20. Surprising Things About Nathan Hunt

TWENTY

#17 The way he weres tshirts like coture. But those arms tho

An hour later, the cab Nathan had insisted on hailing pulled up to a warehouse in Brooklyn that had a life-size giant octopus alongside a wooly mammoth painted over the entrance.

I'd have gone for the train myself. But while he had allowed me to force him into jeans and a plain black T-shirt, my fake boyfriend had steadfastly refused to subject himself to New York's subway system.

"Do you have any idea how many pathogens exist on one seat in the subway?" he'd called from his bedroom.

"Do you have any idea how many live on the seats of New York City cabs?"

He just chuckled but didn't relent. And so, one overpriced cab ride later, we found ourselves in Bushwick.

"Huh. They changed it," I said as I took in the mural, which served, in my opinion, as a festive intro to the performances I could already hear warming up inside.

"It changes?" Nathan wondered as he looked it over.

I grinned at him. "Oh, all the time. Casper can't deal with looking at the same thing for too long, so they swap it out at least once a month. Two months ago, this dude was an orc surrounded by Barbie dolls. Before that, I think it was a collection of pegasuses doing lines. Or just pegasus?"

"Pegasi." Nathan looked up at the octopus as if he was struggling to imagine either option in its place. "And this is the type of place where he—Shawn—would come?"

I wrinkled my nose. I honestly did not want to think about my ex this evening. "Shawn goes wherever the party is, and Casper's been the best party in town for years. If he doesn't actually see us here tonight, he'll hear about it. And that's almost as good. Maybe even better."

At least it would be easier. If I could keep communication between Shawn and me as hearsay for the rest of my life, I'd be a very happy girl.

"Come on," I said as I tugged Nathan up the steps. "Let's see what's happening tonight at Peek."

Inside, the entry of the warehouse was more like a speakeasy, with a makeshift bar in one corner that essentially paid for the whole project and slouchy chairs and thrifted tables set up where people of all walks of life were clearly enjoying themselves. Two hallways led in completely different directions—one toward Casper's living quarters and the rooms they sometimes lent to artists who were particularly and amorously "inspired" on given nights, the other into an enormous performance space where a band was getting ready to play.

"Darling Joni, my love, where have you been? It's been a million years, and I will not stand for it!"

We turned toward the owner of the squawky voice I knew and loved. Immediately, I flung my arms out to accept a hug from the one and only Casper LaVoe.

Casper LaVoe—a name that I was ninety-nine percent sure was fake and one hundred percent didn't care was fake—was a friend I'd known since I was about fifteen. We'd met at a master class sponsored by Alvin Ailey for kids in the Bronx. Everyone we knew thought Casper was crazy when they quit their job at the Metropolitan Opera to rent a leaky old warehouse in Bushwick. But when they renamed it Peek and started throwing some of the most innovative gatherings in the city, it quickly became the place for artists to gather and share their work. And party really, really hard.

"You look amazing," I said when Casper finally released me from an eons-long hug. "Love the new braids. The color is hot."

Casper acted like they were fanning themselves, then picked up one of the multi-colored braids that reached their waist. "Just about raped my bank account, but I had to do it. Blair and I are deconstructing Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Coat next week, and I'm going to play the coat. Oh! I have the best part just for you if you want to do it." Casper looked down at my leg. "All better, I hope?"

I made a face, and Casper wilted like a flower left out in the sun too long.

"Tragic," they said to no one in particular. "She really was an artist on stage."

Even though I knew Casper was just as dramatic with everyone, I still loved the fact that they really understood what it meant to be robbed of my ability to dance.

Casper was right. It really had been too long since I'd been here. Or around performers in general. My people.

"Darling, what is this we're wearing?" Casper asked as they twirled their finger, asking me to spin. "This garment. Is that silk? You look like the river at night and in the best possible way—all flowing and mysterious. I want to dive into you and soak for hours."

The attention made me bloom. I'd kept on the dress from dinner but had taken down my hair and brushed it out to look a little edgier, along with a generous helping of eyeliner and some dark lipstick that made me feel like an underworld fairy.

