Chapter 8
They had just finished up eating when Ramsey suggested that they watch the third period of the Wild-Canucks game. Nate offered his thoughts on that, more to see Ramsey smile and argue than because he genuinely didn’t want to watch it, then his phone buzzed.
Ramsey had already ensconced himself on the couch. Nate pulled his phone from his pocket and winced as he glanced at the screen.
Shit ur gonna be pissed.
Yeah, he probably was gonna be pissed. He wanted to sit here on the couch with Ramsey and hold his hand as Ramsey explained some obscure hockey concept to him as they watched a game between two teams he didn’t give a single shit about.
Nate thought that pretty much said it all.
“What is it?” Ramsey asked as Nate walked into the living room, because apparently he had a sixth sense for trouble.
Trouble like Jordan Atkinson.
Nate was already typing out a response: what happened?
He was also seriously considered just calling Jordan, and he might have, if he thought there was a chance in hell he might actually pick up the fucking phone.
“That rookie at the strip club sent me a text,” he told Ramsey. “Something about me being pissed.”
Ramsey looked unimpressed. “He should be more worried about me being pissed.”
“Yeah, but he hasn’t met you yet. He doesn’t know that you’d probably barely blink while you destroyed his life.”
“Aw, you say the sweetest things, Nathaniel,” Ramsey cooed.
Before that kind of comment would’ve ratcheted Nate’s temper—and probably the undercover arousal he kept pretending he didn’t feel—up. But now he just let Ramsey’s somewhat perverse sense of humor wash over him.
His phone dinged again, and this time Nate didn’t waste a moment before looking at it.
can you come?
Nate groaned out loud.
“What?” Ramsey asked, but before Nate could tell him, he’d neatly taken the phone from Nate’s hand and was looking at the screen himself.
“Can I?” Ramsey asked, glancing up.
Nate wasn’t sure that Jordan had ever listened to anything he’d ever said, so Ramsey could hardly do any worse. He shrugged.
Ramsey nodded sharply and returned to the screen, tapping out a message quickly and decisively. Less than thirty seconds later, he passed the phone back to Nate. There was an unsent message sitting on the screen.
not until you tell me what’s happening
Nate pressed Send. Lifted his head to look at Ramsey, who just shrugged. “You’ll go regardless,” he said matter-of-factly, “but it’ll be good to be prepared when we go in.”
“When we go in?”
Ramsey looked at him. “Come on, do you really think I’m going to let some stripper-obsessed rookie upstart ruin my date? I don’t fucking think so.”
For a split second, Nate nearly argued with him, because Jordan wasn’t Ramsey’s problem. Wasn’t what he’d signed up for, even remotely, even if he’d signed up for Nate. Volunteered for Nate, really, which was a thought that even when it vaguely crossed his mind, still made Nate hot.
But if Nate was considering it, Ramsey might come in handy. He had an unreal ability to charm and indisputably knew how to defuse a situation.
“Okay,” Nate said. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Ramsey said, reaching for his arm. Nate always forgot that Ramsey was strong too, a professional athlete, until obvious moments, like this, when with a single grip, he could keep Nate in place.
“What is it?” Nate asked.
“Let’s see what he says first.”
Nate relaxed, and then to his surprise, Ramsey released his grip but instead of letting go, his fingers trailed down his arm and tucked into Nate’s, tangling them together. Squeezing once, then twice.
Nate swallowed hard as their eyes met. He wanted to lean in and kiss Ramsey. Stop fighting this thing between them. It had been soul-shaking enough the first time, but Nate didn’t think he’d be able to keep to his feet now.
But it was still Ramsey who looked away first.
Then Nate’s phone buzzed and Ramsey shifted closer to him, so he could read the screen too.
just some shit. And then after, instead of explaining what any of the shit was, Jordan just sent him a location.
Fuck.
Ramsey sighed, which was exactly how Nate felt. They grabbed their coats, and a minute later, they were out the door.
“You ever been there?” Ramsey asked as they headed downstairs. He was on his phone now, and as they rode the elevator down to the ground floor, he tilted it towards Nate so he could see he was getting them a ride to the Wild Leopard.
“A few times,” Nate admitted as they exited the elevator.
He wasn’t surprised when Ramsey did a double take. “You’ve been to the Wild Leopard,” he stated baldly. “A few times.”
“Not out of personal choice,” Nate said.
Ramsey grinned. “You are a good mentor, going to look at all those hot naked ladies, when you don’t give a shit about hot naked ladies.”
“Right?” Nate snorted under his breath. “Totally fucking wasted on me.”
“He gets that right?” Ramsey asked.
“Oh, he knows.” Nate pushed the door open, holding it for Ramsey.
