“Don’t fucking do that,” Nate said, uncomfortably aware they had an audience. Uncomfortably aware that they were edging towards this thing between them that nobody else knew about.
“Do what?” Ramsey asked.
“That look doesn’t work on me,” Nate said.
But it wasn’t the look. Okay, it wasn’tonlythe look.
Ramsey had the nerve to look momentarily surprised. Like hehadn’texpected Nate to pull them back from whatever precipice they were dangling on.
But Nate wasn’t going to indulge any more of Ramsey’s bullshit.
Before he could respond, Nate turned and walked away, leaving the group to go in search of a beer. Or maybe even something stronger. At least that was what he told himself as he rifled through the mini fridge set underneath the far-side counter.
He spent the next twenty minutes watching the game on TV and trying to avoid getting pulled into the group of Lane, Mo, and Trevor, who were all picking Ramsey’s brain about the game as the second period unfolded.
At the end of the second, he finally got a text from Jordan, who’d said he was coming to the game when Nate had cornered him at lunch, insisting he come along. “Your week ended ages ago,” Jordan had said, rolling his eyes. “Why do I want to go to a hockey game?”
Nate hadn’t wanted to tell him the truth—that the last place he wanted to go was a hockey game, albeit for very different reasons probably—but he’d just shot Jordan his bestI’m your captainlook and told him to come anyway.
Fifteen minutes before they’d met up outside the arena, Jordan had only sent a,not comingtext to Nate, and then hadn’t answered the next three texts Nate sent, or picked up the phone call he’d made as they walked to the suite.
But nowfinally, he was responding. Of course, it wasn’t like his response made Nate feel any better.
Chill out. I’m cool.
That was not even remotely the kind of answer that made Nate chill out.
He sighed, tapping the table next to where his phone sat as he tried to figure out what to say to Jordan that he might actually listen to.
“You don’t usually frown like that at anyone except me. And I’m right here, so I know it’s not me.”
He hadn’t even seen Ramsey approach, but there he was, a wry smile on his face. Settling in across from Nate like he wasn’t going anywhere.
“It’s not,” Nate said flatly.
More than once, Nate had wondered why Ramsey kept seeking him out, despite him being so clear that he wasn’t interested in playing Ramsey’s games. He’d eventually come to the conclusion Ramsey did it because he wasn’t used to anyone not liking him. Wasn’t used to being rejected when he tried to wiggle his way onto anyone’s good side.
Ramsey wasn’t necessarily interested inhim. He just didn’t like to lose.
“Come on, you were looking at that phone like you’d like to explode it with your mind. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” Ramsey deployed the smile that probably made just about everyone else putty in his hands.
It wasn’t that Ramsey’s incredible smiledidn’taffect Nate. It did. Just in a different way than Ramsey probably expected. There was still a hint of therealsmile, the one he hadn’t realized in June was the most authentic part of Ramsey, buried in the showy, flashy version. Nate didn’t like to think of it asfake, but that was probably a fair-ish assessment when it came down to it.
But every time Ramsey smiled like that, Nate was still reminded of that night. When he’d known everything and nothing, all at once.
“You, a good listener?”
Ramsey shrugged, easygoing and uncomplicated. When hilariously, there was not a single easyoruncomplicated thing about him.
“So I’ve been told,” Ramsey claimed.
“They probably just tell you that so you stand there and they can look at you, uninterrupted,” Nate muttered.
There was another, slightly stronger, hint of therealsmile in this one.
“Maybe,” Ramsey admitted. “But Iam,no question, probably the best problem solver you’ve ever met.”
Now that Nate could believe. Ramsey would manipulate at least a dozen people while he solved their problems, but the problemswouldbe solved.
