Page 21 of The Fake
Also, I think I might be disappointed, which is ridiculous. We’re just friends. Friends who slept together once after a drunken night of secret sharing.
“Is that Nathan?” Sydney’s voice is right behind me and the claustrophobic feeling that tightens my chest tells me Bri and Emily are also near and watching the foray between Nathan and his actual date for the night.
“Yep.”
Sydney scoffs. “What a ho. You should go tell that girl to get her mitts off your man.”
I resist laughing at this totally messed up situation but just barely.
When Nathan turns so I can get a good look at his face, it doesn’t look altogether pleased, which makes me feel a teensy bit better. He looks up and directly at me like he knew exactly where to find me. My pulse quickens, and I break eye contact first, staring at my feet and wishing I’d never agreed to come here tonight.
Did I really think I could waltz in here and he’d snap to my side and pretend to be my boyfriend while I win over my teammates?
When I look back up, he’s coming my way with a sexy smirk. He’s completely soaked. The white t-shirt he’s wearing clings to him and if there were such a thing as a male wet t-shirt contest, he’d win. Hands down. Cut abs that I’ve seen, felt, licked—oh, my freaking God—are clearly visible. I’m making my way down his body, trying not to ogle and failing miserably, when he gets to us. The blonde is two steps behind, not letting my man, correction,her man, get away.
“Hey, Surfer Princess, you came.” He briefly looks to each of my roommates and nods.
I hear Bri scoff and repeat the nickname like it annoys her.
The blonde catches up and stands next to him, wringing out her hair. “Oh, my God, I’m soaked.”
Nathan stands in front of me, dripping wet but smiling like he’s happy to see me and not the least bit bothered by his drenched clothes. I’m not sure how long we stand there just staring at one another before the blonde interrupts.
“Do you think I could borrow some dry clothes?” She bites at her bottom lip and looks up at Nathan innocently. I know that look and I cannot let her go with him. If he were my boyfriend, I’d be crazy jealous right now. In fact, my fake feelings are confusing the hell out of my body because Iamjealous right now.
Sydney elbows me and I stumble forward. I’m standing so close I can see drops of water running down from his hairline. I reach out and place a hand on his hard, cold chest without thinking. “Hey.”
I’m too breathless. Too scatterbrained. Too affected by him. And he freaking knows it.
“Hey,” he parrots.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Mhmm.” His smile is filled with innuendo.
I’m pretty sure he thinks talk means take off all our clothes, but I don’t have time or the privacy to correct him. I need to get him alone and beg him not to out me.
A guy wearing hot pink swim trunks with little alligators on them slung low on his hips joins us. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him. “Dude, that was hilarious. You should have seen your face when she pulled you in.” He looks to me. “Hey, you’re the girl from Comm class.”
Nathan tips his head toward the guy. “Chloe, this is my teammate Tanner Shaw.”
Tanner lifts his chin. “And roomie.”
“He and John Datson moved in today,” Nathan clarifies. “Shaw, can you lend Maureen some dry clothes?”
“Definitely,” Shaw responds and wraps an arm around her shoulders. Maureen only looks disappointed for a second before she recovers and bats her eyelashes at Shaw.
I remove my hand from Nathan’s chest, but he grabs it now, sending a possessive thrill through me.
Sydney steps toward us, takes my elbow, and whispers, “Don’t disappear all night. This is a good opportunity to spend time with the team.”
I nod, and then she adds, “And bring your man and his new roomie with you.”
Nathan leads me back into the house. He pushes through the crowd, never dropping my hand and tugging me with him. I follow behind, watching his shoulder and back muscles work under the thin, wet material of his shirt. I’m aware that people are staring at him and saying things, but his touch—even cold and damp—makes it hard to concentrate on anything else. The way I feel when he’s around makes it easy to remember how I ended up drunk and naked the first time we met.
He leads me up the stairs, past a basketball court and a couple of bedrooms before he steps inside a room and flips on the light. “This is me.”
The room is a decent size, but the contrast to the rest of the house is apparent. A simple bed and desk are the only furniture and there isn’t a single thing hanging on the wall. He strips off his t-shirt and holds it in his hand. “So…”
