Chapter 3 #2
“Not a mystery. It’s because you’re always around.” Nate finished his rum and tapped the edge of the glass so the bartender would pour him another round. “You piss me off.”
Ramsey had the nerve to bat his eyes. “You just wish I’d sleep with you again and you’re frustrated that I won’t.”
“I never even suggested we sleep together again,” Nate said flatly.
Elbowing him in the side, not too gently, Ramsey just shot Nate the smile that had no doubt won him legions of admirers wherever he went.
“Stop it,” he said. “You’re gonna dent my ego.”
Ramsey was already leading half of Nate’s football team around by the dick, even the dudes who’d never imagined they’d be into another guy. What did he need more for? What did he even need Nate for? The whole fucking harem was right there, available for easy plucking.
Ramsey didn’t even want him. He was clearly just annoyed that Nate wouldn’t fall in line and salivate at his mere existence, right next to everyone else.
“I don’t know if that’s even possible. Your ego seems pretty bulletproof to me.”
“You’ve got no idea.” Ramsey paused. “But I bet you wish you did.” He grinned wilder now.
That look on Ramsey’s gorgeous face was purely lethal.
Nate’s pulse throbbed, and he wanted, more than anything else, to be as unaffected as he claimed to be.
After all, Ramsey looked like he didn’t give a shit even if Nate hated him. It made Nate want to hate him more.
It made Nate want to actually hate him at all.
“Is there a reason you’re over here still, trying to convince me that I still want you?” Nate asked flatly.
Something shifted behind Ramsey’s eyes. A flash of truth. Maybe not honesty, but at least the act rearranging itself.
In June, Nate had wanted to see behind the act. Thought he had, for a hot moment. Then in August, he hadn’t been sure if Ramsey was anything but the act.
He didn’t want to have to reorient his understanding of the guy again.
Instead he picked up his glass. “Exactly,” Nate said. “I thought so.”
It was easy enough to go find Lane. To convince him and Trevor to head to one of the rooms, the one with a pool table—a game that Ramsey had admitted he couldn’t play and so he’d be in no danger of joining them.
But the whole game he was distracted. Scratching when he didn’t usually do that shit. Missing an obvious-ish shot that normally he’d have jumped all over.
“You alright?” Lane asked casually as he picked up his beer, finishing it after their second game. He’d already sent Trevor on an errand to the bar to get them another round, and if Nate had been paying any attention, he’d have realized that wasn’t just convenience but something else.
“Fine,” Nate said shortly. He hadn’t been thinking about Ramsey’s easy but bone-deep admission about how his balance wasn’t good enough. He hadn’t.
He didn’t want to consider what was going on behind those pale blue eyes. He didn’t want to feel sorry for the guy. He didn’t want to think about him at all.
It was annoying that was easier said than done.
“You seem distracted, that’s all,” Lane said. He leaned against the edge of the table, and because he was such a shit stirrer—an aspect of his personality Nate typically enjoyed because Lane tended to use it against other people and not Nate—he added, “I saw Ramsey out there, by the bar.”
“If you’re gonna fuck him, make sure you wrap your dick,” Nate said flatly.
Lane’s eyes lit up and Nate realized he’d made a tactical error.
“You do want him,” Lane insisted.
“I don’t.” But Nate didn’t think that sounded convincing even to himself. Deciding that Lane had started it, he had no qualms about turning the tables. “And neither do you.”
“Come on, the guy’s insanely hot,” Lane argued, but it was weak, too.
They both knew who Lane really wanted and who Lane was trying very hard not to touch.
Maybe it was mean to actually bring it up, but Lane had gone there first.
“I’m not blind, dude,” Nate said, more gently this time.
“It’s not . . .we’re not . . .” Lane trailed off. Looked away, like he was afraid his expression would give him away.
“But you haven’t hooked up in two months,” Nate said.
“Neither have you,” Lane argued.
“Yeah, because I’m done with hookups.” He was especially done after his last one—the night he’d spent with Ramsey—had gone so sideways. “I told you that last month.”
“Yeah you said it, but then he’s out there being all hot and enticing,” Lane said, gesturing towards the main bar.
Nate raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was talking about Ramsey or if his friend was actually admitting to having the hots for his stepbrother.
“I’m done fucking around,” Nate said with finality.
“Even if it’s with the super hot hockey player?” Lane questioned.
“Especially then,” Nate grumbled. “He’s trouble. You know it. Which is probably why you keep trying to push him at me. So you can live vicariously through whatever happens.”
Lane rubbed his hands together, smiling now. “Well, yeah. I’d want all the details.”
And this was why Nate hadn’t told him—or anybody—that he’d already slept with the guy.
Lane would want all the details. He’d want the good gossip.
Everyone would. And Nate didn’t feel like sharing, even though it would make sense if he wanted to parse his hookup with Ramsey down to some easily digestible, meaningless soundbites.
“He’s so hot, he’d probably be shit in bed. Thinks all he has to do is lie back and look pretty.”