“Car should be here in two,” Ramsey said. “Blue Tesla sedan.”
“I wish he would’ve given me some kind of clue,” Nate said, pacing in front of the building.
“He did warn you, at least.”
“I should’ve known better,” Nate grumbled.
“If you’re gonna tell me you’d have taken me on a date to the Wild Leopard, I don’t believe you.”
“No, I wouldn’t have.” Nate shoved his hands into his pockets.
He’d been here for two seasons now, and the bitterness of the November cold still took him by surprise.
Ramsey had let go of his hand in the elevator, and now he almost wanted to reach back for it, for warmth.
Or at least that was the lie his uncooperative brain wanted to believe.
“So what, you’d have ditched me for your problem rookie?”
He wouldn’t have done that either. Ramsey had to know it. He shouldn’t be making Nate admit it, but he seemed to want to.
Nate just didn’t know why.
He didn’t need to. He’d already positioned Nate exactly where he wanted him, and Nate wasn’t moving. Not until he had a compelling reason.
“No,” Nate said.
Ramsey smiled, the edge of his lips curling smugly in a way that should’ve been unappealing but instead was just wildly hot.
“You’re insane,” Nate added.
“Heard that before.”
“You ever believe it?”
Ramsey shot him a look. “Nathaniel, I knew it was true before anyone ever told me.”
Of course he did.
The blue Tesla sedan pulled up, and ten minutes later, they were climbing out in front of the Wild Leopard. It was upscale, at least, no neon outside and a classy vertical sign on the edge of the brick building, lit dimly, the gold edges shining in the darkness.
At least it didn’t seem like Jordan’s trouble had followed him outside, and there were no visible cops.
The bouncer at the door must have recognized him, because he didn’t say anything, just gestured them inside.
It took a second for Nate’s eyes to adjust to the dim light inside, but the moment they did, he began scanning the different booths and the stages for Jordan.
“What does he look like?” Ramsey asked, and he’d shifted closer. So close they were pressed together.
“Tall. Gangly. Dark hair. Brown skin. Cocky as hell.”
Ramsey nodded absently.
Then Nate spotted him over by the farthest stage, lounging on one of the big leather chairs, a cluster of half-naked strippers around him, all laughing at something he was saying. His hands waved animatedly in the air, and he was smiling.
“Strange,” Ramsey said coolly after Nate pointed him out and they started to head over. “He doesn’t seem to be in danger.”
There were no cops. No bouncers. No clear or obvious red flags of any kind. Just Jordan Atkinson hanging out at the strip club, with the easy confidence of a guy who dropped enough money here he knew he’d be welcomed with open arms, no matter what the fuck he did.
Nate saw red. Tried to breathe in and breathe out as they finished walking over, hoping to give himself some perspective and also give Jordan the benefit of the doubt. But it was hard.
It was especially hard when they finally walked up to Jordan, and he looked over at them, surprised.
“Oh, shit, you came,” Jordan said.
“I came,” Nate said flatly.
The circle of strippers around Jordan shifted and that must have been the first moment he caught a glimpse of Ramsey next to Nate, because his jaw dropped open a little.
Nate always wondered if Ramsey was used to that kind of attention, or if you could get used to causing a stir wherever you went.
“Holy shit, you were on a date,” Jordan said.
“I was. I am,” Nate said flatly. He’d been annoyed, sure, but more worried. Now he was just pissed. What was Jordan’s problem?
“And with him.” Jordan looked wowed, and that should’ve been a sop for Nate’s ego—even if it wasn’t a legit date—but all Nate felt was something like rage, because he’d obviously dragged him here and nothing was really wrong.
“What’s the deal?” Nate demanded. “You wanted me to come here, so here I am. What’s wrong?”
There was a flash of panic on Jordan’s face, but it was gone so fast, replaced by that smug overconfidence, Nate wondered if he’d seen it at all.
“Who said anything was wrong?”
“You did, you idiot,” Nate ground out.
“Actually—”
Ramsey shot him a quelling look. “You just wanted him to show up here.”
“No,” Jordan protested but there was an insincere quality that Nate clocked right away. “Listen, if you wanna know, there was a super hot guy here earlier, and I thought you might want to meet him.”
Ramsey snorted under his breath.
“Clearly,” Jordan continued, glancing over at Ramsey, “you don’t need that kind of help.”
“Clearly,” Nate said, frowning. He wasn’t sure he believed Jordan’s story, but what was he supposed to do, call him a liar?
“Well, you’re here now,” Jordan said. “Sit down. Have a drink. Enjoy the nice ladies.”
Nate laughed, unamused. “Are you serious—”
But Ramsey unexpectedly tucked himself into Nate’s side, glancing up at him. “We should,” he said, interrupting Nate. “At least for one drink.”