The Cheat Sheet

His face is frighteningly serious. We’re not joking around anymore. “Because I’m celibate.”

“What!” I accidentally yell this so loud a woman walking beside the truck turns to try to peer through the darkened window. Scram, lady. I look back at Nathan and whisper, “You’re a virgin?”

“No.” His smirk is a little too indulgent if you ask me. “I guess I should say I’ve been celibate lately.”

I shake my head, thinking of all the nights I wanted to cry myself to sleep thinking of him holding another woman in his arms. Holding Kelsey. Turns out, he wasn’t. “I don’t understand…she was there the morning I brought coffee over.”

“You’re at my house a lot in the mornings too. That doesn’t mean we’ve done anything physical.”

I suddenly can’t swallow. Or feel my toes. What’s happening?! Why am I reacting this way? It changes nothing really—except I feel like everything I knew has changed tonight. My foundation is shaking.

Nathan sees my wide eyes and rumbles out a short chuckle. “Why are you making this such a big deal?”

“Because,” I say emphatically like that’s enough of an answer. “You could have anyone you wanted at the snap of your fingers. Why would you be celibate?” I NEED TO KNOW! There’s something he’s still not telling me, and it’s bothering me. I didn’t think he and I had any secrets, but now I’m learning he has two big ones! How many more are there?

His dark eyes stare back at me. “Not anyone I want.”

My heart races up my throat. Those words mixed with the night and the fact that he bought my studio and we spend nearly every day together…it all suddenly holds so much implication, and…could this be it?! Could he mean—

He chuckles, a familiar playfulness washing over him again, and all hopeful thoughts halt. As they should.

“Look at your face,” he says through a soft laugh. “You were so terrified there for a minute. Bree, don’t worry. I’m only celibate during the season because it helps my game.”

His game? He’s celibate for the sake of football? Oh. Right. That’s more realistic and yet another reason to remind myself not to think of Nathan as anything other than a friend. That’s all we’ll ever be, and that has to be enough for me. It has to! I need to sit my sad little heart down and give it a stern talking to.

I let the air out of my lungs in one big rush, pretending I’m relieved so I can maintain the status quo. “Oh! Oh my gosh! Yes. That makes perfect sense. I’ve read studies about that too! I was worried there for a minute that you meant…” It feels too uncomfortable to say it out loud, also maybe a little pathetic. “Never mind. Let’s just go inside.”

“Okay.” He smiles inquisitively. I’m afraid my face is showing emotions it shouldn’t. “Are you alright?” he asks after he’s purchased a parking ticket (he refuses to use the valet because he says it only draws more attention to him) and we’re walking toward the restaurant.

“Of course! I just—” I need a change of subject. So I come to a stop and Nathan does too. I wait until he turns to look at me. “Listen, I still hate that you went behind my back and paid my rent, but…completely off the record…” I smile. “Thank you for caring about me that much. You’re…the best of friends.”

He nods once, not looking as happy as I would have anticipated. “Anything for you, friend.”

We stare at each other for a few beats.

“But I will pay you back,” I say, breaking first.

He groans loudly and walks away.

The moment the restaurant doors open, several heads turn and do a double take. I feel like it would be easier if I just ran in front of Nathan with a megaphone and yelled, Attention everyone! No, your eyes are not deceiving you. This truly is the great Nathan Donelson in the flesh!

One head leans toward another. The restaurant is a giant cocktail of whispers and stares. Women are salivating now. We’re going to need a mop on aisle two. They know him, they want him, and they will do anything to get him.

I do what I always do in situations like this and take two big steps away from him so I don’t get in the way of his bachelor availability. But Nathan grasps my elbow lightly and tugs me close to his side. I look up at him with a scowl because my body is getting far too excited about our proximity right now. He knows not to do this, and yet here he is, breaking another rule tonight. His face is chiseled stone as he stares straight ahead, ignoring my glare.

The hostess finally notices us and rushes to her little podium. Her eyes rake over Nathan’s body, and the sheer want displayed in her dilated pupils is uncomfortable for everyone. Get in line, lady. I sigh then inwardly growl as my jealousy rises up and tells me to pick apart this woman’s looks to find a flaw that will make me feel better about myself. Not cool, Bree. If Nathan wants this beautiful woman, that’s his prerogative.

“Mr. Donelson, you can follow me. Your party is right this way.” But maybe I can be a little annoyed that she’s practically purring?

He nods and gives her that polite smile that makes women drop like flies. But then he presses his hand to my low back and pulls me with him. It’s a possessive touch that he never uses. My skin boils, but I tell it to slow itself to a simmer because it doesn’t mean anything. Based on the pace he’s moving at, his hand is only pressing into me like this because he’s trying to get me to move faster to get us away from all these prying eyes and not-so-subtle whispers. Maybe we should have called ahead and come in the back entrance?

I nearly trip over my tennis shoes as I try to keep pace with him. Also, tennis shoes?!

“Nathan!” I hiss as we walk not so discreetly through the upscale restaurant—I’m assuming this hostess was told to parade Nathan through the belly of the beast so everyone knows he was here—toward a hallway that leads to a VIP lounge. “Why did you have to kidnap me dressed like this? You should have told me to change! I thought we were going to a burger place or something.” Which, I now realize, was a silly thought. The Sharks are officially in the playoffs, and Nathan and Jamal’s celebrity status has skyrocketed. They have to be careful where they go right now, and I’m assuming most burger places wouldn’t have a VIP lounge to give them privacy.

Nathan’s brows dip and he scans his eyes over me as we walk. He takes in my yellow scrunchie, F.R.I.E.N.D.S. logo t-shirt, scuffed-up sneakers, and ankle-cropped jeans. He smiles. “You look great as always.”

“No, I don’t,” I say, accidentally bumping into the back of his bicep when I look behind me at the women in tiny dresses lining the bar we just passed. “I look like your teenaged little sister who you just picked up from school.”