This was half the reason Casper and I always got along. We were both prone to the same sorts of dramatics when things weren't going our way, but we also knew exactly how to stroke each other's egos when they were.

"And what have we here?" Casper demanded as they looked Nathan over with blatant appreciation. "Did someone find herself a bona fide Beatnik? Will we hear him ‘Howl' in the night for us, hmm?"

Nathan didn't balk at Casper's overt inspection. "Are you saying I look like Allen Ginsburg?"

"Who's Allen Ginsburg?" I wondered.

"NOW HEAR THIS!" Casper crowed, gaining the attention of at least four tables. "Our lord and saint, Allen Ginsberg, was only one of the greatest queer poets ever to grace this world and I'm sure many others. ‘Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!'"

Casper said it with such flair that the room spontaneously broke into applause. They took a quick bow, then turned back to Nathan and me.

"Allen Ginsberg wrote ‘Howl,'" Nathan clarified for me. "I'm pretty sure that was a direct quote." He turned to Casper. "I don't write poetry, though."

"Maybe not, but you do have excellent taste in eyewear," Casper said with a nod toward Nathan's glasses.

I grinned. I might not have known the poet, but I did know who the Beatniks were, since I'd probably seen Funny Face at least twenty times with Nonna. I'd told Nathan to put on the most casual things he owned, and he'd emerged in some dark jeans that did dangerous things to his ass and a black T-shirt that made his biceps look about twice as big as usual. With the glasses, he did indeed look like some kind of bad boy philosopher-poet getting ready to seduce Audrey Hepburn.

"I think Casper's just saying they like your outfit," I told Nathan as I reached for his hand. "Casp, this is my boyfriend, Nathan Hunt."

I almost stumbled over the word, but the squeeze of his hand around mine kept me centered. Nathan didn't blink or tremble or look away from Casper at all. Damn. He was as good a performer as anyone in here.

"Boyfriend?" Casper gasped. "Is it…"

"It's serious," I lied. "You know I wouldn't bring him here if it wasn't."

Nathan couldn't read the surprise on Casper's face, but I could. And it was exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Shock, yes, that I would ever call someone that, or at least bring someone other than Shawn here in that role. But also maybe some eagerness. Like they couldn't wait to share the news.

"Lovely to meet you," Casper said as they deposited twin kisses to each of Nathan's cheeks. Suddenly, it was like they couldn't scurry away soon enough. "Let's chat soon, darling. Oh, do you want?" They materialized a baggie of small white capsules and dangled it in front of us. "An unsinkable Ms. Brown for the evening?"

I glanced at Nathan. "Er?—"

"Ms. Brown?" he asked.

"Molly," I clarified. "You don't have to."

His brows relaxed with recognition. "Oh, MDMA."

Casper nodded as he shook the baggie like a demented maraca. "Only the best for my friends."

I knew I shouldn't. And six months ago, I wouldn't. It's not that I didn't have plenty of options for it or that other dancers I knew weren't partaking. Cocaine blew through Broadway like a snowstorm.

But dance was the only thing I was ever good at. I could never bring myself to jeopardize that, even for the occasional night out.

Now, though…why the hell not?

Impulsively, I grabbed one of the pills, popped it in my mouth, and swallowed it quickly. Then I turned to find Nathan watching.

"You don't have to—" I repeated, but before I could finish, he'd already taken one and followed suit.

I gaped. "You want to do ecstasy?"

Nathan only smirked. "No surgeries until Wednesday. I believe this is the definition of ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do.' Isn't it?"

"These Romans like to fall in love," Casper told him with a gleeful grin before floating away to greet some other new arrivals.

"Come on," I said as I pulled Nathan toward the performance space, where a band was starting to play in front of the typically diverse crowd that Peek attracted.

