"I don't carry a penlight to bars."
"You absolutely carry a penlight to bars." I reached toward his jacket pocket.
He caught my wrist. Not hard. Just stopped it, his hand around my wrist, and we were suddenly close in the way the bar kept making us close, and his ears were slightly red, which was new information that I was filing immediately.
"Wesley," he said.
"Nathan," I said.
He suddenly let go, and I stood next to him against the wall. The bar went on around us, the team in various states of celebration, the music doing its thing. For a moment we just stood there. I was aware of him in the way I was always aware of him. The warmth and size of him, but also something new, the image of a player on the Portland Ravens.
"I heard you used to work for the Ravens," I said.
Cross's grip on his glass shifted slightly. "Where did you hear that?"
"Around. Locker room. The streets. You know how it is."
"So Dylan."
"I feel like I don't know anything about you," I said.
“Do you need to know anything about me?”
I flinched.
"I've been in your apartment. I know your cat. I know you drink tea.” I paused. "I know what sounds you make when—"
Cross's hand came up and covered my mouth.
Flat palm, directly over my mouth, solid and certain, the way he did everything. The bar kept going around us. Someone across the room laughed at something. Cross's hand was warm, and he was looking at me with an expression I had never seen on Nathan Cross's face before.
His ears were still red.
I didn’t move.
Nathan was blushing. Standing in a bar with his hand over my mouth, ears red, jaw set, blue eyes slightly unfocused.
Oh. I should have realized it earlier.
Nathan was drunk.
That was why the hand. That was why the ears. That was why he was standing in a bar with his palm flat over my mouth in public instead of just sayingdon't finish that sentencein the voice that made me sit down without deciding to.
Nathan Cross was drunk and blushing and his hand was on my face.
It was so fuckingcute.
I was smiling behind his palm. I couldn't help it. I could feel the smile happening and there was nothing I could do about it.
His blue eyes narrowed.
He knew I was smiling.
I reached up and took his hand off my mouth. Not fast. Just moved it, held it for a second, put it down. Cross let me. He looked at his hand afterward like it had done something without consulting him, which it had, which was very interesting information about the current state of Nathan Cross.
"Tell me something then," I said. “So I can know something about you.”
A pause. Cross looked at the room. His drink. The middle distance.
