21 - Wesley
Wesley
I should be in an Uber.
That’s the thought that keeps repeating in my head as I stand outside a penthouse door that definitely does not belong to me, clutching my phone as if it might still save me from whatever impulsive spiral led me here.
Twenty minutes ago, I was laughing over cocktails with the girls, swearing I was done making questionable decisions for at least the rest of the week.
Ten minutes ago, I told myself it was fine to walk home alone, that I needed the air and was just thinking.
Five minutes ago, I looked up the address of this building and realized it was within walking distance.
Now I am here.
I stare at the door, half-expecting it to reject me outright, like a bouncer who knows I shouldn’t be here.
My heart is beating faster than it does during a game, which is irritating considering I pride myself on being in control of my body and choices.
This is not a controlled choice. This is me losing my mind because I can’t stop thinking about the way Nathan looked at me earlier this week.
I can still leave. No one knows I’m here. No one would know if I left.
I knock.
There’s a sound on the other side of the door, but it stays closed.
Now. Now I should leave.
I knock again because apparently I hate myself.
This time, the door opens almost immediately.
The man standing there is tall, broad, and not Nathan.
He has dark hair, a sharp jaw, and an expression that suggests he would rather be doing literally anything else. He looks at me like I’m an unexpected maintenance issue.
I blink once. I was certain this was Nathan’s penthouse. Hell, the tabloids have practically published that it is.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, already mortified. “I must have the wrong place.”
He squints at me, then looks past me, as if checking whether I brought a problem with me, then yells back into the apartment. “Uh. It’s not the pizza!”
I step back, fumbling for dignity, when a voice carries from inside.
Before I can escape, a blond man rounds the corner into view, wearing a grin that belongs on a billboard. The air leaves my lungs.
The realization hits me all at once, pieces snapping together in a way I don’t appreciate. Of course, this is Nathan’s place. Of course, there are other people here. Liam and Wyatt, whom I now recognize. I’m standing here unannounced like a fucking stalker.
Liam’s eyebrows lift when he sees me, surprise flashing across his face before something distinctly entertained replaces it.
“It’s…” Liam trails off. “Dude. Wilder. It’s for you.”
My mouth opens and closes. “I was just, I mean, I didn’t realize.”
Behind him, the apartment is loud with the faint sound of a video game’s theme music carrying down the hall. Every instinct in me screams retreat.
Footsteps sound, heavier than Liam’s, more deliberate.
Then he appears.
Grey sweatpants are slung low on his hips, and a white cut-off shows off his muscles beneath it.
Nathan’s hair looks like he’s run his hands through it one too many times, leaving it messy.
He looks nothing like he does at our workouts, or the gala, or even our two fake dates.
He looks casual and comfortable, and so fucking attractive that my chest actually clenches.
“Hi.” My brain short-circuits long enough that I forget how to breathe.
He stops when he sees me, his expression unreadable but intent, eyes locking onto mine like everything else in the room has ceased to exist.
I’m painfully aware of the people behind him and their attention. My coming here was already a bad idea, but now it feels inappropriate. I’m an idiot.
“I shouldn’t have come,” I say too fast, words tumbling over each other. “I didn’t realize you had people over, and this was a mistake.”
Nathan doesn’t look away from me.
“Get out,” he says quietly.
Liam snorts. “Wow, you aren’t actually kicking us out? Right?”
Nathan’s jaw tightens, but his eyes stay on me. “I said get the fuck out.”
The room stirs behind him, protests and laughter mixing together.
“Relax, man.” Grayson appears from the other room.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Liam says with a wink, clearly enjoying my suffering.
“Dude.” Grayson slaps Liam in the back of the head as they push through the door.
Wyatt looks at me, then at Nathan, and shakes his head like a disappointed dad.
I stand frozen in the doorway, my cheeks burning, suddenly very aware that the hallway feels larger without their presence.
The silence presses in.
I swallow, nerves buzzing under my skin as the reality of being alone with him settles heavily in my chest. Why am I here?
He clears his throat and gestures toward the apartment, the movement subtle but deliberate.
“Come in.”
The words hit me like a starter pistol, and instead of moving, I panic.
“I really shouldn’t,” I say immediately, the sentence tripping over itself.
