Ramsey didn’t say it, but it was clear that despite Wes’ hovering, which Ramsey himself said got old, that it was somehow better than being alone.
“Well, I’m glad you’re not—” Nate cut himself off. Ramsey knew he was perceptive—that he saw through a lot of his bullshit. But he didn’t need to point it out, blatant and cruel. Not like that. “I’m glad you’re not there,” he repeated, finishing the sentence in a way that softened it, at least a little. “Glad you’re here,” he added.
Ramsey smiled, small but real. “Yeah, me too.”
Chapter 8
Theyhadjustfinishedup eating when Ramsey suggested that they watch the third period of the Wild-Canucks game. Nate offered his thoughts on that, more to see Ramsey smile and argue than because he genuinely didn’t want to watch it, then his phone buzzed.
Ramsey had already ensconced himself on the couch. Nate pulled his phone from his pocket and winced as he glanced at the screen.
Shit ur gonna be pissed.
Yeah, he probably was gonna be pissed. He wanted to sit here on the couch with Ramsey and hold his hand as Ramsey explained some obscure hockey concept to him as they watched a game between two teams he didn’t give a single shit about.
Nate thought that pretty much said it all.
“What is it?” Ramsey asked as Nate walked into the living room, because apparently he had a sixth sense for trouble.
Trouble like Jordan Atkinson.
Nate was already typing out a response:what happened?
He was also seriously considered just calling Jordan, and he might have, if he thought there was a chance in hell he might actually pick up the fucking phone.
“That rookie at the strip club sent me a text,” he told Ramsey. “Something about me being pissed.”
Ramsey looked unimpressed. “He should be more worried aboutmebeing pissed.”
“Yeah, but he hasn’t met you yet. He doesn’t know that you’d probably barely blink while you destroyed his life.”
“Aw, you say the sweetest things, Nathaniel,” Ramsey cooed.
Before that kind of comment would’ve ratcheted Nate’s temper—and probably the undercover arousal he kept pretending he didn’t feel—up. But now he just let Ramsey’s somewhat perverse sense of humor wash over him.
His phone dinged again, and this time Nate didn’t waste a moment before looking at it.
can you come?
Nate groaned out loud.
“What?” Ramsey asked, but before Nate could tell him, he’d neatly taken the phone from Nate’s hand and was looking at the screen himself.
“Can I?” Ramsey asked, glancing up.
Nate wasn’t sure that Jordan had ever listened to anything he’d ever said, so Ramsey could hardly do any worse. He shrugged.
Ramsey nodded sharply and returned to the screen, tapping out a message quickly and decisively. Less than thirty seconds later, he passed the phone back to Nate. There was an unsent message sitting on the screen.
not until you tell me what’s happening
Nate pressed Send. Lifted his head to look at Ramsey, who just shrugged. “You’ll go regardless,” he said matter-of-factly, “but it’ll be good to be prepared when we go in.”
“Whenwego in?”
Ramsey looked at him. “Come on, do you really think I’m going to let some stripper-obsessed rookie upstart ruin my date? I don’t fucking think so.”
For a split second, Nate nearly argued with him, because Jordan wasn’t Ramsey’s problem. Wasn’t what he’d signed up for, even remotely, even if he’d signed up for Nate.Volunteeredfor Nate, really, which was a thought that even when it vaguely crossed his mind, still made Nate hot.
