“Actually—”
Ramsey shot him a quelling look. “You just wanted him to show up here.”
“No,” Jordan protested but there was an insincere quality that Nate clocked right away. “Listen, if you wanna know, there was a super hot guy here earlier, and I thought you might want to meet him.”
Ramsey snorted under his breath.
“Clearly,” Jordan continued, glancing over at Ramsey, “you don’t need that kind of help.”
“Clearly,” Nate said, frowning. He wasn’t sure he believed Jordan’s story, but what was he supposed to do, call him a liar?
“Well, you’re here now,” Jordan said. “Sit down. Have a drink. Enjoy the nice ladies.”
Nate laughed, unamused. “Are you serious—”
But Ramsey unexpectedly tucked himself into Nate’s side, glancing up at him. “We should,” he said, interrupting Nate. “At least for one drink.”
Nate didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell Ramsey in front of Jordan that he had no intention of spending any longer here than he had to, and he also didn’t want to tell Jordan that Ramsey wasn’t drinking. That was always Ramsey’s secret to share.
“Alright,” Nate said, giving in. “I’ll go grab us something to drink.” He didn’t really want to leave Ramsey alone with Jordan—though he wasn’t entirely sure which one he was most worried about—but he’d go himself to get the drinks, so Ramsey wasn’t forced to talk about his injured reserve status.
“Put it on my tab,” Jordan suggested, grinning. He patted the chair next to him. “What did you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t,” Ramsey said smoothly, “but I’m Ramsey Andresen.”
“Jordan Atkinson,” Jordan said. He was still staring at Ramsey like he was an object he didn’t quite know how to quantify. And dude, the guy hadno idea.
Ramsey looked up at Nate after he sat, and gave Nate a slight nod, telling him that he was okay.
And of course he was okay. Ramsey was endlessly adaptable, always at home everywhere, charming and at-ease, even at a strip club when he had no interest in the women parading in front of them.
Nate turned to go to the bar and realized after he’d given the order to the bartender—a beer and a sparkling water with lime—that the ultra-confident Ramsey was the act. Was he really okay underneath it? Nate didn’t know. He’d begun to get tiny glimpses of the real insecurities and fears that lay beneath the front, and instead of scaring him away or turning him off, Nate only wanted to know more.
But God only knew what Jordan might say while he was gone, so he grabbed the drinks as quickly as they were set on the bar and headed back.
“Your boy’s a hockey player?” Jordan said as he handed Ramsey his glass. “Seriously, man?”
“Seriously,” Nate said.
Ramsey chuckled under his breath. “You sure this kid’s straight, Nathaniel?”
“Fuck you, I love pussy,” Jordan said, full of righteous energy.
“Nobody’s doubting that,” Nate said dryly.
“You’re just . . .like really fucking pretty,” Jordan said, eyeing Ramsey up and down.
Ramsey barely glanced back, almost bored with the amazement in Jordan’s voice. And maybe he was. Maybe thisshit happened to him every single day, and having people pant after him was beyond even routine, just totally boring.
“Doesn’t mean I couldn’t kick your ass,” Ramsey said easily.
And Nate, that night back in June, had seen his naked body. Had seen the strength of it. Jordan was strong, too. Nate knew it, because he shared a weight room with the guy, but Ramsey’s body was a weapon designed for one purpose. He hadn’t seen it back in June, because he hadn’t ever watched more than a few minutes of hockey before. But now that he had, Nate understood the specifics.
“Oooooh, I like him,” Jordan said. He nudged Ramsey. “Maybe you should be worried, Big Dog.”
Ramsey raised an eyebrow. “Big Dog?”
Nate flushed. “An old nickname.”
