Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

“I’ll make you soup someday, Nathan Waller,” I say, even though I’m sure it’s a lie.

I doubt we’ll see each other after whatever happens tonight.

He takes the glass from my right hand and puts it in my left, then holds his hand out between us.

I lift a brow. “What are you doing?”

“Shaking on it.” Nathan holds his hand closer to me.

I roll my eyes, but I place my palm against his. “Is it even binding if we don’t spit in our hands first?”

Nathan lifts our joined hands toward his mouth. “If you want me to spit, Rosie, just say so.”

His gaze is molten, and I press my knees together tighter and whisper, “Not at the moment.”

Nathan drops our joined hands onto his thigh and tips his head back with a groan. “Dammit, Rosie.” His hood slides off his head as he shakes it. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

A small laugh leaves me at his dramatics. “You started it.”

He straightens back up so he can look at me. “And you made it worse. Better. Pick your poison.”

I grimace at the word poison while I swallow down more alcohol.

I set my glass down and slide my hand out of his grip. “You’ve lost your disguise.”

Feeling bolder now that my glass is nearly empty, I lean toward him and reach up, my fingers catching on the material of his hood.

Nathan hunches his shoulders, lowering his frame enough so I can pull the material back up over his hair.

The black hood stops at the top of his forehead, but pulling it forward causes some of his hair to hang down into his eyes.

Keeping my attention on my hands, I gently tuck his hair back under his hood, the strands soft against my fingers.

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.