Chapter 7
It had felt like two hours was plenty of time, but Nate felt like it sped by. He’d just managed to pull on a T-shirt after his shower when the doorbell rang.
“Aw,” Ramsey cooed the moment Nate opened the door, “you left a message with the concierge that I was your new boyfriend.”
Nate spluttered. He had most definitely not used the word boyfriend to describe Ramsey’s position in his life. Dating, sure, but not boyfriend.
They weren’t doing that, fake or otherwise. Ramsey had specifically said casual dating last night and Nate had agreed.
“That isn’t what I told him,” Nate said, ushering Ramsey inside.
But Ramsey only shrugged, like he was unconcerned that before this moment, he’d probably never slept with the same person twice and now he was rolling with being someone’s boyfriend.
Specifically his boyfriend.
Nate searched for something to say but his mind was blank. Extra, super-duper blank.
Those two words, put together, and the fact Ramsey was back in his apartment after the last two months was short-circuiting his brain. A thrill kept spinning through him at the thought, and he kept having to push it aside.
Ramsey walked right in, skirting past the doorway to the bedroom and into the living room with its jerseys on the walls.
The jerseys that had tipped Ramsey off to who he was back in June.
Nate tried not to tense as Ramsey gazed at the Thunder jersey under its glass. He was sure he was going to say something about it. Some casual, defusing-the-tension sort of remark that didn’t make light of that night but somehow managed to reduce its importance.
But Ramsey didn’t. He didn’t say anything at all. He just turned away from it, finally. “So, what’s this about you feeding me?” he asked instead.
Nate didn’t know what to do with that. He’d been so sure he knew what direction Ramsey was going to take, and now that he hadn’t, he felt extra flustered.
Why hadn’t Ramsey said anything about it? He’d looked right at it. They both knew he had.
“Uh yeah, sure. I was going to wait to order until I knew what you were interested in.”
“Asian’s always a safe bet,” Ramsey said lightly. “Sushi? Chinese? Thai?”
That was how they ended up leaning together over the kitchen island, staring at Nate’s phone as Ramsey experienced zero qualms in clicking any kind of sushi he thought sounded good.
“Are you really gonna eat all that?” Nate questioned as he added another roll to the cart.
Ramsey shot him a faux-wounded look. “Are you doubting me?”
“Yes. Always,” Nate retorted dryly.
“I’m gonna remember you being a shitty date,” Ramsey said, grinning. “Being cheap. Questioning my food choices.”
“You don’t even know what a shitty date is. You’ve never even been on one.”
“But I still know what a good date is. I’ve watched the Hallmark channel and both my best friends remind me every fucking day what romance is.”
“Both of your best friends?” Nate questioned. He only knew about Wes. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked; maybe he didn’t really need to know any more about Ramsey than he already did, but he wanted to know more about Ramsey.
It was a similar kind of alarm ringing in the back of his head that had sounded when Ramsey had casually suggested they fake whatever this relationship was between them. But just like then, it didn’t stop Nate at all.
“You know Wes,” Ramsey said, and Nate nodded, fully aware that Ramsey was hesitating.
“If we’re accusing anyone of being a shitty date, a good date would at least be willing to tell me something about himself,” Nate said.
Ramsey made a face. “You’re going to meet him in a few weeks.”
“I will?”
“Well yeah. He’ll be coming here with his boyfriend, who plays for the Riptide. Dean Scott.”
“You know the guy who’s dating Dean Scott?” Nate told himself the awe in his voice was only a casual sort of appreciation for the guy’s insane football skill, and Ramsey wouldn’t make more of it than that.
But of course, Ramsey only rolled his eyes. “Not you too,” he said.
“What?” Nate replied self-consciously.
“Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on that guy.
That guy, ugh,” Ramsey muttered. “You think you’re gonna do your friend a solid, get him a good roommate and maybe dislodge, just a little, the stick that’s crawled up his ass.
Instead, he ends up falling in love with the guy and quitting hockey so he can moon over him all over Southern California. ”
Nate raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ramsey repeated with emphasis. “I’m still annoyed about it.”
“He really quit hockey so he could follow Dean Scott?” It really said something that this was the most interesting and most remarkable part of everything Ramsey had just said.
“Well, no, not technically. Technically Brody quit hockey so he could go be a brilliant doctor.”
“That’s a little different,” Nate pointed out.
Ramsey smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Not you too,” he complained.
“Just saying.”
“Anyway, they’ll be here, and I’m sure they’ll want to meet you. I can only imagine the texts Wes has already sent him.”