The musicians were attempting something best described as a mix of down tempo, folk-country, and acid jazz. They weren't good, exactly, but they were trying hard, and the audience, a wild assortment of all varieties of gender, ethnicity, sexuality, body adornments, hair color, fashion sense, and enthusiasm, seemed to appreciate that fact. Some were dancing wildly, others just swayed from side to side, lost in their own worlds. Many chatted in groups of two, three, or four as they watched the musicians, while some near the front appeared to be spontaneously choreographing to the beat. Five people were constructing a sort of human pyramid at the back of the great room, from which they were attempting to hum and vibrate along with the band's melodies.

I searched Nathan's face for any signs of disapproval. It was always a sort of litmus test, bringing people to places like this. Not everyone could vibe with this sort of crowd. Casper and their ilk avoided labels like the plague, and Peek had been created for anyone to be anything they wanted without judgment, provocation, or limits on their art.

To some, that concept was very uncomfortable. Others embraced it fully.

I'd never brought anyone from the neighborhood here. Not even Rochelle. Certainly not my family, although a few times I'd wanted to bring Marie just to see if she'd crawl into a hole or if she'd surprise me by liking it. But I never had. I knew, that in my heart, I was one of the lonely souls in this city who sometimes needed a space like this to escape and just be. And I couldn't bear it if someone I loved looked at me differently because of it.

Nathan, however, was nothing but curious as he perused the room and watched everything happening, hand still firmly wrapped around mine. If anything, he was just as content as anyone else. He was fine with it all. Fine with me. He wasn't going anywhere.

"So, your family," I called out once I had started to relax.

He turned. "What about them?"

"Horses? Really?"

His shoulders tensed slightly. "I grew up on a horse farm about an hour from Washington, DC. My family breeds racehorses as a side project."

"That's what they do for fun?" I was legitimately shocked. I liked to go thrift shopping for fun, not collect multi-million-dollar animals.

I'd known Nathan was wealthy, but not like that.

Or maybe that was just his parents.

"Don't you think I should know a little more about this kind of stuff?" I asked when he didn't answer my question. "It's going to seem weird if I meet your parents and I have no idea who they are."

He turned again, appearing visibly pained. "No, you're right. I've been putting it off."

"Are they that horrible?"

He shrugged. "Yes. No. I don't really know. I left Virginia to find some space from them. But also, I don't like talking about them because people tend to treat me differently when they find out who they are."

"And that is?"

Nathan sighed heavily. "My parents are Lillian and Radford Hunt."

I blinked. And waited for some epiphany to fall over me, as it was obviously supposed to. It didn't. Which meant that, yet again, I was a clueless idiot.

"You're not saying anything," Nathan said.

"I…don't have anything to say," I replied. "Are those names supposed to mean something? You've mentioned them before, you know."

"Most people know them." He tried again. "Until last year, my father was the CEO of the Huntwell Corporation."

Again, nothing. "So, your family owns a big company? What do they do?"

Nathan appeared genuinely surprised by my response. "Mostly venture capital, although my father has always had a soft spot for mining—do you really not know who they are?"

I shook my head. "I don't follow finance, man. Too busy pouring drinks and shaking my ass."

"Until he retired, my father was one of the leading venture capitalists in the country. Sort of like Warren Buffet."

When I didn't answer to that, he continued with more names.

"George Soros? Peter Thiel? Larry Fink?"

I shook my head three more times. "Nope, nope, and nope. I'm assuming they're all super rich, probably white guys, but beyond that, they're just names."

Nathan looked honestly bewildered. "These are some of the wealthiest people on the planet, Joni. The decisions they make affect everyone. When they invest in something, it changes the world."

"Which is amazing," I concluded. "And I'm sure I've paid attention to things they've done. But the names just aren't important to me. Like this dress. I couldn't tell you who designed it. I think I saw it on Bella Hadid once, on Page Six. But mostly I just think it's pretty and I like it. I feel the same about the vintage Steven Madden dress I found in the bargain bin at the Goodwill."

Nathan remained quiet, digesting my words.

"So, your family's rich," I pressed on. "And given our arrangement, obviously overbearing. Question, though, why do you know so much about these guys when you're a doctor, not an investment banker or whatever?"

