Don’t tease me,Nate texted back.
No. Besides, you started it.
Nate typed out one letter at a time, deliberate and slow.And I’ll finish it, but he before he hit Send, he sat there for a minute and just stared at the message. At what it would mean. Was he just slotting into the place Ramsey wanted him to be? Going along the path Ramsey had laid out for him already? And if he was, why was that so terrible?
They already knew how good the sex would be. Nate had a feeling that it might be even better, now that they were getting to know each other.
But what was going to happen when Ramsey went back to hockey and Nate had to shake himself out of the daydream he was currently floating through?
Nate didn’t know, and that was the thought that made him delete the text, one letter at a time.
You okay there?Ramsey sent.
No, Nate wanted to send.You’re changing everything. You’re changing me. And I can’t even hate it.
But he didn’t send that either.
Chapter 12
Ramseyhadbeenthinking—andwishing and dreaming and fantasizing—about this day for a very long time.
He leaned over and pulled his skate laces tight despite doing it twice already.
Still, it was hard to believe that after all these months, these interminable, never-ending months, he was finally here again, gearing up and ready to get back on the ice.
“Take it easy, okay?” Marsha said to him. “You don’t have to rush it. You’ve got time. Just enjoy this, okay?”
Ramsey nodded.
She’d been his first phone call after the email had come through, Dr. Thompson confirming that he was getting back on the ice and that he had a standing practice slot at the Leafs’ practice facility every morning for the next month.
His second had been to Brody.
He’d texted Wes only a long string of exclamation points. He didn’t have to detail what he was so excited for, because Wes,front and center for almost all of Ramsey’s misery, would know exactly what he was talking about.
Next he’d opened his conversation with Nate. The last message Nate had sent was in response to,You okay there?He’d only said,Yeah, on our way home.Frustratingly cutting off their little flirtatious banter.
Nate was smarter than Ramsey sometimes. Because Ramsey hadn’t wanted to stop, even though he’d known better. He’d wanted Nate to show up at Wes’ door with his friend and say,we’ve got somewhere better we need to be. Like my bed.
But of course he hadn’t. He was becomingthatguy. That embarrassing, obvious guy who he’d cautioned so many other guys from being.
All it had taken was pretending that Nate was hisboyfriendfor it to not only feel like it was true, but for the desire for it to be true to sit real and undeniable, under his breastbone.
Ramsey finished tucking his lace in and stood, letting out a deep breath.
He was ready. He was really fucking ready.
Marsha was standing by the entrance to the rink. “Hey, bud, you good?”
Ramsey looked over at her, and that was the only warning he had before no-nonsense Marsha hooked her arm around his shoulder pads and tugged him into a quick hug.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged by someone who wasn’t Wes. Brody, sure, when he’d seen him briefly this summer, but that was it.
The football guys all gave him bro hugs, brief and thoughtful maybe, but not the same.
Easy casual affection was the one thing he’d found in the hockey world when his foster dad had dragged him into it at nine but since he’d come to Toronto, he’d been missing it and hadn’t even realized it until Marsha was tugging him close. She heldhim for a longer moment than he expected, not letting him go, fingers digging into his sweater. It was an old Wolves practice jersey, goldenrod and red and black.
Finally she pulled back, something soft lurking in that frank brown stare of hers.
