17. 17 Mae
17: Mae
I lean my head on the bus window, tucking my knees into my chest on the seat. We’ve travelled to Oregon for a game, and Peter’s got some charity gigs lined up for us while we’re here.
He donated some money to a climate change charity, which is now inviting all players and cheerleaders to meet with them. Again, it means excellent press, and Peter snapped up the opportunity without questions.
My eyes linger on the back of Nathan’s head a few seats in front, and my fingers skate over my scar.
Opening up to him wasn’t something I’d been expecting to do, but it had felt right in the moment. I wanted to remind him that paying for my wine and falsely admitting to my mistake was a selfless gesture I don’t take lightly. It shouldn’t be brushed under the carpet because he needs to realise he has so much more to offer than just his football skills.
I was a stranger to him, and he wanted to help me and his friend, Emmanuel, out of the goodness of his heart.
He’s not as heartless and insensitive as he tries to portray.
I also hoped it might give him the courage to open up to me at some point, but I get that’s wishful thinking.
My father fills my mind. Laughing and yelling reverberate through the empty space he’s left behind, happiness and sadness mixed together in an odd combination that simultaneously brings me joy and despair.
Cam always tried to calm him down during his episodes, and he’d order me to take a walk, being the protective brother he was. But the night my father threw the vase at me was the first time I’d refused to leave. He’d been getting progressively worse, and I was worried for the safety of Cam and my mother.
The day he left is still etched into my brain.
The way he looked at me with dead eyes, silently saying I’ll see you again. One day.
“Hey, Mae,” Samuel says from the seat in front of me. “Are you coming tonight?”
“To what?”
“The press conference,” Poppy responds, smirking. “They’re kind of fun. They mainly consist of the guys getting berated.”
“I know. I’ve been watching them.”
After hearing me, Nathan turns around and asks, “I thought you said you didn't like football?” A knowing smile toys his lips.
I pinch my eyebrows together. Truthfully, I haven’t just been watching the conferences because I want to learn more about the team I’m supposed to support.
It's because I want to embrace my potential inner horny football fiend and drool over Nathan Slater as he sits at the conference table wearing that cap he looks far too good in.
“Research,” I snap back, and he hits me with a look that has my toes curling.
It isn’t long before we reach the hotel, and I shield my eyes from the flashes of the few paparazzi cameras who wait out front. One particular stocky man stands in my way, refusing to move, and I faintly hear Nathan tell him to “have some respect for women” before he ushers him out of the way.
We’re shown to our rooms. I’m sharing with Madison—courtesy of my mother’s booking—and although she’s a nice girl, I don’t know her too well. She’s pretty quiet. Constantly practising, spending every minute running through our routines. I think she’s secretly terrified of my mom.
I wear jeans and a knitted cardigan for the press conference, finding a seat next to Poppy towards the back of the room. The reporters hum with anticipation as they ready themselves, growing silent when the selected members of the Missarali Storks chosen to represent the team enter the room and take their places on stage behind the long desk.
Nathan scans the room, and it looks like he sighs in relief, causing my eyebrows to furrow.
“He’s looking for our Dad,” Poppy says, following my gaze. She cranes her neck to look at the wave of people before us. “It looks like he’s not here, which is good. Means Nathan can actually relax.”
Darrell is in charge of the questions, which surprises me. I expected Peter to at least make an appearance, but it seems he has better things to do than show up for the team he’s supposed to manage.
“Evan, do you think—”
“If you ask me anything about my son or who his mother is, I’ll get you kicked out of this conference,” is his response as he leans into the microphone, his eyes challenging. He’s an intimidating guy who I don’t think I’ve ever seen smile. If I were the reporter, I would shut my trap.
He doesn’t finish his question.
“Bennett, Riley Donovan has come out with a statement about an argument between the Missarali Storks and the Pittsburgh Pilots. Anything you have to say about it? What happened, and why has Riley turned against a team he, up until now, had a mostly friendly relationship with?”
Bennett gulps, and I can visibly see him choking on his words.
