Page 23 of The Risk Taker

The night air hits me the second I step outside, cold enough to sober me up halfway down the front steps. The music’s still going behind me, fading the farther I get from the house. For the first time all night, it’s quiet enough to think.

I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and start walking. It’s late, the streets mostly empty, and I don’t get far before my stomach growls, reminding me that three beers do not equal dinner.

I cut across the street to the little diner on the corner—the only place that’s still open at this time. The bell over the door jingles when I step inside and order two burgers and large fries.

While I wait, my phone buzzes a couple of times. I glance at the screen, seeing the texts from the guys asking where the hell I am, and I silence it and shove it deep into my pocket.

When the bag hits the counter, I hand over a crumpled bill and head back out. The grease has already soaked through the bottom of the paper bag as I cut across the parking lot.

The porch lights glow in the distance and I fish my keys from my pocket as I start to climb the stairs. I wedge the key into the lock, shoulder the door open, and step inside.

A lamp glows in the corner of the living room, and the TV’s on, the volume low, playing some rerun of a sitcom.

Nathan’s stretched across the couch, holding the remote in his hand. His hair’s damp, a little messy, curling at the edges, letting me know he just stepped out of the shower.

He glances up when he hears me, his eyes flicking toward the takeout bag in my hand before settling on my face. “I didn’t think you’d be back this early.”

I kick the door shut with my heel, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Didn’t realize you waited up.”

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching me with that hardass expression I’m used to.

I drop the greasy takeout bag onto the coffee table. “You eat yet?”

He shakes his head, his eyes flicking to the bag. “Just got out of the shower.”

“That’s good,” I say, kicking off my shoes before sinking down beside him. The cushions dip under our weight, our knees brushing for half a second before I lean forward and tear open the paper bag. “I bought extra.”

That earns me a quiet huff, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, reaching for the bag. “Eat before I change my mind. Call it a peace offering.”

I tear open the fries and grab a handful, the heat stinging my fingers. “God,” I groan around the first bite. “This is exactly what I needed.”

Nathan reaches for a burger, unwraps it and takes a bite. He chews, swallows, sets it down, and wipes his hands on a napkin.

“Why did you ditch the party?” he asks, finally glancing over. “You were dying to go out.”

I shrug, licking salt from my thumb. “Everyone was being annoying.”

He raises a brow, his dark brown eyes flicking to mine. “You seemed to be enjoying it.”

“Only when you were watching,” I say, smirking as I reach for another fry.

He sighs, rolling his eyes before he turns back toward the TV.

I bite back a grin and grab my burger, settling in. The sitcom plays low in the background, filling the silence.

By the time I’m down to the last bite, my napkin’s a mess and my stomach’s full. I toss the wrapper onto the table and lean back. I stretch a leg across the table, my foot resting against Nathan’s. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even glance at me. Just stays where he is, slouched into the corner, his arms folded and his head tipped slightly toward the TV.

He looks relaxed—at least more than he ever is when we’re at practice or around the team. It’s the most casual I’ve ever seen him, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t… noticing things.

The soft flicker of the TV casts pale blue light over his jawline, highlighting the soft stubble there. There’s something weirdly hypnotic about the rise and fall of his chest, the shape of his mouth when he chews, and—Okay. This is starting to feel like a problem.

I lean back, eyeing him. “You know, watching you at a party is painful,” I say, just so I can put an end to the thoughts running around my head.

He turns his head, his brow furrowed as he meets my eyes. “Painful,” he repeats slowly, like he’s not sure if I’m teasing him or insulting him.

“Yeah,” I say, slouching deeper into the couch. “You didn’t have to look so uncomfortable out there.”