Page 37 of Anatomy of Us

“It’s obvious she cares about you.”

“I know I can count on her,” I whisper. “And the rest of the team.” I take Tessa’s hand and lead her to the bed.

Chapter 12

Tessa

“We need to talk. Face to face. Pick the place.”

The text comes from an unknown number, but I don’t need to be a genius to know it’s Nate.

I stare at the screen for a full minute. The coffee I just made, forgotten. Outside, Seattle wakes up gray, like it almost always does this time of year.

I could ignore it. Delete it. Pretend it never showed up.

Honestly, I should.

But I need to know what he’s planning. I need to understand what we’re up against.

I type back before I can talk myself out of it.

Me: The Greyline. Capitol Hill at 10.

Public. Busy. Witnesses everywhere.

It’s not that I’m scared of him, but I like precautions. If Nate Henderson wants war, at least it happens on neutral ground.

**

The café has that Seattle hipster vibe. Styled without looking like it tries. Every detail curated. Six people stand in line to order while the window tables are already taken by laptop warriors in headphones.

Nate is already here.

He sits at a quiet table in the back. Gray suit, no tie. Hair perfect. He wears that stupid expression I’m sure he practices in the mirror every morning, the one that’s supposed to make women melt. It makes my stomach turn. He’s the type who tells you you’re amazing while he slides the knife in.

When he sees me, he smiles like he doesn’t hate me.

“Tessa. Thanks for coming.” He extends his hand.

I don’t take it.

I sit and lock eyes with him.

The smile doesn’t slip. If anything it grows. He folds his hands on the table, relaxed, like we’re two old friends catching up and not walking into a trap.

“Did you file the anonymous ethics complaint with the league?” I ask, no warm-up.

“I see you’re still as direct as ever.” He lifts his brows. “Good. I like it. I almost prefer it.” He leans back, then addswith a lazy shrug, “As you just said, it’s anonymous. So I don’t know what you’re talking about, of course.”

Nate reclines, arms behind his neck like he’s sunbathing.

I debate calling him a jackass or throwing his tea in his face. I settle for rolling my eyes and letting out a hard breath.

“Do you know why I married Zoe?” he asks, like it’s a fun story.

“For her money?”

Nate chuckles. We all know it’s true. That and the way being married to a soccer star opens doors for a sports journalist, but he likes to pretend.