Nathan immediately jumps in. “Riley Donovan has blown a minor disagreement out of proportion. It’ll just be in preparation for our next game against one another. To rile the fans up and get people to watch. We’re all good.”
He’s not spilling any secrets. The perfect way to stay out of the media’s limelight is to refuse to give them what they want.
“That scumbag,” Poppy grumbles as she pulls up a news article on her phone, in which Riley’s criticising The Storks for their poor sportsmanship. He’s butt-hurt about how Nathan treated him at the bar, and like a child, he’s acting out. It’s borderline hilarious.
“God, he’s such a jerk.”
The reporter’s shoulders sag with disappointment, but he doesn’t release the microphone. “Do you not think this will hinder your team, Nathan? You’re the captain, and surely you need to take some kind of responsibility? Do you not even want to defend yourself?”
Nathan narrows his eyes, his jaw ticking. “And why would I benefit from getting involved with Riley Donovan’s drama?”
Poppy audibly growls, and a few reports seated in front of us turn to give us concerned looks.
“It seems to me you’re not concerned with how your team is perceived,” the reporter continues, stepping away from the employee trying to take the microphone away. “What kind of captain does that make you? There’s been an allegation against you, and you have nothing to say.”
Anger bubbles up inside me. These guys don’t deserve this. They play because they love football, and these press conferences do nothing for them. Peter needs a stern talking to.
“I believe I’ve already responded.” Nathan is calm, although I can tell he’s becoming agitated as he nods towards another employee to take the microphone away from the reporter. “I have nothing more to say on the matter.”
“Well, don’t you think—”
“Why are you making such a big deal out of something so insignificant?” I say loudly as I sit with my arms crossed, and Poppy turns to me with wide eyes, her mouth popping open.
She’s a bold character, but it seems even she wouldn’t dare speak out of turn during a press conference.
“Excuse me?” the reporter bites.
“This is a football conference, correct?” I raise my eyebrows. “Why don’t you actually ask him something to do with it instead of focusing on petty drama? If that’s what you’re looking for, go and find some trashy celebrity to harass.”
The corner of Nathan’s lips curve upwards under the brim of his cap, and he chuckles to himself. “You heard the lady. Now, hand the microphone back before you really embarrass yourself.”
Protectiveness swarms me. Nathan doesn’t deserve to be subjected to this.
It must be exhausting.
All eyes are on me, and I even see Darrell smirking, shaking his head in disbelief at the prospect that someone would stand up for his boys at a time like this. I stifle a laugh and shuffle further down into my seat, gesturing for the questions to continue.
They do. And they're a whole lot more respectful. Some reporters push the boat out a bit, but the guys refuse to answer anything unrelated to their upcoming game against the Medford Heroes.
Poppy spends the rest of the conference giggling to herself at my brazenness, and once it’s over, the reporters file out, leaving just us and the team.
“That reporter looked like he was about to burst at the seams,” Bennett bellows as he sends me a wink. “Nice work, Mae.”
“Brave of you,” Evan adds.
They leave the room with the others, and Poppy follows Bennett, gazing up at him with bold eyes. If I didn’t know she was adamant about sticking to the no-fraternisation rule, I’d think she had the hots for him.
I turn to leave, but Nathan calls my name. He’s hopping off stage, his triceps flexing, and his large hands are splayed out on the set.
“You didn’t have to do that. That could have majorly backfired if that guy had a temper.”
I shrug. I’m not afraid of a sleazy, grease-covered asshole. “Someone had to stand up to them. And I also learned judo in high school, so I would have been able to beat his ass if he came anywhere near me.”
“Judo?”
I bow my head. “Granted, it was only for one week, but I can land a mean punch.”
“I’m pretty sure punching isn’t allowed in Judo.”
I make a quiet pfft noise. “Like you did Judo.”
“I didn’t, but maybe you could teach me? With your one week's worth of experience.” A mischievous smile tugs his lips upwards.
I fold my arms over my chest, shooting him a stern look. “You may be able to tackle six-foot-five ogre-like men to the ground, Nathan Slater, but I’ll have you know, I’m tougher than I look.”
“Say my full name again.”
“What?” I blink.
