“So who cleaned my apartment?”
He tilts his head, looking boyishly handsome and confused. “Me.”
The word lands in my ear, but my brain rejects it. “Who?”
“I did.”
I freeze and look him up and down. The shorn hair. The square jaw. The brawny shoulders. The veiny-arms more suited to wielding a hockey stick than a broom and mop.
There’s no way.
“You?”
“Yes. Me.” He lifts a hand and I hear something rustling behind his back as he does so. “Nathan Campbell.”
I step back, struggling to make sense of that. “But… why?”
“Because it needed doing and I wanted to do it.”
The answer makes about as much sense as his appearance at my door this morning. While my hungover brain struggles to accept that Nathan Campbell washed my dishes for me, his green eyes slide down my face.
He chuckles and thumbs at a corner of my lips. “Toothpaste.”
A memory of his thumb barely grazing my mouth last night explodes in my brain. I didn’t imagine that. Nat was touching my face last night.
A sudden, self-conscious expression takes over Nat’s face and he pulls his hand back. Eyes darting to the side, he stammers. “I brought you eggs with whole wheat toast and avocado.”
“Did you make it yourself?”
“Yeah, cafe’s aren’t open this early.”
“Oh.”
Nat glances at me and then at the ground. “Can I, I mean, is it okay if I come in?”
“Yeah, sure.” I step aside even though I should probably shut the door in his face.
What’s going on right now?
I’m certain I saw him sitting closely beside Layla at the bar last night. They were there forhours. I kept waiting for them to leave and the more they stayed, the more I wanted to drink.
Nat wouldn’t hang around his ex if he didn’t enjoy her company. And, since they have history, it’s very likely that he still has feelings for Layla.
But if that’s the case, why is hehere?
I grip my elbow with one hand. “So, um, are you always up this early?”
Nat strides to my kitchen like he owns it. “Actually, I’m up way earlier than this most days. I try to get in more training where I can.”
My eyes bug. “You play hockeythisearly in the morning? Do you love it that much?”
“I do.” He smiles.
“Because you like to win?” I tease lightly.
“That’s a part of it.” He opens a cupboard and takes something out. “I like the way hockey’s both structured and chaotic. When I’m on the ice, anything can happen, but I know exactly what’ll happen too. The roles are clear. I do my part and I trust my teammates to do theirs. The more I put in, the more I get out of it.”
“Mm.” I pad closer to the kitchen. Is it just me or is Nat being… vulnerable? There’s an openness to his words and his gaze that I’ve never felt from him before.
