Page 53 of Hell or High Water
Do you want to hang out or not?was Ramsey’s answer.
Nate actually did, but he was enjoying pushing Ramsey’s buttons—especially when it felt like the last two months had beenRamseypushingNate’s.
Yeah, I think I could make some time. You don’t want to just pretend you’re coming over to my place?
Who says we’re not going to mine?Ramsey wanted to know.
You live with Wes. Is he going to supervise our date?As Nate typed out his reply, he couldn’t help but grin. This was the flirtatious Ramsey that he knew. That he liked, deep down, in spite of every reason not to.
I liked you better when you were nicer.
Lies.
Nate tucked his tongue into his cheek and typed out a second text.That mean you’re coming over tonight then? Six?I’ll get takeout. We can watch something on TV and pretend to make out.
He was ready for Ramsey to claim they wouldn’t be pretending to do that at all, and he was going to have to shut that down, because the one conclusion he’d come to since agreeing to this ridiculous farce was that he could pretend to like Ramsey and he could pretend to date him but he couldn’t do those things while sleeping with him for real.
But to Nate’s surprise, Ramsey didn’t. Instead, he replied with,Ok.
Nate asked next, risking bringing up that night two months ago.You remember where I live?
It was annoying, but Ramsey deliberately didn’t engage with that. He just sent a bloodless thumbs-up text, and that was the end of it.
After, though, Nate’s pulse was still high and his blood was still buzzing. Ramsey churned him up, even when he wasn’t trying to. Even the stupid swagger-less text he’d started out with had done that, and it had only gotten worse from there.
Nate considered sending Ramsey another text, telling him to forget it. That it was a bad idea. It still felt like mostly one.
But it also felt irresistible, a chance to be in on the joke with Ramsey for once, and God, even though Nate should know better, he apparently didn’t.
He finished up his workout and went to grab lunch from the cafeteria. Dawson and Cam were there, sitting at one of the tables with Cam’s dad, Marty, the special teams coordinator, and Coach Dell, who was Nate’s coach and ran the defense.
For a second, he considered stopping at their table and sitting and eating. Nate knew he’d be welcome, but he had film to watch.
Next week they were playing the Eagles, and he needed to be prepared. Anticipate the schemes the coaching staff was alreadyprobably putting the final touches on. Deacon had taught him that to be overprepared was to be just prepared enough, and he’d been trying to impart that wisdom on some of the younger guys.
Obviously some of them were doing better with it than others.
Jordan was one of the guys he practically had to drag kicking and screaming into the film room.
Speaking of Jordan . . .when Nate was halfway through the film he’d scheduled himself to watch today, he pulled out his phone and texted the bane of his existence.
You coming in today?he asked, despite already knowing the answer.
Jordan didn’t text back right away. Despite that it was noon, there was a strong possibility he was still in bed. Recovery was important sure, but Nate had tried to stress to him more than once that wallowing in bed half the day was not the same as a solid recovery routine. Had also added, more than once, that what had worked for him in college was not necessarily going to work for him going forward. That being twenty was different from being twenty-five.
But Jordan always rolled his eyes and told Nate that he was too stuffy. Too serious. Too disciplined.
Nate didn’t like to think he wasjustthose things, but he also knew that those things were going to make it possible for him to play deep into his thirties, barring injury, whereas if Jordan didn’t figure it out, he’d be lucky toseethirty in the NFL.
Finally, when he was just about finished up, Jordan texted back.Nah bro. How can you even think about football today? Such a solid fucking win.
Nate rolled his eyes.Football is my job and your job, that’s why.
God, you are such a fucking loser.
Nate was not really expecting anything else, but it still stung. Maybe hewasa loser. Maybe he had asked for all of this by beingoverly conscientious and responsible. But then both Deacon and their teammate Jem Knight, now both retired, had been when Nate had come into the league as a rookie, and their dedication had been both inspirational and aspirational.
If Nate wanted a career like Deacon or Jem’s, then it was right there for the taking, with the right amount of hard work.
