NATE
It wasa struggle to keep my butt in the seat and from shouting like I was hyped up on sugar, but other than a handful of times when I couldn’t contain myself and had jumped up shouting or cheering, I’d done a decent job of being the supportive friend. The last thing I wanted to do was draw attention to myself, which was totally me overthinking.
Though the one time he was shoved and I saw him go down, a twinge of panic had roared to life when he stood and seemed wobbly on his sore ankle. That moment I hadn’t held back my thoughts of the player who’d made it happen or my extra loud cheers when number twelve fouled Ryan.
The whole game Ryan was on fire.
While it was the first pro game I’d watched in the flesh, I’d viewed every single one of his games since January and had read the basic stats on Ryan before that. And this game right here, he was phenomenal. While the stakes weren’t as high for the home team, I knew Ryan’s team had a fair bit hanging on it, and considering the stakes, the whole team played like this was the playoffs.
With my gaze rooted to the court and all but going cross-eyed trying to keep one eye on Ryan and the other on the play, my heart beat loudly in my ears, drowning out the huge crowd filling the courtside.
Overtime was a hell of a thing watching from a TV screen, but from the sidelines, I could barely contain myself. With each pass, each bounce, my heart flipped and did a triple beat, and each time Ryan laid his hands on the ball, I held my breath. Fuck, I was going to hyperventilate at this rate.
The countdown was on, the buzzer set to go off any second when Sutton passed the ball to Ryan. I sprang to my feet, wide-eyed and focused on every move Ryan made as he released the ball from near midcourt. The ball hit the backboard, slipping into the basket just as the buzzer sounded, and that was it. Pandemonium. The best kind. The yellow-jersey supporters screamed and hollered while Ryan jumped in the air, fist-pumping, his gaze landing on me before his team swarmed him.
With my heart in my throat, I gulped in a breath, reveling in the oxygen and the win.
Minnesota had won, epically so, and with a buzzer beater like that….
I clapped loudly, joining in with the hollers. The whole time, pride, joyous and so fucking pure, filled my chest.
Ryan was born to do this.
Just as the thought entered my brain, my smile slipped.
He was considering giving it all up. He was magic on the court, and him not doing this for as long as he was able seemed like complete madness.
I shook off my frown when I realized Ryan’s focus was intently on mine, and he indicated for me to take the two steps needed to enter the court. I grinned, more than happy to oblige.
I all but bounced down the steps, renewed happiness for Ryan buzzing in my veins. Once before him, I made no qualms in hauling him into a hug, patting his back, and whispering, “You were fucking spectacular.” Another back pat, and I pulled out of his sweaty embrace.
“Yeah?”
I rolled my eyes, giving him a shove. “Yeah! Amazing, seriously. Congrats, mate.”
Ryan’s smile was as wide as my own. The shout of his name had him turning. Sutton was calling him over, a bunch of press waiting just off to the side.
“You go.”
He glanced back at me and nodded. “Use your pass and meet me out back. I’ll be as quick as I can. You still good to go out with the guys tonight?”
I bobbed my head. “Definitely. This needs to be celebrated.”
A flash of a grin was directed my way before he hightailed it toward Sutton, his coach, and the reporters waiting for his words. I looked on, wondering if anyone else noticed how he favored his left foot.
It took about fifteen minutes for Ryan to head to the change rooms and another twenty minutes after that for him to reappear. With damp hair and stopping close enough to me that I could smell his deodorant, the man looked delectable.
My boundaries were slipping dangerously fast. From the casual flirting over the past couple of months and the sweet smiles and comfort over the past two days since being here, the struggle to hide my attraction was real. But I wouldn’t waver, especially when in public.
If, and it was a bigif, Ryan wasn’t straight, that meant he was obviously in the closet, and I thought I understood the reason why that would be.
Outing the guy was not an option, and no chance would I put him in that position.
Three hours later, I was a little fuzzy, but not so hammered I wouldn’t remember every single moment of not only today but this exact second.
Ryan, as well as four other players, were full-on doing—or perhaps attempting was a better word for it—the classic line dance that pretty much every Australian knew, to Tina Turner’s “Nutbush City Limits.”
With my hands clutching my stomach, holding in the joyous pain from laughing so much, I snorted when Jayden got into it even more with his hands on his hips and throwing in extra gyrations for good measure.
