50. Nate

FIFTY

NATE

My eyes close.

The feeling of Rosie's fingers running through my hair is nearly too much.

I press my knees in toward each other, squeezing Rosie's knees between mine. "I'm tempted to mess up my hair just so you'll do that again."

Rosie lets out a small laugh, and it makes me smile.

"Can't have everyone here knowing your true identity."

I crack my eyes open. "Sure can't."

She sits back and lowers her hands to her lap. "What was it like?"

I open my eyes the rest of the way. "What was what like?"

We both reach for our drinks.

"Playing in front of all those people?" Rosie gestures around with her empty hand, like we're in a stadium. "Being famous. Getting recognized." Her hand drops to her lap. "You know it's crazy, right? That the boy I knew grew up to be a freaking professional football player."

I grin as I take a drink.

"I couldn't believe it," she murmurs.

I remember what she said yesterday. "The gas station TV?"

She nods .

"I can see how that would be a shock." I try to picture if our roles had been reversed, but I don't know what I would've done.

"I left my stuff on the counter and ran out crying." Rosie snorts and shakes her head before taking another long drink of her mojito.

"I…"

She holds up her hand to stop me.

I quit talking, but I reach up and grip her wrist, then lower her hand to my knee.

"I was upset that I didn't recognize you. I don't want you to think that I was a stalker about it, but I thought of you often while I still lived on that street. Hard not to when I'd see your old house every day. So when I saw you on TV and realized I wouldn't have recognized you if you'd walked past me… it just made me really sad. And it made me realize how much time had passed." She flexes her fingers on my thigh. "I'm not telling you this to make you feel any sort of bad, more to explain why I can't hold it against you for not recognizing me. And when you figured it out, you handled it much better than I did."

I tighten my hold on her wrist. "How would you know how I handled it, Pretty Rosie?" I lean closer. "You bolted out of that pantry before I could react."

She bites her lip. "Sorry about that."

I lean a little closer. "Why did you run? And why didn't you tell me who you were before we…" I trail my eyes down her body.

Her chest hitches on her next inhale.

"I don't have a good answer I can give you," she nearly whispers. "It had been so long. I didn't know if you'd even remember me. And you were flirty, but I didn't think I was actually your type. I hadn't expected… what happened."

"My type?" I narrow my eyes. "Beautiful chefs?"

"Yeah, that's what I meant." Rosie rolls her eyes. "I'm talking about curvy girls , you dork."

My mouth gets stuck, half twisted up, half twisted down.

She says curvy girls like she means to say something else. And then, in the same breath, she calls me a dork.

I don't know if I should growl or laugh.

"First, receiver, remember?" I let go of her wrist to hold up my hand, fingers spread. "Big hands. I need big hips to fill them. Big…" I drop my gaze to her cleavage. "Hips," I repeat, not wanting to sound like a total creep. "And second." I grab Rosie's drink and set both of our glasses on the table, then pick up the pitcher and refill them. "You're the one who would do extra credit math assignments for fun. So you're the dork."

Rosie laughs, and I realize it's the first full-size laugh I've heard from her.

It's mesmerizing.

I want to hear it more often.

"Thank you," I say before I can overthink it. "For what you said earlier, about being proud of me."

Her smile is so soft it breaks a piece of my heart.

"You don't have to thank me for that. It's true."

"I'll thank you anyway. It means a lot." I hand Rosie her newly filled glass. "And for what it's worth, I think it's really awesome that you own your own company too."

Rosie lifts her glass for a new toast. "To a pair of proud dorks."

I tap my drink to hers.