My ex stands, runs his hands on his jeans, and gives me an awkward look.
I won’t let him beat me to the punch. “Hello, Brandon. Hope you enjoyed the show,” I say, then I reach for Nate’s hand, tightening my grip on him. That’s odd, he doesn’t squeeze back.
“Yeah, it was cool. Everything good with you?” he asks, his gray eyes drifting to Nate.
I half want to tug Nate next to me, to wrap my arms around him, and make a public declaration like This guy is so very much better than you. Wait, make that infinitely. He’s treated me better in one day than you ever would.
But that’s not for Brandon to know.
And now isn’t the time or the way to say that to the guy by my side.
“Everything is great,” I say, then I turn the other way, and we shuffle out behind TJ, Jude and Jason.
When we’re down the aisle, making our way out, TJ calls over his shoulder, “Are you guys still going to the after-party Stone is throwing?”
I look to Nate. “We are, right?”
“Sure,” he says, but he sounds off.
“Okay, we’ll meet you there. We’re gonna grab a drink with Jaybird. I need to catch him up on some things,” TJ says to the quarterback, then peels off with both Jude and Jason once we’re out of the theater.
In the lobby, I’m standing next to the blue-eyed man who’s played a top-notch boyfriend this weekend. But for the first time in more than a day, I feel unmoored by his expression—Nate’s eyes are cool, and his mouth is drawn in a tight line.
Since the plane, he’s been easy to read. He’s been open and trusting. Fun and bold, and all day I’ve been feeling so much more than I expected.
So much that I have to sort out what to do next.
But does he feel those things too? Can I trust what I’ve seen in him, or is this distance I’m now reading a red flag?
Maybe we can grab a few minutes before the party. “You want to head to Speakeasy? Have a drink? Just you and me?”
Nate swallows roughly, drags a hand through his thick hair. His eyes sail away to the casino. “Listen,” he begins.
And a chill sets in.
My body goes cold.
Listen is not a good word. It’s the start of the end.
“Yes?”
“Seeing that guy,” he says, pointing in the general direction of the theater. “It kind of has me all . . . frazzled.”
“Okay,” I reply carefully, so I don’t say the wrong thing.
“And I kind of need some time alone. Just an hour, maybe. I have to clear my head. You go to the party. I’ll meet you there.”
My heart feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. But he asked for space, and I have to give it to him. “I’ll be there,” I say, giving him the space he needs.
Nate’s lips twitch, but the smile erases itself so quickly that maybe I dreamed it.
He walks away.
17
NATE
I can’t get out of the hotel fast enough. The noise and the crowd and the people—it’s all too much. My feet are itching to run. My body is begging for exercise.
Hell, I didn’t work out today or jog, and maybe I should have.
Maybe I got so distracted by sex and accents that I lost sight of what’s important.
My job, my focus.
Not a crazy, wild weekend that’s making me feel too many things. I reach the main exit, pushing quickly through the revolving doors. The bright lights of The Extravagant’s sign flash in my eyes, blinding me.
The whole damn Strip feels too big.
But it also feels anonymous.
And after a day or so with someone figuring me out so damn well, seeing into my fucking soul, I want to be unknown.
I turn away from the hotel, picking up the pace as I walk around the portico, weaving through a pack of women in tight dresses. Then through some guys in suits with loosened ties. When I reach the Strip, I turn and walk past the Wynn, then, swinging my gaze left and right, checking out The Invitation, then the Bellagio up ahead.
I love this city, always have, and maybe I just need to get lost in the crowd to reset me.
Yeah, that has to be it.
I have to chill the fuck out as I’ve always known I should do with guys. Like I told Jason I’d do. I grab my phone from my back pocket, toggle over to my messages.
A text blinks from him. It looks like he sent it a few hours ago, before the concert. I open the thread.
* * *
Jason: I have arrived! See you soon. You behaving? Or not behaving?
* * *
Then there’s another note sent an hour later.
* * *
Jason: But here’s the thing . . . you should do what you want to do. Know what I mean?
* * *
I write back right away.
* * *
Nate: No. What do you mean?
* * *
Jason: You okay, man? You sound a little off. Come to think of it, you seemed off at the concert. What’s going on?
* * *
Nate: I don’t want to bug you when you’re hanging with friends.
* * *
Jason: Dude. TJ and Jude are way into each other. I’m such a third wheel. Talk to me.
* * *
My heart aches stupidly. I’m trying to figure out why I’m annoyed. Or upset. Is it because Hunter has an ex? Is it because I felt used? Or is it because seeing those two dudes fighting makes me think the takeaway is to slow the fuck down?
Press the damn brakes once and for all.
That has to be the boyfriend lesson.
* * *
Nate: Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do fall too fast.
* * *
Jason: Ohhhhh. Did you fall for your Brit already?
* * *
I wince at the words. At the utter truth reflected at me. At the fact that I well and truly need to get out of this mess before it breaks my heart.
* * *
Nate: Yes.
* * *
That’s all I say. Nothing more. No joking. No teasing.
The phone rings, and as I walk past an Elvis impersonator reeking of tequila, Jason says, “I stepped away from those two. You okay, man?”
I sigh. “I will be.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” I mutter.
He laughs. “Um, we’re beyond that.”
“I don’t know. I tried to be cool, but fuck. I like the guy,” I say, only that hardly covers it.
“Is he a good dude? I didn’t get to talk to him much at the concert.”
I flash back on the last day and a half. How Hunter talks to me, takes care of me, reads my moods. Senses my insecurities and then turns them into something else: into a moment of truth.
A moment where I can start to let go of all those past issues where guys were using me to say they banged a pro baller. Guys getting me into bed because of the number on my back every Sunday, not for who I am off the field.