And yet, hookups have the most chance of success if you’re direct. “Did you think I was standing you up?”
He’s quiet for a few seconds. His face is inscrutable. It’s a game face, I’m sure. He’s laser-focused as he stares at me.
Then he drags his teeth along his bottom lip before scoffing. “No. S’all good.”
Hmm. I call bullshit. But I’m going to take my time getting to the bottom of this. As we walk down the jetway, I set a hand on his lower back. “Is this okay?” I ask, tipping my gaze to my hand since some guys aren’t good with PDA.
“Yeah. I’m cool,” he says plainly.
“Good. Me too,” I say, running my hand along his back—strong and muscular through his T-shirt.
A slight hitch in his breath tells me he’s affected.
And that’s helpful to know.
When we near the door of the plane, I lean in closer, brushing my lips quickly over the shell of his ear, then whisper, “Someone is a sexy little liar.”
Another hitch, then he startles, shooting me a look as he stops at the door. Readjusts. Points to my loafers. “Right foot first, man,” he says. Deflecting.
Fine, fine. I can play his game.
I follow his ritual as we board the plane and grab our seats. He takes the window, and I sit next to him in the aisle seat. “So, you’re a superstitious fellow?”
“Yup. Always board planes right foot first. Always wear a certain wristband on game days. And I never shave if we’re on a winning streak.”
“So you’re pretty furry during the season?”
That earns me the first smile since I saw him at the gate. “You know we’re a winning team. You do love football.”
I roll my eyes, setting down my messenger bag under the seat in front of me. “It’s not hard to figure out when you live in a city that’s obsessed with both its pro teams,” I say drily, but I’m secretly glad I’ve made him smile.
I return to my mission, setting a hand on his firm thigh as I study him out of the corner of my eye. I’m terrible, truly terrible. But Nate is so fun to play. He is undone by touch, and it’s heady, powerful in a way to have him in my hands like this.
And if I can use my hands and unravel his lie, it’s going to make for a better hookup.
Soon, we take off, and once the hum of the plane fills the air and the lights darken, I try again. “So, why’d you think I was standing you up?”
“Why’d you call me a sexy little liar?” he counters quickly, standing his ground.
“Because you were kind of cold when I walked up to you at the gate,” I say.
His eyebrow shoots up like I’m reading everything wrong. “Nah, man. Just needed to focus.”
Right. Sure. “Of course. Scanning that boarding pass must require serious concentration. Like the kind you need in the huddle and whatnot.”
“It’s a thing. Gotta stay on your toes when boarding a plane and when prepping to run a route.”
I chuckle lightly. He’s so bloody adorable.
But I don’t let TV producers pull a fast one on me. I’m certainly not going to let Nate come-with-me-to-Vegas Chandler get away with it. Though I’ll play him a little longer. Just for fun. “Of course,” I say, a smile threatening to ruin my ruse. I school my expression. “Glad it didn’t bother you then, Nate.”
“So not bothered.”
I close my eyes. “I think I’ll just have a lie-in here on the plane. Maybe I’ll even crash early tonight. Bet the hotel has comfy beds.”
“The Extravagant has the best,” he says. “I booked a swank suite.”
I add in a yawn for effect, covering my mouth before I go for it again. “And did you make sure to get us separate beds, love?”
He goes silent—his body tenses. I can tell even with my eyes closed that I’ve shocked him. Nate stammers out an um.
I snap open my eyes. “You don’t think we’re going to sleep together, do you?”
Those blue eyes pop to saucer size. He blows out a breath. He’s simply speechless.
I’m such an arsehole for teasing him. But still, I lean in, nibble on his ear, then call him out once again. “Admit you thought I ghosted you,” I whisper huskily, then suck on his lobe.
His eyes float closed. “Yesss.”
It’s both an answer and a response to my touch. I like that he melts under my influence, but it bothers me that he thought I’d ditch him. Maybe he’s been ditched before. “Why would I ghost you? We made plans.”
He opens his eyes but stays quiet. I want to cover his mouth with mine, kiss away whatever fear he has about this weekend. I want to make him forget whoever treated him badly.
“I said yes because I meant it,” I say because I can give this much to him. Some reassurance. “I wasn’t going to blow you off. What kind of tosser does that?”
That earns me a wicked smile. “Tosser,” he says, amused. Then he swallows, breathes out hard. “The last guy I went out with.”
I groan, aggrieved. “Total fucking wanker.”
Another smile. “Yeah, Gavin was. But still, it sucked.”
I grip his thigh, making my point. “If I say I’m going to show up, I’ll show up. As I said earlier, I might be late now and then, but I’m working on that. But if I say I’ll do something, I mean it. I want to spend the weekend with you. I want to have a good time with you. And I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I know what it’s like to be caught off-guard, and I don’t want to do that.”
Nate dips his face like he’s hiding a smile. My God, he might be the sweetest man I’ve ever met, and I’ve known him less than twelve hours.
“Mmm. You’re so sweet,” I whisper, my lips brushing dangerously close to his stubble.
But hold on.
I’ve thought I was good at reading people in the past. Best not to get ahead of myself. I can’t assume Nate is the teddy bear he seems to be. It’s been less than a day.
I had known Brandon for more than a year. I lived with Brandon. Trusted Brandon.
I don’t have a good track record in knowing who to trust.
I pull back, get a little space, but still keep touching him, keeping the connection.
“Hey,” Nate says, setting his hand over mine on his leg. “I don’t want to hurt you either.” Then his eyes darken, an almost feral look in them. “Who’s the tosser who hurt you?”
I lean back in the cool, leather chair, trying to relax, even though thoughts of Brandon make my pulse spike in all the wrong ways. “My ex.”
“How recent?”
My shoulders tighten. “A few months ago,” I say, feeling a little ridiculous. Maybe because I still feel a little raw. “We were together for a year. It was fairly serious. He’d just moved into my place when I discovered he’d been cheating on me the whole time. He was a bartender. He was involved with another server where he worked the whole time.”
“Ouch,” Nate says, recoiling. “What a dick. And I don’t mean dick in the good sense.”
I laugh, maybe for the first time, when talking about Brandon. “Dicks should always be used for good.”
“Fuck yes. A good dick is a goddamn gift. Your ex? He’s a bad dick. Plain and simple,” Nate says.