“Hockey player and football player becoming friends? That’s unusual,” Dawson inserted.
“Notthatunusual,” Ramsey said. Nate swore he looked over at him, then. But then he kept talking like he’d never done it. “We’ve got friends who ended up together. Dean plays football for the Riptide and Brodycould’vegone pro as a hockey player. Was drafted and everything, but he decided to go to med school, like the fucking overachiever he is.”
“You’re still torn up about that. Brody picking science over hockey,” Wes teased fondly.
“Well,yeah,” Ramsey retorted.
Nate hadn’t been able to look away from him since he’d sat down. Since the revelation of his injury. But now ithurtto look at him. Because clearly Ramsey missed hockey.
Hated not being able to play.
“Come on, let’s play darts,” Wes said. He looked over at Nate, pointedly. “You too, Bishop.”
Nate wanted to tell him he was perfectly fine here, sitting back and just watching. But then Ramsey shot him a sideways look that said the exact same. That he’d be a lot happier if Natedidn’tjoin them, and well, Nate wasn’t going to make things easy on him.
Not when Ramsey had never made things easy onhim.
It became very clear very quickly that Ramsey was exceptional at darts. He had a quick release and a great eye. Wes was not very good, and Nate was even, frustratingly, even worse, always throwing too hard. Feeling like he was bungling the slender darts in his big hands.
“Better luck next time,” Ramsey teased as he lost another game.
Nate scowled. The guy seemed practically designed to make his life difficult.
“Be nice,” Wes said, elbowing Ramsey.
“I’m being so nice,” Ramsey claimed. “Taking it easy on you guys and everything.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” Nate complained. “Are you sure you’re not cheating?”
“Hey, I did say I was better at darts,” Ramsey said. He had the nerve to sound so innocent, when there was nothing innocent about him at all.
“Yeah, if you don’t like losing, don’t play him at cards,” Wes said seriously. And yeah, Nate could see that. Ramsey would be exceptional at cards. His entire self was a poker face, an extended con that never seemed to end.
“Noted,” Nate said.
“Hey, it’s almost like I’m in trouble for being awesome.” Ramsey seemed delighted by this fact. He slung an arm aroundWes’ shoulders, and Nate tried not to tense. Tried not to catalog how easily Ramsey touched his friend and even some of the other guys. How he’d gone out of his way to not touch Nate. Not once. “But we better get you home, get you to bed. Big day tomorrow.”
Wes looked confused. “It is? I thought we had the day off.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Ramsey said, patting Wes supportively. “You have the day off before the run-through for your first big start.”
Did nobody else see how Ramsey was? Sure it was Wes’ start at QB, but Ramsey was acting like it wastheirs.
Nate wanted to call him on how fucked-up that was, but Trevor spoke up first. “Dude, it’s apreseasongame.”
Ramsey smacked Trevor upside the head, smiling easily the whole time. “Dude, I’m being a supportive friend, even though football sucks.”
It was impossible to be even the tiniest bit surprised at this confession. Maybe that was why Ramsey had high-tailed it out of Nate’s apartment. He’d realized Nate was that dreaded entity: afootball player.
“What?” Ramsey said, shrugging, no self-consciousness whatsoever. “It does. It’s not hockey, that’s for damn sure.
Hockey, which Ramsey clearly was missing like an absent limb. Nate should feel some kind of sympathy for him, but he couldn’t find it.
“Can I get pissed at himnow?” Nate wondered.
“No,” Aidan said firmly. Because of course he did.
“I like you,” Ramsey declared, moving his body from Wes to Aidan.