Nathan squinted like he was physically pained by that question. "I double majored in business. And I still have to maintain a seat on the company's board. It's part of the…arrangement…I have with my family."

"I see." I considered. "Anything else I should know before I meet them?"

Slowly, however, the pain faded from Nathan's face. And eventually was replaced with something closer to appreciation.

Which was odd.

But I'd take it.

"Yes," he said finally. "I have two younger brothers."

"Spencer and Carrick," I said, remembering dinner.

He nodded. "That's right. Spencer is the youngest, and like I said, he manages the breeding operations. Carrick works for the company, representing their interests to Congress and things like that. He and I are less than a year apart?—"

"Like me and Marie," I jumped in. "Are you close?"

Nathan shook his head. "Generally, we don't get along. Our relationship is fairly antagonistic."

I nodded. "Yeah, Marie and I were like that too. But you know, things can change. Ever since she left for Paris, I actually miss her. A lot. Sometimes you need a person who will tell you exactly like it is, you know? She's the only one in my family who does that for me. Good and bad."

Nathan seemed to think about that for a moment. "Carrick is also very blunt."

I grinned. "So are you. See, you already have that in common."

For that, I received a wry smile. It was quickly becoming one of my favorites of his expressions. Nathan seemed to like it when I picked out personality traits of his that I suspected others didn't see. Or else were too intimidated to name.

"My father's greatest wish is for his eldest son—that's me—to return to Virginia and resume his seat at the head of Huntwell," Nathan said as he turned his attention back to the band, which was currently playing a very strange dancehall version of "Jolene" while the performers in the front attempted something like tango-meets-krumping.

I turned. "They want you to stop being a surgeon?"

I honestly couldn't imagine it. In the short time I'd really known him, I could see that his job was the most important thing in his life. Everything revolved around his surgery schedule. The man was a machine about it.

Nathan nodded. "I double majored in finance and pre-med, so I suppose I technically have some business savvy. And my parents are convinced that living here hasn't been good for me. They want me home, where they can force me to marry a vapid debutante, procreate, and eventually take over my father's position as CEO at Huntwell."

Things were becoming clearer. "So that's why you want to introduce me to them as your super serious girlfriend. You think that if you can show them you're happy here, with a solid social life and all the things they say you can't do without them, they won't pressure you to come home and join the family business, yeah?"

Nathan almost seemed embarrassed. "I suppose that's the majority of it."

"Why not just tell them no?"

Nathan gave me a look. "Would you believe I've tried that?"

I didn't answer. This time, it was my turn to deliver snarky expressions.

"My parents are very stubborn. And very…controlling." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I honestly think the only way they will believe I actually enjoy the life I've built on my own is to show them I've met their terms."

"Well, are you?" I asked. "Happy?"

"I am…content with my life in New York," he said after a moment. "It's a life I chose for myself. That's more than I can say about anything in Virginia." And then his deep brown gaze fixed on me, and my heart thumped in response. "I'm happy here with you. Right now."

We watched each other for a good long time while one strangely written song bled into another, and the rest of the room seemed to blur a bit.

The down tempo element in the music dropped a few beats in tempo as the band launched into a sensual cover of a Metallica song.

Honestly, it wasn't bad.

Kind of pretty, actually.

"So, how do we do this?" Nathan wondered, pulling my attention back.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, at dinner, it was easy. I don't date often, so just coming to the restaurant?—"

"And making out in your office?" I cut in slyly.

His mouth quirked. "Er—yes, that. That was all that was needed. Or all that was needed for most people who know me to believe I'm in a relationship. But for you…"

I put a hand on my hip in mock outrage. "What are you saying, sir?"

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Joni, I ran into you after you had a one-night stand with my former roommate. Forgive me for saying so, but it didn't seem like unusual behavior."

Just like that, the air was punched out of me. Nothing kills the mood like telling the girl you're with that you noticed she's kind of a slut.

No man likes a girl like that. I don't care how "happy" he is at the moment.

"For the record, I couldn't care less."

That did it. I scowled. "Oh, no?"

