53. Rosalyn

FIFTY-THREE

ROSALYN

Nathan holds my hand tightly as he guides us through the crowd to the front door.

I feel overheated.

Overstimulated.

Someone looking down walks right toward us, and Nathan reaches out with his free hand to grip the guy by the front of his shirt.

The man looks up, his face instantly hardening at being manhandled.

"Watch it," Nathan snaps. "You almost ran over my girl."

I don't know if it's Nathan's tone or size, but the other man puts his hands up and apologizes.

Nathan lets him go and tugs me forward.

As we pass the man, I bite my lip and keep my gaze on Nathan's back. It feels very inappropriate to smile over the incident, so I do my best not to.

A few steps later, we're stepping out into the night.

The sidewalk is mostly quiet, and I take a deep breath.

Being in the bar together was safe.

We may have kissed, a few times, but it had to stop there .

Now we're heading to Nathan's house, and there will be nothing to stop us.

Which is the point.

But even though I want this, I feel like I might hyperventilate.

Nathan pulls his phone out again, only glancing at the screen before sliding it back into his pocket. "This is us," he says as a black SUV pulls to the curb right in front of us.

I follow him to the rear passenger door. "Is this your driver?"

Nathan grins down at me. "It's an Uber." Then he opens the door for me.

I mouth the word oh then climb in.

Last night, after the whole eight-thousand-dollar tip thing, I did an internet search for Nate Waller's net worth.

It's rude, I know, but I needed to make myself feel okay about keeping the tip, even though I'd already transferred half of it to Presley.

I didn't actually get an answer for his net worth. I just saw the dollar amount of his last contract. It was over thirty million. For one year.

That was all I needed to see because I can't even conceptualize that amount of money. Let alone a dozen years of playing and making money like that.

Presley has yet to see the new deposit in her account, but when she undoubtedly tries to give it back, I'll mention all those zeros to her. That should make her keep it. Along with the fact that she's more than earned it.

The opposite rear door opens, and Nathan climbs into the seat next to me.

Other than wanting to feel less guilty about the tip, I don't care how much money Nathan has. His richness doesn't affect me. But there's something about knowing he's super rich but still takes an Uber like everyone else that makes me smile. Even if it is one of the big fancy Ubers.

He catches me smiling. "What's that look for?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. "

"The BCH building?" The driver looks back at us through the rearview mirror.

"That's the one," Nathan replies.

The driver nods, then pulls away from the curb.

Nathan slides closer to me on the bench seat.

He twists and reaches for me, and I close my eyes, expecting a kiss.

Then I hear the sound of nylon against plastic.

I open my eyes as Nathan pulls the seat belt across my body.

He uses one hand to hold the belt away from my body, but when metal meets metal and he clips the buckle in, he lowers the strap, and his fingers graze my chest.

"Safety first." His voice is quiet, and I have to focus on holding his gaze.

My eyes want to drop to his lap.

I want to look for the bulge of what I know is hidden beneath his pants. Because when he said safety, I thought condom.

And I'll blame my recklessness on the booze because I don't want him to wear one.

I don't want to put safety first. I'm already on the pill. And if we're going to have our night together, I don't want to have anything between us.

I lose the fight, and my gaze drops.

Nathan makes a clicking sound with his tongue. "Dirty girl." He says it like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

Then he slides back across the seat and buckles himself in.

I reach up and aim the air vent in the ceiling toward my face.

Nathan chuckles, but then he does the same thing.