Nate raised both eyebrows. “Texts?”
“Oh, Wes is just . . .torn between insane excitement and complete disbelief and feels like he has to share that with someone or he’ll explode.”
“Over you pretending to casually date?” Nate supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.
Ramsey rolled his eyes. “Not pretending according to him.”
“Right.” Could anyone blame him for tacking on pretending every single time his brain stuttered over dating? His heart and his brain and his cock kept wishful thinking the opposite.
“Back to our date.” Ramsey fluttered the eyelashes over those lethal blue eyes in his direction. Even in a T-shirt and jeans, he was so beautiful Nate could barely believe he was even real and standing next to him in his apartment.
Surely he was a mirage that would vanish as soon as Nate touched him.
But Nate reached down, hand curling around his hip, half because he wanted to, and half because he wanted Ramsey to push him off, and Ramsey just leaned into it.
“You want anything else?” Ramsey asked instead, gesturing towards the phone.
“You ordered half the menu,” Nate bitched.
But Ramsey just shrugged and kept clicking through, holding the phone up so Nate’s Apple Pay would recognize his face.
“Oh,” Ramsey said, glancing at the screen. “You got a text—I didn’t mean to—but who’s Jordan?”
“Shit,” Nate groaned, plucking the phone from his hands. “A teammate. A rookie teammate.”
“Ah.” Ramsey’s noise was full of understanding, even though Nate had barely said anything. But maybe that was all that was necessary.
“So him sending you a text about how hopping the Wild Leopard is, that’s normal?”
“Yeah, unfortunately.” Nate let go of Ramsey’s hip, skirting around the island so he could pull two bottles of water out of the fridge.
He opened one and slid the other in front of Ramsey. “You want something else. I’ve got a few other things. Juice. Milk. Sparkling water.”
“This is fine,” Ramsey said. “Let’s talk about your Jordan.”
“He’s not mine,” Nate said emphatically. Sterling would probably disagree with that assessment. He’d gone out of his way to make Jordan Nate’s problem.
“Don’t worry, Nathaniel. I’m not jealous.” Ramsey grinned. “Especially of a guy who thinks the best way to hit on you is to suggest you hang out with him at the Wild Leopard.”
“He’s not hitting on me,” Nate clarified. He shouldn’t probably tell Ramsey any of this, but if they were actually, for real, dating, then he probably would.
And maybe, if he was struggling on what he should and shouldn’t say, what he should and shouldn’t do, he could just fall back on that solid foundation.
Pretending, but well, not pretending, at the same time.
Ramsey raised an eyebrow. “He went out of his way to tell you where he was.”
“He thinks . . .” Nate wasn’t sure why this made him sound so flustered. “I guess he thinks I had a good time, last time we went.”
Ramsey started to laugh. “But you’re gay.”
“I know.” Nate grimaced.
“Is he . . .slow?” Ramsey asked it nicely, at least.
“No, he’s just . . .” Nate sighed. “I think he’s lonely and away from home, like really, really away from home for the first time, and he’s homesick and doesn’t know what to do with it.”
“Maybe,” Ramsey said. “You ask him about it?”
“Are you joking? I can barely get him to talk about football. Nevermind anything personal except what dancer he wants to take to the champagne room next.”
Ramsey was still laughing, but instead of that making the whole Jordan situation worse, and making Nate feel guilty for not handling it better, it felt good, like a pressure valve release.
“God, I know,” Nate added, slumping across the counter, smiling now. “I’m the worst fucking person to help him, and here I am trying despite that.”
“Are you the worst person?” Ramsey asked, sounding like he already knew the answer.
“Well, yeah,” Nate said. “I’m gay, like you said. It’s not like I’m actually enjoying our little strip club trips. And it’s not like I’m actually any good at convincing him to try anything else.”
“And you’re doing this because?” But before Nate could tell him, Ramsey snapped his fingers and straightened. “Shit, this is the problem that got put on you.”
Nate winced. He hated thinking of Jordan as “the problem” but well . . . if the shoe fit . . .
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Can’t believe you remembered that.”
Ramsey shot him a look. “You can’t?”
Okay, that was a good point. Nate had spent so much time and energy cataloging every interaction they’d ever had he could probably repeat them all, word for word. But that was him. He’d never imagined that maybe Ramsey felt the same.
“I didn’t know you were paying such close attention,” Nate said, forcing himself not to squirm as he said it.
But Ramsey only shrugged. “You said it yourself, I’m good at pretending.”
Nate was dying to ask what else he was pretending about, but that felt too personal even for a real first date.