27. Nate

TWENTY-SEVEN

NATE

Rosie stares up at me with wide blue eyes.

She's so fucking pretty.

So fucking stunning.

And at seeing me, her first instinct was to back away.

Run away.

My jaw ticks.

I want to grab her shoulders and ask her why she ran from me.

And I want to shake her for trying to do it again right now.

I want to slam my mouth against hers.

I take a slow inhale through my nose.

And I keep my hands in my pockets.

"N-Nate?" she whispers, glancing around. "What are you doing here?"

I give her another small head shake. "You call me Nathan."

She digs her teeth into her lower lip.

I hadn't planned to say that, but I don't want her calling me Nate. I don't want her pretending that we have no history.

"Nathan." She whispers my name, and the gentle sound of it goes straight to my balls. "What are you doing here? "

The side of my mouth pulls up. "Thought I'd make sure things were going smoothly before my employees come down."

"Your…" Her brows furrow. "Your employees?" She glances up at the building beside us.

I nod.

"Catch Tech is your company?" She asks, like she can't believe it.

I slide my hands out of my pockets and mime catching a football. "Wide receiver, remember?"

She rolls her lips together. "I remember you foisting your signature on me."

My lips pull flat.

I want to tell her it's her fault for not telling me who she really was.

I want to say she was the one acting all nervous and weird.

I want to tell her women act like that around me all the time.

I want to make it her fault.

Because all that is true.

But it's not the whole truth.

"I'm mad you didn't tell me who you were." I take a step closer. "But I'm more mad that I didn't recognize you." I squeeze my hands into fists, the anger at myself still so fresh. "I should have recognized you. And I didn't."