I jumped into the shower and was shaving my legs when I heard the pound from the door. I wrapped a towel around myself and hustled down the hall. Nate stood on the other side wearing his game day gear. Sunglasses propped on his head, he wore a solid gray hoodie with Texas written across it in burnt orange. I couldn’t concentrate on much else but the chill running down my spine as his eyes lit fire at the sight of me soaking wet in a towel with shaving cream running down my legs.
“I’m sorry. I can be ready in ten minutes,” I promised before I pulled him inside and shut the door. He leaned against it with his arms crossed, softly knocking his head against the back of it.
“Is that okay?”
“Oh, that’s fine, Stella,” he said as his jaw ticked. “What’s not fine is I’m going to be hard for the next four fucking hours.”
He was brazen and unashamed of his attraction . . . and I loved it.
I took the time to do an assessment of my own and decided I loved the way he looked in everything. There wasn’t a piece of clothing the man owned that could tarnish him.
“I brought you a sweatshirt. Had a feeling your wardrobe was lacking something collegiate.” Without warning, he yanked me toward him. I gasped as his mouth brushed my cheek before he whispered. “Let’s see if it fits.” He lifted my arms and my towel fell. He kept his eyes trained on mine as he bunched the shirt up and slipped it over my head. I pushed my arms through, fully turned on. I was freezing and the material was uncomfortable against my wet skin. My hair was dripping and I really wanted to wash off my legs. But all of that fell away as we stood staring at each other on the edge of consumption. My center throbbed as he ran his fingers through my wet hair, untangling it. The sweatshirt hung at my thighs and Nate exhaled mint-laced breath and let his eyes drift down. His dark blond lashes my focal point as my chest heaved. “Looks like it’s too big,” he said, his disappointment muffled by his desire.
“I think it’s perfect,” I whispered as I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re a cruel woman,” he said in a half groan, his eyes playful.
“I’m sorry.”
Those words hit close to home coming from my mouth, and I stepped away. “Give me ten minutes.”
“Sure,” he said as I walked toward my bathroom. I looked over my shoulder to find him standing at the door with his fists clenched, his gaze a tumultuous ocean. I loved the effect I had. I loved the way I looked on him. I was covered in his smell—woods and ocean. Behind my bathroom door, I stared at myself in the mirror. It was one of his sweatshirts, which I found sexy as hell. He knew it would cover me as soon as I was cloaked in it, and didn’t get the eyeful he’d so patiently earned. He was trying his best to temper the attraction between us, while I was playing with blue flames. But why?
I knew why. He knew why.
In the shower, I scolded myself for being so careless. I’d started such a screwed up pattern. Reckless with my heart, my emotions. One man to another . . . and then another. I palmed my face, disgusted.
As much as I wanted to feed the chemistry I felt at my door, I was doing us both an injustice. I wasn’t ready . . . yet. And we both knew it.
I had to break the cycle; though I was sure I didn’t have it in me to feel the way I felt about the man I wanted to remember me.
Still, Nate deserved better. I deserved better.
Walking out fully dressed fifteen minutes later, I met Nate at the couch.
“Nate—”
“It’s a good thing your boss is older and has been there.”
A breath of relief.
He pulled me into his lap.
“You look good dressed in me.”
“Nate, it’s not that I don’t want—”
“Shhhh,” he said as he ran his finger through my hair. “Anticipation, Stella, I’m game. I’ve already been waiting for months. What’s a few more? But we’re not stopping this.”
He linked our hands together. “Because I’ll be damned if I let you forget that I’m waiting. I want you to get used to these hands, these arms, this lap. We’ll be around a while. If it happens, it will happen naturally, and we’ll make our own story. If it doesn’t, I’ve got you with me now, and I’m good with that.”
A solid wall of blue was shattering my resolve, breaking my defenses, threatening to bypass the lock and snap the chain. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked, leaning in to brush a kiss against my temple. “I’m the one who pushed for this. Who keeps pushing for this. And I have good reason, Stella. Reasons I’ll tell you if the day ever comes. But I had to check myself. You and me,” he said softly as he trailed a finger down my jawline, “we’re good. Let’s leave this conversation here and revisit later, alright?”
I nodded.
“GO!” I screamed at the top of my Latina lungs, jumping next to Nate, who was on his feet yelling the same.
“Oh my God, this is so exciting!” I yelled at Nate, who watched me with gentle eyes. We’d been tailgating all day with a group of his friends, including Marcus, who I met at the concert. We watched from nosebleed seats in the sea of burnt orange. I was buzzed from the shared nips of whiskey and a few beers, and stuffed from the grilled buffet they’d provided. I got introduced to his smaller circle, which consisted of Gabe and Marcus, who sat to Nate’s right. They enlightened me on all things Butler. They told stories that consisted mostly of revealing Nate’s weaknesses. Nate took it in his stride. I felt like one of the guys, and Marcus and Gabe were just as driven and direct as Nate. It felt like I had found my tribe, and oh how I celebrated.
After the Longhorns scored against Kansas State, I shared a fist bump with Gabe, who was within celebratory distance, then wrapped my arms around Nate’s stomach and squeezed.
I felt his chest rumble. “So, today you like football? Because last night I didn’t think you were sure.”
“This. Is. Awesome!” I want to come to every home game,” I stated as I pulled away.
He gave me his sexy signature wink before he slid his sunglasses over his eyes and I studied his profile.
We’ll make our own story.
It was the best thing he could have said without a script of “Things to say to Stella to make her feel unforgettable.” The idea of us drifted through my head briefly before I sank back into the game, enthralled and screaming like a banshee.
“I needed this so much,” I yelled toward Nate before I took a fresh beer Marcus passed down. I pulled ten dollars from my pocket and Marcus shook his head adamantly.
“Hell no, you pay when you get a real writing gig away from this slob,” Marcus protested as Nate gave him the finger without so much as looking in his direction. My teeth were freezing from the perma-smile on my face.
“Thank you!” I took the beer and absorbed my surroundings. I was a journalism student at the University of Texas. I was working at a city paper. The Longhorns were my team. Classmates surrounded me and I hadn’t bothered to interact with a single one.
This is where you move on, Stella.
After the game, Nate carried me over his shoulder as I giggled, completely giddy and a little drunk.
“I can walk, you know,” I protested as the beer sloshed in my stomach with Nate’s every step. I smacked his butt with the foam finger I’d confiscated from Gabe.
“Yeah, well, you were getting a little fucking feisty back there, Stella.”
I laughed. “You don’t like it when I show my Latina.”
“Oh, I promise you,” he slapped back, popping both my ass cheeks as I let out a squeal, “I like all your sides, but you almost got my ass kicked back there.”
“He did look like Bushwick Bill from the Geto Boys.”
“Bushwick Bill is a midget, not a four-hundred-pound man with prison tattoos.”
“In the face, I meant in the face. I don’t know why he found that offensive. And the correct term is little person.”
“He’s three feet tall with a jacked-up eye, that’s why it was offensive. Bushwick is a midget.”
His truck beeped and he set me down in front of it. My face was frozen. I was sure my eyelashes were stuck together and my nose was running. I wiped it away with the cuff of his shirt.
“That shirt now belongs to you.”
“I was planning on keeping it anyway.”
“Butler!” Gabe said, approaching us. “You leaving, man?”