“I mean, I don’t normally show up at people’s homes, especially not unannounced, and I swear I’m not a stalker even though this absolutely makes me look like one, and that sounds worse when I say it out loud, but I promise I’m not unhinged. ”
Nathan doesn’t interrupt me.
He just watches.
His expression is unreadable, but his attention is absolute, as if he’s letting me burn through all the nervous energy I brought with me. The silence stretches, my rambling finally running out of oxygen as I realize I’m talking to fill the space I’m too afraid to step into.
When I stop, he speaks again.
“Wesley, just come in.”
There’s no edge to it this time, only certainty.
“Okay.” My feet move before my brain catches up, and suddenly I’m inside his apartment.
It’s simple and modern with plain white walls that seem to stretch on forever. I’m not sure what I expected, but this wasn’t it. He’s so friendly and charming. This apartment is impersonal in a way that bothers me.
Nathan lives here. He lives here, but it looks like anyone could.
He steps toward me, our bodies close enough that the heat of him burns into me, close enough that my pulse starts doing something reckless.
“You always act like you’ve got everything under control, but you always look at me like you’re about to lose it.”
I hate the way he sees me. Despite my best efforts at blocking him out, he always manages to see right past my walls. And he’s right, I’m about to lose it entirely.
For a second, we just stand here.
Then he reaches behind me to shut the door fully, the click of the lock breaking whatever trance I’ve fallen into. He pulls back, giving me space, and I suck in a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, quieter this time. “For interrupting your night.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not.”
I look up at him, searching his face for signs that he’s only being polite, but there are none. Instead, he looks pleased and maybe relieved.
“Do you want some pumpkin pie?” he asks, nodding toward the kitchen. “I can’t promise it’s safe.”
I follow his gaze and spot a sad-looking pie on the counter, still in its plastic container, untouched.
My face twists before I can stop it. “That looks like a crime.”
He laughs, the sound loosening the tension in my chest. “That’s what I said. They insisted.”
“I respect your survival instincts.” My gaze scans the space. “So, when you said you were watching film?”
“Yeah, it was with the guys,” he admits sheepishly.
I walk down the hall, entering the larger living area, only to find more impersonal decor.
“Your apartment is–”
“Nice?” He finishes.
“No.” I drag my hand across the painting on the far wall, it’s nothing but black and grey, like everything else. “It’s not very you.” I glance in his direction, only to find him trailing behind me.
“Oh.” He looks around as if seeing his own place with new eyes.
“It’s not really. I wanted something bigger, so I sold my old place last fall.
I was in the process of buying a new one.
” He pauses, his jaw working. “But my agent got wind that my contract might not renew, so I decided to rent this place for the year.”
There’s pain in his eyes as he speaks. His shoulders are tight as he forces the words out. Seeing him so insecure does something to my heart that I don’t like.
The Blades would have to be insane not to want this man on their team.
Nathan playing average is better than most guys could ever hope for.
Besides, I’d come to learn that his dedication to that team was second to none.
Looking around this apartment, I realize that Nathan doesn’t quite believe that anymore.
“Renting doesn’t mean you have to keep it impersonal.” I glance around, noting that there’s not a single personal picture frame. “Besides, you want to stay, right?”
“Well, yeah. That’s kind of the whole point.” He motions to me as if he has made his intentions perfectly clear.
“If you want to stay, then you need to act like you’re going to.” I turn to face him fully.
“What do you mean?” He leans against the back of the couch, one leg crossed in front of the other.
“I mean.” I motion around the room. “This is not good for your mental game, Wilder. No wonder you’re playing off. You’re living in an impersonal, personally created jail cell that reminds you that your contract’s up, constantly. It’s a mind fuck.”
I walk past him and around the couch.
He’s silent for a minute, and I wonder if I’ve said too much. I’m pushy. I know it. But I want to help, and that means pointing out that this place sucks. If he can’t convince himself that he’s going to get his contract renewed, there’s no way he’s going to convince management of it.
After making my way around the room again, sufficiently convinced that there’s not an ounce of Nathan in this place, I stop my pacing in front of him.
When I do, his stoic expression breaks into a full-on belly laugh. He throws his head back laughing so loud, it practically echoes in this makeshift mausoleum. It goes on for minutes, and I’m too confused to join in.
“I’ve brought girls here. I’ve brought my teammates here. No one has ever said a fucking thing about it,” he finally says between gasps.