Nathan shook his head. "It wouldn't matter to me where you've been or who with before me. Just as long as you're with me now." He stepped closer. "Are you with me now?"

There was no insecurity in those big brown eyes. No uncertainty. Just a question, plain and simple. Honest and direct.

So, so, Nathan.

"I'm with you," I confirmed.

He nodded. "Good." Then he looked around. "But my question still stands. What do we do now that will convince people I'm more than another one-night stand?"

"You mean how do we convince them we're in love?" I wondered, though for some reason, the idea made me feel embarrassed.

I didn't stop to wonder why I thought the idea was so ridiculous. Why imagining myself the object of someone's continuous adoration and desire was absurd enough to make me blush.

Nathan nodded again. "Your friend obviously went off to share what you said, but this is a performance space. I imagine these people enjoy a good show."

I had to think about it. I mean, I really had to think about it.

Because the truth was, I may have had my fair shares of partners, but I was increasingly certain I'd never actually loved any of them.

Even Shawn.

Maybe, especially Shawn.

"I think the MDMA just passed the blood-brain barrier," Nathan said as he looked around, brown eyes now slightly dilated. Then they landed back on me and took on a hazy sort of expression.

My fingers were starting to tingle. And his skin looked so soft.

His hands, though, weren't exactly soft or hard. And I knew that now, from holding his hand and also from having him touch me—really touch me—in his office only a few hours ago.

He had calluses on them from the gym, but he kept them incredibly clean, probably because of all the time in surgery. Right now, though, the rest of my body tingled with the memory of those hands, the way they felt when they moved up my waist, the slight scuff of his fingernails when they dragged my dress down…

"Pick me up," I said abruptly.

Nathan also seemed to be caught in a daze as he turned toward me, close enough that our bodies were almost touching. "What?"

I leaned back to look him in the eye, though my hips seemed to move toward him. "Pick me up. And then twirl me around slowly. Like a princess in a movie."

His confusion was adorable. "Why would I do that?"

Even as he spoke, his hands already found my waist, locked into the curves like they belonged there.

I grinned. "Joy, silly. People do dumb things when they're stupid happy. If we were really in love, you'd be so overcome with it that you couldn't help acting silly. You'd have to let it out. So you'd kiss me until we were both giddy and then you'd pick me up and swing me around until I was shrieking with happiness too. Then we'd break down in giggles together, and you'd kiss me again. And this time, you wouldn't stop."

Nathan took a moment to digest everything I'd said. Undoubtedly, he thought it was stupid. But his hands remained on my waist. He stared at them as if weighing his choices. Keep them there and go with the flow. Remove them and end the whole thing.

Then, before I could say another word, he lifted me as easily as any partner I'd ever trained with. My arms wound around his neck, my hands into his thick curls, while he pressed kisses into my bare neck and collarbone. I could feel his smile against my skin. Joy sprouted from deep in my gut, and I laughed with the kind of unadulterated glee I'd just described, except none of this was an act. Maybe it was the drugs, but I had a feeling I'd respond the exact same way if Nathan picked me up on a street corner.

Maybe even more if we were alone.

"Good?" Nathan asked when he finally set me down.

He was grinning so hard that his left dimple was joined with one in his right cheek, and a thin sheen of sweat had appeared over his brow. Those chocolatey eyes flashed with the delight I knew was reflected in mine, and before I could stop myself, I clasped his face between my hands and kissed him, long and hard.

For the second time that night, his lips met mine, soft yet firm, tentative yet full of impact. And then he was devouring me, growling softly while his tongue and lips and teeth explored the terrain of my mouth. His hands slipped lower, taking firm handfuls of my ass, pressing me into him, into that considerable length that still teased even through his jeans.

When we broke apart, he was sucking in harsh breaths. His eyes were almost completely black as he searched my face for something.

"Good?" he asked again.

"Very good."

I pressed one kiss to his upper lip, then another to the bottom. He shuddered with each one, his hands gripping my skin harshly, shaking through the fabric of my dress.

"Now," I said, just before I swiped my tongue across his lower lip. "Do it all again. And this time, don't stop."