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“We can give you a ride,” Max says, glancing at me. I nod. I’m not going to make him walk home in the dark.

Nate looks right at me as his lips curl upward into a pretty, and somehow sensual, smile.

“Thank you,” he all but purrs.

Jesus . I look over at Max, who’s watched this exchange with interest. I hope he didn’t see me giving Nate my number. I don’t want him to think my attention is divided in any way. Nobody comes before Max—now or ever.

“Let’s get going. Have you eaten?” I ask Max, even as I already know the answer before he shakes his head. No, of course he hasn’t. He probably hasn’t eaten all day. I force a smile. “We can grab food on the way home.”

As we leave the ballpark, Nate walks close enough to me that I can smell him.

I don’t even know what the smell is, except it makes me think of leather and man.

I want to lean closer but don’t. Not with Max on my other side, watching Nate with curious golden-brown eyes.

When we get to the car, he reaches for the rear passenger door.

“No,” I tell him, “you can sit in the front.”

But he merely shakes his head and slides silently into the back, leaving Nate to the shotgun seat. He looks at me—a question burning in his eyes as his hand hovers over the door handle.

“It’s fine,” I mutter, climbing in and ducking my head to clip my seat belt into place. I glance back at Max and over at Nate, making sure everyone has their seat belt on. “Okay, food first, or do you want me to drop you off at home?”

I wince internally at the way Nate’s eyes light up at the invitation, not having meant to offer for him to join us. I don’t know why I can’t seem to act normal around him.

“Food sounds great!” Nate says, looking so happy at the invitation I can’t bring myself to retract it. “My treat,” he offers.

Backing out of the space, I glance at Max. “Your choice, Max. What are you hungry for?”

He doesn’t look over at me, but continues staring out the window as he thinks. I feel a pang of loss for my friend of two years ago, who would request a stop at multiple restaurants because he wouldn’t be able to choose just one.

“Maybe…just a hamburger from McDonald’s?” he says finally, as though asking me if that is indeed what he’s hungry for. I can’t even force a smile this time, and settle for a nod. I feel a little sick, and even though nobody is touching me, my body burns with discomfort.

“Sounds great to me. I practically live off the dollar menu,” Nate says easily, leaning back in his seat and curling his fingers around the safety handle on the roof.

It does very interesting things for the muscles in his arm.

I will myself not to notice these things, though, because I need to focus on driving.

“Hey, you moved here from South Dakota, right, Max?” Nate asks, turning to look at him over the back of his seat .

“Yeah. Me and Marcos came together.”

“We were practically neighbors! I’m from Wyoming.” I can see the smile that’s aimed in my direction after this statement, a flash of white teeth. My fingers clench around the steering wheel as I resist the urge to look over at him. Jesus, but I want to smile back. What’s the matter with me?

“Oh, cool,” Max says. “I thought…I thought you lived in Montana?”

Nate starts to twist around further in his seat, stretching the seat belt out.

I reach a hand over and stop just shy of touching his arm.

It doesn’t matter. I can feel the way his eyes snap to my face, and the weight of that stare.

Pulling my hand back, I place it on the steering wheel and clear my throat.

“Can you face forward, please? If we get in an accident, you could get hurt sitting like that.”

“Sure,” he agrees, and straightens out. Even so, I feel a slight burn of shame in my chest. I’ve turned into someone who can’t have fun.

Someone who is constantly assessing risk and possible dangers, and trying to protect the people around me.

It’s stifling—I know it is—but I can’t make myself stop.

It’s a compulsion, now, the same way checking Max’s location on my phone is one.

I’ve tried to cease doing it, but I can’t.

“You’re right, though, I do live in Montana during the summer.

I was born in Wyoming, and then we moved to Montana to be closer to my uncle.

He’s the one who’s helping pay for my school, too.

He doesn’t have any kids, so I’m the stand-in.

My parents moved back to Wyoming, but I spend the most time on the ranch in Montana. ”

I can’t help but glance over at him. Nate on a ranch. Nate riding a horse. I’d wondered if there was any way the man could be sexier, and now, apparently, the universe is laughing at me.

“Wow, that’s pretty awesome,” Max says, sounding like he means it. “I bet it’s weird being here. When you’re used to Montana and Wyoming?”

