I feign shock. “Are you admitting to having checked out my hiney?”
Noah glances at me, his eyebrows about an inch above where they normally are. “Did you just say hiney?”
“Yes.”
“The only other person I’ve heard use that word is my housekeeper, Gretchen.” Noah’s eyes grow wide as soon as he’s finished saying his housekeeper’s name. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—”
I hold up my free hand. “Stop. I don’t care. You can tell me that you have seven hundred and eighty-two pairs of shoes and I wouldn't care. I mean, I would suggest you give ninety-two percent of them to charity, but other than that, I don’t care.”
Noah pulls into a space in front of a little Italian restaurant and cuts the engine.
“I feel like a fool.” He pushes back his hair and turns his body so he’s facing me.
We need a re-do. That’s what my mom calls it when one of us says something we don't mean, usually when we’re hangry. We start the scene or conversation over, and it’s like the prior one never existed. Placing my hand in the space between us, I smile. “Hi, my name is Ember Dane.”
Noah squints and his eyebrows scrunch together.
My outstretched hand shakes the air, and Noah gets the idea. He places his hand in mine and says, “Noah Sutton.”
“It’s nice to meet you Noah. Aren’t you glad we live in a Utopian society where money doesn't matter? Where all that matters is how kind we are to one another?” Our hands fall to rest on the console, but I’m not finished talking. “Noah, I don’t come from money, but that doesn't mean you should be embarrassed that you do. It’s okay with me if you talk about Gretchen. You can tell me about your gardener too, if you have one. Money is nice to have, but it doesn't dictate how happy we are. What brings you joy, Noah?”
“Soccer. Running on the field, and feeling my legs burn. After I’ve been playing for a long time my breath feels thicker, like it’s working harder to come out. And—”
He tears his gaze from me and out to somewhere on the street.
“Go on,” I urge.
“I like the games,” he continues hesitantly. “The crowd. Their enthusiasm. Bleachers full of people yelling my name.” He looks back at me, worry in his features. “Is that shallow?”
“Not at all. There’s nothing wrong with being recognized for your passion.”
“If only Stanford would recognize me.” He shakes his head. “It’s too late now though. They’ve already made their choice.”
“It’s still spring.” I don’t understand, but that’s not surprising. I don’t watch sports, and I have no idea how recruiting goes.
“The guys they want on their team next fall were picked at the beginning of this school year.” Sadness isn't even the right word to describe what he looks like he’s feeling. Maybe heartbreak? “This season is it for me. I’ll start telling people Iusedto play in high school. Then time will go on and it will change toI played growing up.”
His eyes swim with emotion, hopelessness and anguish brushing the surface. And when I see that, I understand. He’s mourning a dream. From the moment I looked into Noah’s eyes, I knew there was more to him than a letter jacket and the most perfect hair on the planet.
“I’m so sorry.” Our hands are still wrapped around each other, so I pull one free to rub his arm.
“You make it better.” Releasing my hand, he uses both of his to cup my face. “You’re magic.”
He leans in and softly brushes his lips on my cheek. I feel the hot breath of his gentle sigh, and the dragging of his lips across my skin. Before he can reach my lips, I’ve turned toward him, meeting him. I feel his smile, and then his need. Grateful, hungry kisses, and I feel like I’m floating.
When he pulls back, I miss his touch. My core is warm and my limbs feel like they’re charged with electricity. I want more, even though I’ve never hadmore.
“Wow.” He clears his throat, but his lips are curled into a satisfied smile. “I don’t know about you, but I just worked up an appetite.”
A deep breath slides through me, slowing my heart rate to a less frenzied pace. I reach for my purse, hook it around my shoulder, and point a warning finger at Noah. “Don’t be scared off by how many ravioli’s I can eat. I chased a crazy toddler around for six hours today.” I can eat a ton of ravioli even when I’ve done nothing but be a couch potato all day, too.
“Let’s get you fed then.”
We walk across the parking lot, and he pulls me close to his side. Dipping his lips to my ear, he whispers “Soccer isn't the only thing that brings me joy.”
“No?” I grin up at him.
“Nope.”
