“Oh,” Ramsey said, glancing at the screen. “You got a text—I didn’t mean to—but who’s Jordan?”
“Shit,” Nate groaned, plucking the phone from his hands. “A teammate. A rookie teammate.”
“Ah.” Ramsey’s noise was full of understanding, even though Nate had barely said anything. But maybe that was all that was necessary.
“So him sending you a text about how hopping the Wild Leopard is, that’s normal?”
“Yeah, unfortunately.” Nate let go of Ramsey’s hip, skirting around the island so he could pull two bottles of water out of the fridge.
He opened one and slid the other in front of Ramsey. “You want something else. I’ve got a few other things. Juice. Milk. Sparkling water.”
“This is fine,” Ramsey said. “Let’s talk about your Jordan.”
“He’s notmine,” Nate said emphatically. Sterling would probably disagree with that assessment. He’d gone out of his way to make Jordan Nate’s problem.
“Don’t worry, Nathaniel. I’m not jealous.” Ramsey grinned. “Especially of a guy who thinks the best way to hit on you is to suggest you hang out with him at the Wild Leopard.”
“He’s nothittingon me,” Nate clarified. He shouldn’t probably tell Ramsey any of this, but if they were actually, for real, dating, then he probably would.
And maybe, if he was struggling on what he should and shouldn’t say, what he should and shouldn’t do, he could just fall back on that solid foundation.
Pretending, but well,notpretending, at the same time.
Ramsey raised an eyebrow. “He went out of his way to tell you where he was.”
“He thinks . . .” Nate wasn’t sure why this made him sound so flustered. “I guess he thinks I had a good time, last time we went.”
Ramsey started to laugh. “But you’regay.”
“I know.” Nate grimaced.
“Is he . . .slow?” Ramsey asked it nicely, at least.
“No, he’s just . . .” Nate sighed. “I think he’s lonely and away from home, like really,reallyaway from home for the first time, and he’s homesick and doesn’t know what to do with it.”
“Maybe,” Ramsey said. “You ask him about it?”
“Are you joking? I can barely get him to talk about football. Nevermind anything personal except what dancer he wants to take to the champagne room next.”
Ramsey was still laughing, but instead of that making the whole Jordan situation worse, and making Nate feel guilty for not handling it better, it felt good, like a pressure valve release.
“God, I know,” Nate added, slumping across the counter, smiling now. “I’m the worst fucking person to help him, and here I am trying despite that.”
“Are you the worst person?” Ramsey asked, sounding like he already knew the answer.
“Well,yeah,” Nate said. “I’m gay, like you said. It’s not like I’m actually enjoying our little strip club trips. And it’s not like I’m actually any good at convincing him to try anything else.”
“And you’re doing this because?” But before Nate could tell him, Ramsey snapped his fingers and straightened. “Shit, this is the problem that got put on you.”
Nate winced. He hated thinking of Jordan as “the problem” but well . . . if the shoe fit . . .
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Can’t believe you remembered that.”
Ramsey shot him a look. “You can’t?”
Okay, that was a good point. Nate had spent so much time and energy cataloging every interaction they’d ever had he could probably repeat them all, word for word. But that washim. He’d never imagined that maybe Ramsey felt the same.
“I didn’t know you were paying such close attention,” Nate said, forcing himself not to squirm as he said it.
