Chapter 23 Woke Up With Blue Balls and Salty Regret
WOKE UP WITH BLUE BALLS AND SALTY REGRET
Nate
Nate woke up hard and alone. Which, to be fair, wasn’t that unusual. What was unusual was that this time he wasn’t okay with it.
The sheets still smelled like her. Sweat and perfume and whatever the fuck she used on her hair that made it smell like citrus and sin.
His body was sore in ways he liked, and his brain was sore in ways he didn’t.
He dragged a hand down his face, then over his chest, half-hoping it would wipe away the memory of her mouth, her thighs, the tiny cracked sound she’d made when he’d said her name like it meant something.
Which, fuck. It had. It had meant something, at least to him. And that was the problem.
She hadn’t slipped out while he was asleep. She’d looked him in the eye, pulled on her shirt with trembling hands, and tossed him a too-bright smile like she hadn’t just shattered into a hundred quiet pieces in his lap.
‘Tension burned off. Night.’
She’d said it as though they hadn’t just crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed, and then she walked out of his apartment like it hadn’t meant anything.
Like he didn’t mean anything. So when he sat up in the silence she left behind, the sheets still warm and her scent still lingering like a bruise, his first thought wasn’t I wonder where she is.
It was, did I just watch her walk away from the best thing we’ve ever accidentally built?
His second thought was that he needed coffee. STAT.
He got up, yanked on yesterday’s hoodie, and shuffled barefoot to the Nespresso machine like a man being punished by God and George Clooney at once.
He pressed a button. Waited for salvation.
Got brown sadness in a paper cup instead.
He wandered over to the window with it and stared out at the skyline like it might give him answers. Or at least a personality transplant.
She’d kissed him like she was drowning. She’d fucked him as though using him to punish herself. But she hadn’t let him kiss her soft. Meaningful. Real. Which meant she’d known. She’d felt that tiny crack in her armor, and she ran.
Coward.
… smart coward.
Nate took a sip of his sad excuse for espresso and flipped on the TV just to hear something other than the inside of his own skull. Unfortunately, the inside of his own skull was also apparently playing on every news channel.
"Ballroom Darling & Hockey Himbo: Are Holly & Nate Heating Up?"
"WATCH: The Quickstep That brOKE THE INTERNET (and maybe our ovaries)"
"Do You Believe In Love at First Shimmy?"
He groaned.
Every outlet had a clip on loop. Their final pose, the smirks, the eye-fucking, the slow-motion soul-wreckage that definitely looked like it came with a soundtrack and a sponsorship deal.
One anchor was full-on narrating it like David Attenborough dissecting a mating ritual.
Another panel had a segment titled “Will They or Won’t They (They Will)” with a fucking poll.
Nate threw a pillow at the TV.
It hit the screen and fell to the floor, useless.
He flopped back onto the bed, still half-hard and fully pissed off, and did what any modern man does when he’s emotionally constipated and low-key obsessed with a woman who won’t let him touch her feelings:
He texted Jaime.
Nate
Cap…
She left.
Like ghosted. Gone.
… am I the drama?
Jaime
you’ve always been the drama
wait did you guys finally bang or
Nate
Yeah
Like capital letters. B. A. N. G. Life changing shit.
Jaime
good for you. proud of u.
…did you ruin it already
Nate
She left last night. Straight after.
… like a DUDE.
Jaime
… okay that’s disconcerting, I won’t lie
did you cry when you came?
Nate
WTF NO. I DID NOT.
Jaime
Just tryna work out where you went wrong bro… better if you cried than have it be your thrust game
Nate
I HATE YOU.
Jaime
not yet, but you will when you get back and i make you skate drills for an hour on lock. sweet dreams, princess
Nate huffed something akin to a laugh through his nose, flopping back onto the bed and throwing one tattooed bicep over his eyes as though it would help him avoid rehearsal that day.
Spoiler alert: Nate Eriksson? Not a coward. But not smart, either.