I smile, hand running through his hair, gently tugging at the strands. Nathan sighs in contentment. “Just as I thought,” I say.
He lifts his head. “What?”
“Your hair. It’s soft. Just as I thought.”
A nervous, perplexed laugh rumbles from his chest as he shakes his head. “You’re a little weirdo.”
Nathan and I spend the next hour watching TV in silence, his arm wrapped around me and my head on his chest. My previously tense muscles relax, much like my mind.
I’ve never felt so comfortable in someone’s presence before—as if they just fully get me. Want the best for me. No matter what.
The silence isn’t awkward. It’s just what I need. It gives me time to sift through my emotions and gather my thoughts without being clouded with my need for Nathan. Having him beside me is enough right now.
But guilt floods me when I realise the time. I straighten myself. “Oh, shit. I didn’t know it was so late. You’re probably tired. I should go.”
“You’re going back to her?” Nathan scows. “No. Not when you’re in this state of mind. Absolutely not. I don’t want you around that.”
Without another word, he grips my hand and leads me to his simplistic, blue bedroom, the scent of musk and lemon whirling around me. It looks precisely how I imagined it would—because I’ve imagined it many times—and he pulls a jersey from his chest of drawers.
I take it from him, my fingers skating over the soft red and white fabric, arching my eyebrow when I read the nameSlaterembroidered on the back.
“Would you prefer something else?”
I chuckle. But I know the humour doesn’t reach my eyes because of the look Nathan gives me. It’s full of compassion and worry.
Entering the bathroom, I change, using his spare toothbrush.
Logic is long gone from my mind. But there’s something satisfying about staying here with Nathan. It’s almost a little fuck you to my mother because I know she’d probably sprout a second head if she knew I was here with her most-hated football player right now. Wearing his jersey. About to sleep in his bed. Fantasising about him making me feel good.
Would he push me away if I were to roll closer to him right now? Touch him?
There are so many people who are hot in this world. But Nathan Slater is on another level, and not just because of his looks. The way he cares for me makes my stomach twist. The area between my legs throb. I’ve never felt this out of control around someone before.
All I can hear is my heartbeat as we lay next to each other, our legs inches apart. My throat is dry, and even though I attempt to swallow, I can’t. Our breathing syncs up, and I can tell Nathan wants to say something by how his eyebrows pinch together and his lips part, fingers tapping against his shirtless chest.
“My mother died. Suicide.” I look at him with surprise as he shuts his eyes tightly, then opens them a few moments later, his chest rising as he takes a breath. “She struggled with an alcohol addiction.”
I can tell he’s extremely uncomfortable. His jaw is so tight it looks like the bone is going to burst through the flesh.
“Nathan, what are you doing?” I ask him as I sit up, my head shaking slightly. The last thing I want him to do is open up to me if it’s excruciating for him.
“Helping you not to feel so alone,” is his response before he hushes me. “It’s why I don’t drink. I can’t stand the stuff. I also know that children who grew up with a parent who had an addiction are more likely to develop one themselves, and I don’t want to take that risk. I was thirteen when I stormed into Emmanuel’s store to demand he stop selling my mother alcohol. We’d just moved here. He agreed immediately, even though it would hurt his business, and we've been close ever since.”
Nathan has never mentioned his mother, but I always wondered if she was in the picture. It hits me hard—the pain he’s carried since childhood. The grief he must feel every day.
He hides it all so well.
“I should have done more. But I was always training, leaving my mother to turn to alcohol because she was lonely. My father claimed she wanted this for me, though. She wanted to see her son succeed. It’s why I can’t quit—not until the team wins. My mother’s death can’t be for nothing.” He clears his throat but doesn’t take his eyes off me, and I place my hand on his chest.
“It’s not your fault, Nathan.”
He does nothing but hum, unconvinced. “It got to a point that all she’d talk about was alcohol. Her favourite wines. Her not-so-favourite. The cheap stuff. The expensive stuff. I know more about wine than anyone who doesn’t drink would ever need to.”
My heart stutters inside my chest.
“I still remember the day I came home from training to see police everywhere. The house was taped off. I was seventeen. It should have discouraged me. It should have made me realise I’d wasted so much time playing football instead of spending time with her, but it lit a fire under my ass instead. I’d been considering talking to her and asking what she’d think of me if I gave up football competitively, but I never got the chance.”
I’ve never seen Nathan look so broken. So lost. He’s usually a composed man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to speak his mind. But the man before me is a far cry from him.