I can tell Nate wants to flip around in his seat again, eager to look at Max while they chat.

I contemplate pulling over and letting him get out to climb into the back with him, but instead just drive us carefully toward McDonald’s.

I stay silent, and let them talk. This is more words than I’ve heard from Max all week.

They keep it up all the way to the restaurant, the only break in conversation when we leave the car to walk inside.

When we get to the counter and order, Nate reaches over my shoulder and hands over his credit card.

I shake my head and make a motion to grab it back, but he gently pushes my arm down to my side.

Insanely, I have a sudden regret for putting on the long-sleeved shirt.

A little discomfort would be worth having his hands on me.

Annoyed with myself, I scowl at Nate. “You don’t have to pay.”

“I said I would.” Tucking his hands into his back pockets, which, again, does something obscene to the muscles in his shoulders and chest, he rocks back on his heels and grins at me. “Least I can do, since you’re giving me a ride.”

“Thank you,” Max says from beside me, and I mumble my own thanks.

We spread out at one of the sticky McDonald’s tables, a tray in front of each of us.

Immediately, as though this is the first food he’s had in days, Nate shoves a handful of fries in his mouth.

Max, sitting next to him and across the table from me, looks down at his own food in resignation.

I’d ordered for him, since I know what he likes, and in the hope that he’d eat the whole thing since someone else paid for it. If he even manages half, I’ll be happy.

“Okay, Marcos,” Nate mumbles, before swallowing his mouthful and taking a swig of Pepsi. He might be beautiful, but his taste in soda is obviously flawed. Pepsi. Disgusting. “I need to know about baseball. Hit me with the dirty details.”

He curls his fingers at me above the table, as though trying to get me to hand him something. I glance over at Max, who doesn’t duck his head fast enough to hide his grin. Nate watches me with wide, candid green eyes.

“I don’t know any dirty baseball details,” I tell him, thinking he’s asking for gossip.

“The rules,” Max clarifies, smiling as he puts a single french fry in his mouth and chews like it’s made of rubber. “He wants you to explain the rules.”

I frown at Nate, who nudges his foot against mine beneath the table. Taking a bite of my burger, I nudge him back, a little more firmly.

“All right,” I start. “So the basic rules of baseball are pretty simple.”

Nate watches me as I talk, occasionally shoveling food into his mouth but never taking his eyes off of mine.

I divide my own attention between him and Max, wanting to make sure the latter is eating.

He is, which makes me wonder if the trick to getting him to do so is to bring him out with others.

I have a feeling it’s only Nate’s presence that is spurring him to make the effort.

Even so, his expression as he does gives the impression that the food is rotten.

I hardly notice it as it’s happening, but I feel better by the time I’m pulling up into the house Nate shares with his roommates.

I’m calmer, somehow, and less in my own head than I was right after the game.

I’ve even rolled up my sleeves, and manage not to flinch when Nate’s fingertips brush across my wrist unnecessarily as he unclips his seat belt.

“Thanks for letting me tag along,” he says cheerfully, turning around to grin at Max. “See you tomorrow.”

I watch him as he strolls up to the front door and fumbles with his key, waiting for Max to slide into the now vacated passenger seat.

Once he’s belted in and Nate is safely inside, I back out of the driveway.

Immediately, Max turns to me. The car is dim enough that I can’t really see his expression, but I know him well enough that it doesn’t matter.

“So,” he starts, and then pauses to see if I’ll fill in any of those blanks.

“So.”

“How do you know Nate?”

“Same way you know Luke. We just met.”

Max makes a disgruntled noise at that, clearly unhappy with the answer.

I can’t think of a good reason not to tell him about what happened, except that it feels…

private, somehow. It felt like a one-time thing when it happened, and even though Nate acted like he wanted another round when he asked for my number tonight, I don’t exactly know where we stand.

Nate told me he’d never been with a guy before—told me he was straight—and if I tell Max what happened, I’ll be outing his teammate.

I can’t be that guy, no matter that I don’t see Nate being someone who would mind if Max knew.

“Do you have a class together?” Max asks, face scrunched up in confusion as he tries to connect the dots.

“No. I went out with the team last weekend, and we met at the party.”

“Really?” He sounds surprised. “You obviously made a hell of an impression. He couldn’t wait to see you after the game.”