“You heard me.” He raises his eyebrows, still smiling.
I pause for a second before saying a firm, “No.” My eyes narrow before I head for the door.
“That’s fine,” Nathan calls after me. “You’ll be saying it sooner or later, princess.”
I stick my middle finger up at him as I leave.
I thought I didn’t like cocky men, but Nathan Slater has just proved me fucking very wrong.
I lie underneath the crisp sheets in the hotel room, staring up at the ceiling, and I can hear Madison’s laboured breaths as she sleeps. The cold air wraps around me like a shroud, making it hard to find comfort. I can feel the weight of the upcoming performance pressing down on me.
I’m not nearly as nervous as I was, thanks to Nathan’s reassurance, but my ankle is still a little sore, and I’m panicking that it’s going to give out mid-jump and I’ll land on my ass in front of millions of people.
Although it would make for a great viral video.
I toss and turn, finally pulling the sheets off as my mouth feels parched. I need water, but the irritating sign in the bathroom warns that the faucet water isn’t safe to drink.
Slipping out of the room in my pale blue pyjama shorts and tank top, I pad down the steps to the hotel reception. I purchase a bottle of cold water from the vending machine and climb the stairs back up to the floor where my room is as I sip at it.
But my face drops when I realise I’ve forgotten my key card, and the time is currently one in the morning. Nobody was manning the desk, and I curse under my breath as I gently rattle against the door, trying not to wake anybody nearby.
But Madison doesn’t hear me, and I don’t have my phone.
“Give me a break,” I complain.
Sliding down the wall and resting my head against it, I thump to the floor. It’s freezing out here, and goosebumps cover my skin.
I’m hoping Madison will miraculously wake up after hearing me telepathically begging. There’s nothing I can do besides pounding on the door and pissing everyone else around me off, and I don’t want to do that. The boys have a game, and I don’t want to disturb their sleep and be the reason they lose concentration tomorrow because of lethargy.
My fingers pick at my lip as I sit on the floor, contemplating what to do.
“You’re doing this to me,” I grunt as I point to the sky.
But, just as I thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, a door a few rooms down from me opens, and a shirtless Nathan stalks out. He’s dressed in only tartan pyjama pants, hanging low on his waist and showing off his impressive V-line.
“What are you doing on the floor?”
I’m about to faint. His muscles ripple under his skin, each one defined, like he’s been sculpted from marble. The way his shoulders taper down into his chest—a chest that I want to be pressed up against—has me infatuated. By looking at him, you’d think Nathan spends every spare second he has in the gym, but I know he rarely goes. His striking physique is from years of hard work on the football field.
“You need glasses?” I almost splutter the words.
They’re not the round Harry Potter type. No, the glasses he has on are sharp and sleek. The frames are thin, and the angular shape somehow makes his face look even more defined.
Who would have thought that Nathan having bad eyesight would be a turn-on?
“No, I’m just wearing them for fun,” Nathan says sarcastically, shaking his head.
I stand. “Did I wake you up?”
“No. Why are you out here?”
“I forgot my key card.”
“So you’re locked out?”
I nod.
“Have you tried knocking?”
I can’t help but glare. “You know that? That didn’t cross my mind. Thanks for the advice.”
He chuckles, swallowing. And then, on a sigh, he says, “Alright, come on.” His head beckons me.
“What?”
“You’re not sleeping out here.”
I watch with my mouth agape as he waltzes into his room. My feet feel frozen to the ground, as if someone spread super-glue on the carpet while I wasn’t looking.
I hear Nathan loudly shuffling around in his room, and worried it’s going to wake other people up with his door open, I follow him in.
A quiet whistle of appreciation leaves my lips. “I see someone’s receiving star treatment,” I say, nodding down to his king-sized bed, the room significantly bigger than mine and Madison’s.
“Your mom booked me one of the best rooms. What can I say? I think she secretly loves me.”
“Yeah, I dare you to say that to her face.”
I stand awkwardly at the foot of the bed, my fingers finding my lip as they pick at it.
