“Which sport?” Nate asked again.
If Ramsey said football, then he knew.
But Ramsey didn’t say football. “Hockey,” he said instead. “I’m a hockey player. Up here for summer training. With uh . . .McDavid. And um. Auston Matthews.”
Nate shot him a pitying look. “Auston Matthews? He doesn’t train here, you idiot. He’s from Arizona.” He wasn’t going to tell Ramsey this, but he’d met the captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs a handful of times. Once on the sideline at a game. Another time at a club. Once, in passing, at a restaurant. He was a solid dude, and most definitely did not train here in the summers.
If he told Ramsey that, though, he’d reveal his own lies.
“Right, okay.” Ramsey looked bashful. It didn’t sit right on him. “Not Auston Matthews. Uh, how about Elliott Jones?”
“Their new forward? You’re training with him?”
“Gotta keep up with the new blood.”
“Yes, and you’re Willy Nylander’s dog sitter, too.”
“Guess the hockey player wasn’t very convincing either,” Ramsey admitted, shrugging.
“Neither of them were very good,” Nate said. “But I’ll give you credit for trying, at least.”
It wasn’t surprising when Ramsey challenged him back. Nate hadn’t sensed he was the kind of guy who took a loss for very long. “Well, what areyoudoing in Toronto?” Ramsey asked.
Obviously, Nate couldn’t tell him the truth, but he’d never wanted to be anything else, other than what he was. Even worse, he was a shitty liar, with a distinct lack of creative flair.
He went with the very first thing his mind grasped. “I’m a manager at Tim Horton’s.”
Ramsey shot him a look. His eyes lingered, up and down Nate’s clearly athletic form. “Seriously?”
“I don’t eat very many of the donuts?”
“They must pay Tim Horton’s employees more than I expect.” Ramsey’s gaze drifted down, to the watch on Nate’s wrist. And yeah, it was a Rolex. Whoops.
If Ramsey had noticed that, maybe he reallywasover here because he’d scoped Nate out as an easy, rich mark.
“Uh, I manage a whole bunch of Tim Horton’s?”
Ramsey laughed. “Committed to the role. I like it.”
“Yeah?” Nate leaned in. “What else do you like?”
An alarm bell was clanking noisily in the back of his mind, but Ramsey looked even better up close. Flecks of gray and darker blue in his eyes. The faintest hint of blond stubble along his flawless jawline. His hair looked impossibly soft, and Nate’s fingers itched to bury themselves in it.
“Thought that was pretty fucking obvious,” Ramsey teased.
“Still wondering what your angle is.” It was the most honest Nate had been, but he couldn’t keep the confession in.
“Maybe I’m just, what was it you said? A professional eyelash-batter.”
Nate didn’t know much, but he knew that Ramsey wasn’t. He was too smart for something as simple as grift. Relieving grateful marks of their valuables would be tedious for him.
Of course, that didn’t mean he was willing to hand his Rolex over either.
“Nah,” Nate said. “You’d get bored in a minute.”
“That’s it, right there.” Ramsey said it casually, but there was the ring of truth there, lingering between his words and in his intent blue eyes.
“What?”
