Tossing my phone, I throw myself back on the couch as I hear the bedroom door open.
Nate walks in the doorway of the bedroom and stops, leaning himself against the door frame. He traded his white button up for a flannel jacket and sweatpants and my God, he looks likea hot fucking lumberjack and it’s just adding to the swirling confusion.
“You look very Wisconsin.” I cross my arms over my chest, smiling at him. Trying not to completely drool over the sight of my best friend right now.
“And you look overdressed for a movie night. Wear this.” His voice is commanding as he holds up his sweater. It’s one of the old vintage team sweaters they had available a few years ago. He bought me my own, but I always end up wearing his. Something about a man’s sweatshirt just feels cozier than one in my own size.
“I love these throwback sweaters.”
“I know,” he quips quickly as he walks the sweater over to me.
I grab the sweater from his hands and walk into the bedroom to change into it along with a pair of leggings.
“TransformersorSaving Private Ryan?” Nate yells from the living room.
“Those cannot be the only two options,” I say, narrowing my eyes at the television. I walk over and sit next to Nate on the couch as he taps through different movie options on the guide.
“What’s the one movie where the guy’s daughter gets kidnapped? Fuck. It’s so good, I can’t remember the name. We watched it back in college. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“Yeah, but I can’t remember the name either.”
Nate pulls out his phone and brings up his photos app as I’m sitting next to him. He scrolls through and you’d think I’d be looking at the pictures on his phone as he scrolls, but I can’t. I’m too focused on his hands. I pay extra attention to the veins protruding every time he flexes or repositions his hand. I watch his thumb scroll and he’s moving so fast, I don’t even know how his brain is registering anything he’s seeing.
“Damn it, where is it?” he mutters.
“What are you looking for?”
“We watched this movie in your dorm. I remember taking a picture that had the actors name in it.”
“Well, you’re scrolling so fast.”—I swallow a lump in my throat—“you probably already flew right past it.”
“I know what I’m looking for, I didn’t pass it.” Son of a bitch, his smirk is ridiculously handsome right now.
He switches from his thumb to his index finger and slows down just a little before he glances at me. “Better?”
Nate glides his finger against the screen of his phone and all I’m thinking about is the way his fingers might feel gliding through me like that. He didn’t even touch me last night and he sent me into an oblivion. I can only imagine what his hands would do.
“Liam Neeson!” he shouts as his finger stops on a picture of me, standing in front of the television in my dorm room and the credits are rolling in the background where the main character's name is showing.
“That’s hardly a picture of the guy’s name, I mean it’s there, sure. But that’s clearly me looking like an idiot.” Shaking my head, I lean in to look closer. “Why’d you take this? I know it wasn’t for the guy's name. You can barely see it without zooming in.
“Look at what you’re wearing.”
I’m in one of Nate’s jerseys, but that’s nothing new. I wear them all the time.
“That was the first time you wore my jersey to a game.”
“You–wait, how do you know it was the first time?”
Nate puts his phone down and turns to face me, blue eyes sparkling like the damn Titanic necklace.
“I remember telling you that, aside from my family, no girl had ever worn my jersey. Then you showed up to the gamewearing it, and it made me happy. So I snapped the picture when we were back at your dorm. You’ve worn my name and number on your back ever since.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but this a huge, gigantic, massive, enormous deal to me.
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
He shifts himself back towards the television. “Don’t look so surprised, Smalls. Everything with you is a core memory.”
My head falls back against the couch where Nate’s arm is resting as I think about the words he said. Not only the words just now, but the words he’s been saying. The things he’s even been saying without actually saying them. His body language. His actions. And now, I’m rethinking everything.
