of her head—and I grip a mug and step back. “I needed a mug,” I tell her, my throat thick.
Mae blinks, her lips creating an ‘O’ shape as she quickly steps aside, giving me space.
She hadn’t picked up on my very subtle hint to move out of my way. And by subtle, I mean practically non-existent. I’m perfectly aware I could have made her do so with a quick, “Excuse me.”
But perhaps there was a part of me that didn’t want to—just to give me an excuse to get closer to her for even just a second.
“Sam, come on!” I yell across the field as he’s tackled to the ground, but he manages to pass the ball at the last second, giving Evan the opportunity to score a passing touchdown.
The crowd goes wild—flailing limbs and mouths so wide they could catch flies. The stands are packed. People have painted their faces red and white—our team’s colours. Banners and flags flutter in the air as the clock counts down to zero, indicating The Missarali Storks have won the game by a longshot.
Thank fuck. We needed this big of a win.
We’re crawling our way back up. It’s not exactly where I want us to be confidence-wise, but this is a huge step up for us. We’re showing everyone that we’re serious about this. We want to win. Football is our priority.
Bennett engulfs me in a bear hug, yanking out his mouthguard and whacking me on the back of the helmet as a friendly congratulations.
I don’t bother scanning the crowd for my father. He’s not here today, and I know for a fact it’s the reason I’ve played well. I haven’t been put off by his scrutiny.
Once in the locker room, freshly showered and wearing dark jeans and a sweatshirt, Darrell enters, beckoning me with his finger.
“What’s up?”
“Riley’s asking for you.” There’s a big grin on my coach’s face.
Although we were playing against the Pittsburgh Pilots today, they’re a team we’re pretty friendly with.
Riley, their captain, is an asswipe, though. We have a cordial relationship with one another, but he’s too cocky for his own good, and he enjoys talking up our fake rivalry to the cameras, claiming it makes the game more entertaining for everyone involved. I, however, dislike the drama he enjoys creating.
As I exit the locker room, Riley’s sly, smiling form comes into eyeline.
“Slater,” he says, clapping his hand on my back. “You guys put up a good fight out there. Seems we weren’t lucky enough today.”
“I don’t think luck has much to do with it, Donovan.”
He booms with laughter. “Thanks, Nathan. You always know how to perk me up.” He pauses. “Listen, a few of the guys and I are heading out for a drink, so why don’t you and your teammates join us?”
Riley must sense my reluctance because he pushes my shoulder playfully. “Oh, come on. What do you actually do with your free time? You’re never seen out. Ever.”
I nod. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Riley, what the hell are you doing on our side of the stadium?” Bennett’s loud voice thunders from behind me, a broad smile on his face as he wraps his arm around Riley’s shoulder.
“Just trying to convince your captain here to come out for a drink with us.”
Bennett eyes me up, chuckling. “I’m down for that. As long as we promise there’ll be no football talk.”
I huff. Bennett can be impulsive sometimes, and I know he tends to say things he shouldn’t when he feels comfortable, so in reality, he needs someone there to keep him in check. “Ask Sam if he’ll go with you guys. I’d rather go home and do anything else.”
More footsteps grab my attention.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Poppy’s sharp voice is hard to ignore.
I tilt my head up to the sky, momentarily closing my eyes. “Peace and quiet. All I want is some peace and quiet.”
My sister is studying Bennett, her head tilted, a playful smirk curling the corner of her lip.
His eyes round as if he’s been caught red-handed, and he chuckles, hiking his thumb over his shoulder. “We’re heading out for a drink.”
“And what kind of trouble are you going to get yourself in?”
“You got a babysitter, Quinn?” Riley laughs.
“Something like that,” he mutters under his breath as he shoots my sister a look.
My sister hums. “If you’re going out, so am I.” She points towards her chest. “Remember what our coaches said. I’m on Bennett watch.”
He narrows his eyes into slits, but it’s far from a glower. “God, woman. Fine, come if you want.”
Mae exits the locker room behind us, bag slung over her shoulder, surveying everyone with surprise. “What’s going on? Am I missing out on any gossip?”
“Mae’s coming too.” Poppy links her arm with her friend, almost causing the both of them to topple over with the force.
“Going where?” Mae inquires, her pink hoodie falling from one of her shoulders, the soft fabric skimming down her smooth skin.
I can’t help but notice the way Riley’s beady blue eyes skate over her bare skin before he barks something about not being opposed to having some cheerleaders join, and I bite down on my tongue in distaste.
“Looks like we’re all in,” Riley cheers, tousling his light brunette hair, and I can tell he’s trying to ensure it looks good for the girls, who aren’t even paying attention to him.
He studies Mae as if she’s some prize to be won. As if he’s decided she’s his next conquest.
My restraint is slipping.
Fast.
The last I heard, Riley was dating some millionaire’s daughter. They were seen together just last week, holding hands and cosying up while they shopped at some stupidly expensive designer clothing store.
What a fucking pig.
And he gets away with it because he’s well-liked by the tabloids. He always gives them the gossip they so desperately yearn for.
Everyone begins to walk down the corridor leading to the VIP section of the stadium parking lot. I watch with a taut jaw, and a sigh leaves my lips when Mae turns to me and raises one dark eyebrow.
“You coming… Nate?” She smirks.
I highly doubt she could come up with some cheesy nickname to playfully tease Riley with. What would she even call him? Ri? Rile?
I mentally scoff. None of them are charming.
We stare at each other for a good five seconds as I chew on the inside of my cheek, her hazel eyes holding me captive, which is a first for me.
They say eyes are the window to the soul, which rings true for her. I swear I can almost feel what Mae is thinking with just one look.
I sling my bag higher on my shoulder, forcing my feet to move. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
I like to keep a close eye on my sister, so I need to make sure Riley doesn’t try anything with her.
But I also feel this strange sense of overprotectiveness toward Mae, and it’s definitely not the sisterly kind.