Game On(27)

“Please tell me you’re wearing clothes, Chris,” I said before I turned around.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, letting out a sigh when I didn’t lower my hands. “And yes, I’m wearing clothes.”

I peeked and saw that he was still in his uniform.

“Why are you here?” he asked again.

“I’m looking for Nathan,” I told him.

He let out another sigh, but this time with a smile. “Of course you are.”

“Sophie?” Another familiar voice, but one that never failed to send a shiver up my spine. Only this time, it was accompanied by irritation. I turned around, half hoping that this time, the man in front of me would be naked, but unfortunately Nathan was decent.

Well, half decent.

He was clearly heading towards the shower, a towel tied around his waist, his beautiful torso lined with beads of water, or sweat, that I had the sudden desire to lick off his skin. Whatever part of me thought this was a good idea, that I would somehow be safe surrounded by other people, was waving a white flag and lowering the drawbridge.

“What are you doing here?” Nathan asked, grabbing my arm. Suddenly I remembered why I was here, why I had stormed in in the first place.

“I want my interview,” I told him, trying to regain some of the indignation that had sent me here.

“You’ll get it.”

“No,” I said, crossing my arms. “I want it now.”

“You want to do the interview now?” he asked, looking thoroughly amused.

“I—” I quickly realized that I was definitely not prepared. Not just for the interview, but for talking to a half-naked Nathan. “But we’re going to decide when it’s going to happen. Right now.”

“We could have talked about this outside,” he said, lowering his voice. People were staring, after all.

“You left!” I told him. “You walked away from me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking somewhat reproachful. He ran a hand through his wet hair. “It’s just, well, after last night. I was just disappointed.” He leaned in closer to me and it took everything in my power to not just melt into a puddle at his feet. If he had smelled good to me before, this after practice, sweaty pheromone version of himself was almost too much to bear. “I thought we were having a good time.”

He looked so hopeful, so earnest, that I wanted desperately to kiss him. Instead, I leaned back and tried to ignore the disappointment that came over his face.

“I can’t,” I told him.

“I know,” he said.

“It’s better for both of us if I can just finish the interview and get out of your hair,” I told him, though I hated saying it. Like I had told Mandy, I barely knew him, but I felt a bittersweet twinge at the thought of not seeing him again. It was unreasonable, I tried to remind myself, but the sadness remained.

From the look on Nathan’s face, I could tell he was feeling a variation of the same. Maybe not sad, but definitely disappointed.

“It’s nothing personal,” I said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. I wished it could be personal. I wished things were different. I also wished I had kept my hands to myself. Stupid Sophie. His skin was warm and wet and wonderful, and I regretted the touch immediately. Quickly I pulled back my hand, but my palm still tingled.

He looked at me with a now familiar heat. “I know.” He glanced away and took a deep breath. Suddenly we were back to interviewer and subject. The way it was supposed to be.

I gave him one of my don’t-be-mad smiles. “Tell you what,” I offered. “If you let me interview you tonight, I’ll let you pick the place.”





Chapter Eleven


He chose a bar. Not just any bar, but an extremely noisy one directly across the street from my hotel, called Stubbs. One with peanut shells on the floor and sticky spots all over the table and five-dollar pitchers. A bar filled with people who only seemed to be able to communicate by shouting at each other. One with a stage that looked like it was going to be occupied at some point in the evening by a local band, but not be able to properly support their entire weight. The whole place had a live-in, neighborhood-dive-bar kind of feel. The kind of place my mom usually found her latest paramour. The kind of place I had essentially grown up in. And probably the worst possible place to try to record a conversation.

But I wasn’t going to let Nathan deter me. He was clearly still nervous about the interview, but I was losing my patience. All I was doing was my job. He knew that I was coming, he knew what I was here for. I put my recorder on the table in defiance, in between our beers. He raised an eyebrow at it but didn’t say anything.

I had prepared for this evening like I was preparing for war. A war of civility and charm. Everything I was wearing was meant to make him feel comfortable but not too comfortable. My lips were red, but not too red, my smile friendly but not flirtatious. My shirt was snug, not tight, and my hair was straight and pulled back in a ponytail. I had made myself attractive but slightly aloof. Last night I had let my guard down and boundaries had been tested. I could still feel Nathan’s breath tickling my ear, his voice low and sexy, his fingers brushing aside my wild hair. If the song hadn’t interrupted us, I would have let him have his way with me. And I would have had my way with him back. But we both knew that was a bad idea. Clearly he felt the same if he had chosen to do our interview in such a loud, public place. So tonight I was a professional. I was here to do a job. But I couldn’t deny that I got a certain little thrill from the thought that I made him as nervous as he made me.