Nate would be having a much easier time if that had turned out to be true, but he didn’t want Lane getting any big ideas and deciding that he was going to go for it, his hangup on Trevor be damned.
But Lane only looked unconvinced. “I don’t know, man. He could be really good. Like life-ruining good.”
Nate made a face. “Stop trying to get me to change my mind.”
“I’m not. Really, I’m not.” Lane attempted an innocent look, which was not very successful.
“Hey, look who I found.” Trevor walked back into the room, several other players trailing behind him. One of them was Jordan Atkinson. At least that would save Nate from having to text him and figure out where he was tonight.
Atkinson was the kind of thing he needed to handle if he was going to be the sole defensive captain next year, but it was hard to not resent Sterling over him dumping the whole problem into his lap.
“Hey, guys,” Nate said, greeting Jack, Duke, and Jordan. Jack and Duke were depth guys on the defense—good guys who Nate liked, who he hoped that Jordan wouldn’t start dragging into his own crap.
“Jordo, what’s happening?” Lane asked, giving him a bro-hug.
The last thing Jordan needed was to hang around Lane.
Lane was smart enough—or experienced enough?—to know where the line was between raising hell and getting kicked off the team. But Jordan wasn’t, and he’d take it too far. Lane would probably laugh the whole way, right up until the worst scenario.
“Heard this place was pretty sick,” Jordan said.
“You wanna play?” Nate said, trying to be casual, gesturing towards the table.
Jordan shot him an unimpressed look. “Pool?”
“They’ve got darts too,” Duke said, though Nate already thought combining Jordan’s recklessness with sharp, pointy objects was a disaster waiting to happen.
“Who’s winning?” Jordan asked, gesturing to the table.
“Not Bishop,” Lane said, before Nate could speak up. “He’s distracted.”
“Yeah?” Jordan glanced over at him. “What do you have to be worried about?”
“Not worried,” Nate said. Annoyed. Preoccupied. Frustrated—sexually and otherwise.
“Something,” Lane said knowingly. He shot Nate a sideways glance. “He wants to fuck the hot hockey player, but he thinks it’s a bad idea.”
Nate snorted. Lane was so right and so wrong, impossibly at the same time. “No, I don’t.”
“So why don’t you?” Jordan asked.
When they’d first met, Nate had been worried that Jordan would be one of those guys who hadn’t gotten the memo and still carried around a hard kernel of homophobia, buried deep down.
But it turned out, he didn’t give a shit, he just cared about having a good time, wallowing in his newfound money and celebrity.
Expecting that he’d be the second coming of linebacker Jesus the moment he stepped onto the field.
And he was good, that was part of the issue. He was almost as good as he thought he was, even.
“It’s complicated,” Nate said.
Jordan smirked. “Seems pretty straightforward to me. Don’t be such a square, Bishop.”
It was not what Nate had expected—or wanted—but if Jordan making fun of how boring he was kept him out of the worst of the hell he could raise, then Nate would take it.
“Play me, and if you win, I’ll go over and talk to him,” Nate said. He had no intention of losing or of talking to Ramsey, again.
“He is hot,” Jordan said.
Trevor scoffed. “You’re fucking straight, Atkinson.”
Jordan just raised his hands in mock surrender. “But not blind.”
It was annoying, but not particularly surprising when even the straight bro-dudes on Nate’s football team could see themselves making an exception for Ramsey.
“Come on,” Lane said persuasively, nudging Jordan. “Bishop’s been off all night. It’s your fucking time, Jordo.”
Trevor held out his cue and Jordan accepted it, and Nate took that to mean it was on.
After racking the balls, he looked over at Jordan. “So, what do I get if I win?”
Jordan shrugged but Nate had an idea.
“You’ve been off all night. You’re not gonna win,” Lane boasted.
Yeah, he had. But if the price of losing was having to go talk to Ramsey again, he was going to fucking win.
“If I win,” Nate said, “you’re gonna hang out with me this week.”
“Oooooh shit, rookie, you’re in trouble,” Lane called out.
Jordan made a face. “Well, I’m just gonna have to wipe the floor with you then, old man.”
Nate sighed internally. He was only five years older than Jordan, but some days it felt like an eternity.
“You got it,” Nate said, gesturing for Jordan to break.
He had been distracted all night; Lane was right about that. But Lane also probably thought he was just looking for an excuse to go talk to Ramsey, and the opposite was actually true.
It wasn’t easy, locking in to the game in front of him, but Nate had learned, all the hard ways, how to do it when it really mattered.
Sure enough, twenty minutes later, Nate sank the eight ball, winning the game.
“Shit,” Jordan said, glancing over at Nate as he settled a hip against the edge of the table. “Double or nothing?”
“No can do,” Nate said. “I can’t go talk to the hockey player twice, so I guess you’re stuck with me this week.”
Jordan groaned with exaggerated annoyance.
Nate felt that, too, but he couldn’t look annoyed because this was part of his job. Would be solely his responsibility after this season.
It was going to take a lot more than a week to iron out the rookie, but Nate hoped that it would at least be a good start.