Rossbury laughed, the sound startled out of him. “Should I record that?” he teased gently.
Barty had the nerve to also find this amusing, and normally that might put Ramsey’s back up—being the brunt of a joke—but he found that he was smiling too.
“Maybe,” he admitted.
“Next time,” Rossbury said.
And a minute later, the call that Ramsey had been hoping for and dreading in equal measures was over.
He and Barty both hung up from the video conference and less than ten seconds later, his phone rang. It was Barty, of course.
“Couldn’t have gone better,” Barty said in lieu of a greeting.
“Agreed,” Ramsey said. He hesitated though. He should tell Barty about the possibility of him staying here. From the brief conversations he’d had with Mal and Elliott, there was room on the Leafs’ roster for a good defenseman. They were wanting to trade for one before the deadline.
Ramsey could be that guy.
If he didn’t tell Barty, then Barty couldn’t even amalgamate the possibility into their future plans.
But if he told Barty, then Barty would want to know why, andhewould not be convinced that Wes was enough of a motivation for Ramsey to turn his back on the team that had stuck by his side all through this concussion hell.
“Then it’s settled,” Barty said and Ramsey let out a hard breath, not contradicting him. Not sure he could. Not yet.
Nate might still get sick of him. Maybe his feelings wouldn’t deepen.
But Ramsey heard the flimsiness of both those arguments, even in his own head. Nate seemed more enamored than ever, their relationship wassolid, and Ramsey could already imagine falling even deeper. Maybe he’d never been here before, but he could still recognize the landscape.
“Yeah,” Ramsey agreed. “It’s settled.”
But deep down, he wasn’t sure that was true at all.
Nate was pretty sure he’d taken leave of his senses.
Underwhatscenario did he think it would be a good idea to spend not only hours outside in Toronto in mid-November, but to do it on a sheet of ice, with blades strapped to his feet?
And not by himself, hoping nobody recognized him and witnessed his abject humiliation, butnextto someone who was so good at this he’d made a fucking career out of it.
But Nate wanted to do it. He’d planned this. He was insane for doing it, maybe, but Ramsey made him want to do insane things. Probably because he was pretty sure he was insane about Ramsey.
“When I looked up this address, I thought I must’ve been hallucinating.”
Nate looked up from his phone where he’d been scrolling absently through Instagram to see Ramsey walking towards him with a knowing smirk on his face.
And yes, he had expected this. There was a reason he’d only sent an address and told Ramsey to dress warm.
He’d assumed that Ramsey would Ramsey and look up the address himself, but he wasn’t going to be the one to give the surprise away.
“No. You weren’t,” Nate said. He hesitated when Ramsey stopped in front of him. Nobody would be surprised if he kissed Ramsey. Nobody would be surprised if Ramsey kissed him back. But they hadn’t discussed the public PDA component of their relationship. Nate wasn’t themostrecognizable professional athlete in the Toronto area, but he wasn’t undercover either. Maybe Ramsey wouldn’t be anywhere else, but this was hockey-mad Toronto. Especially when they were literally standing next to an ice rink and Ramsey had a hockey gear bag over one shoulder.
But Ramsey just dropped the bag, rolled his eyes, and tugged him in. The kiss wasn’t short or brief or really PG-rated.
Nate found himself sinking into it. Wishing that he hadn’t planned this date.
Admittedly, he’d already been doing that.
But right before he considered whimpering or begging, Ramsey pulled back, his blue eyes so bright. Joyful. “That,” he murmured, “was for bringing me to the outdoor rink, even though you’re going to hate every second.”
“You don’t know that,” Nate argued.