“You always do that when you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Mmm-hmm, sure.” He shoots me a dazzling smile. “Worried to share a bed with me, princess? Concerned you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “More like concerned for your career if anyone finds out I’m in here. Trust me, I’m perfectly capable of keeping my hands to myself.”
Nathan takes a small step closer before removing his glasses and setting them aside. “Good to know.” He pauses, eyes skating down my bare legs before he clears his throat. “I’ll take the armchair.”
I pinch my brows together, and he whips a blanket off the end of the bed and settles down on the armchair—that’s far too small for him—in the corner of the room.
“Are you kidding?” I snatch the blanket from his body. “Nathan, you have a game tomorrow. You’re not sleeping on the chair. Move.”
I attempt to shove him aside by pushing his shoulder, but his gaze remains fixed on my hand, gripping his muscle. A jolt of electricity surges through my arm, and the tingling sensation quickly becomes addictive.
We’re silent for a few seconds.
He then gestures back to the bed as I release him. “Mae, seriously, take the bed.”
“I know you’re trying to be a gentleman right now, but it’s not the time. If you lose your game tomorrow because you wake up with a crick in your neck, I’ll be the one to blame, so get your ass over there and get into bed.”
“Someone’s bossy in the bedroom.”
His innuendo makes me freeze, and I narrow my eyes. “Not the time. I’m sleeping on the chair, so get off.”
He stands up, and just as I’m about to take his place, he snatches the bottle of water from my hand and pours the contents onto the fabric armchair, leaving a huge wet patch. “Now no one’s sleeping on it.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Get in the bed, Mae.”
I wait as I watch him slip into bed, raising his eyebrows at me as he waits.
“Nathan, this is—”
“I have a game tomorrow, and you have a performance. Neither of us will benefit from sleeping in that chair, and since you won’t let me and I won’t let you, I guess the bed is our only option.” He cocks his head. “Now, will you get in, or will I have to pound Madison’s door down so she lets you into your room?”
My eyes round, and I shake my head as I slip into the bed beside him. It’s big enough that we don’t have to touch, but I can feel the heat radiating off him, breaking my body out in a light sweat.
It really isn’t helping that he’s fucking shirtless.
“Do you need any more of the comforter?” he asks me after he sees me shivering, and as he grips the top of it and shifts it over to my side, I rest myself back on one of my elbows to take it from him.
But in doing so, his hand grazes my hard nipple, and an involuntary hushed moan escapes my mouth.
Nathan’s jaw clenches. He’s already snapped his hand away, but I swear I see his eyes shift from an olive-green colour to a dark emerald as he looks down at my breasts, accentuated by my position.
My stomach is twisting from the contact, and it’s longing for it again.
My lashes flutter, lips parting slightly as I take in one short breath. I don’t know what kind of look I’m giving Nathan right now, but I’m pretty sure the desire is written all over my face.
Swallowing, his Adam’s apple shifting up and down in the sexiest way, Nathan slowly moves his hand over to me again, the back of it skating over my nipple again. His tongue darts across his bottom lip before he asks, “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I immediately say, and I arch my back so my tits are higher.
His hand moves again, the sensation causing my entire body to flame. I’m soaking through my shorts, and I attempt to keep my breathing steady as I re-focus my eyes to see Nathan staring at me with furrowed brows.
“Fuck, Mae,” he says huskily. “What are you doing to me?”
I release a whimper in response, eyes turning half-lidded. He curses, and when I drop my eyes, I can see the outline of his hard dick against his pyjama pants. His very big , hard dick.
We should stop. I know we should. But I have tunnel vision right now. All I see is Nathan. And all I want is his hands on my body. Everywhere.
Nothing has ever felt this good, and all he’s doing is teasing my tits.
I tip my head back, my tongue feeling heavy inside my mouth.
All that can be heard in the room is my short breaths, and after a couple more strokes, Nathan pulls away. “I’m not taking this any further with you in a hotel room like you’re some fling. I respect you more than that, Mae.”
I gulp but eventually nod in understanding, taking a deep breath before I pull the comforter up over my flaming body as I compose myself. However, a small giggle slips from my lips. “Now who can’t keep their hands to themselves?”