“You like to cook?”
“Cooking is fine, but I love to bake,” I admit. It was something I did with my grandmother before she passed away, and now I go to my grandfather’s whenever I have the chance to make the house smell like her. And keep him stocked with desserts.
“You can use our kitchen anytime,” Noah offers.
I laugh, because he’s probably joking, but I used this kitchen so many times last year I could do it blindfolded. Football players can eat, so to earn my welcome, my baking hobby became an obsession. Desserts, mostly, but casseroles and healthier options were strongly encouraged after a while.
I follow Noah upstairs and try not to flinch when we pass Dallas’ old room, where I once had my heart ripped out. I can still see Kinsey, my supposed best friend, making out with the guy I’d had a crush on, who she’d previously called weird and made fun of me for liking. Which I could have gotten over, the heart wants what it wants, but she’d done it purposely to hurt me.
“This is me.” Noah draws me back to the present, opening the door to what used to be Rico’s room.
I smile, because this was my favorite when Dallas was moving in. It’s smaller than the master, but there’s a huge window with a built-in bench that I wanted to curl up on with a book.
“The best one,” I say under my breath, trying not to explore too much, but it’s hard when he’s just invited me into his private space, with a desk and a bookshelf I could learn a lot about him from. Everything is neat, the bed made, drawers shut firmly, with the closet door open like he has nothing to hide. “It’s tidy,” I tell him, but he’s looking at me with questions in his eyes, and I swallow, because I’m pretty sure he heard my first comment.
Chapter Fifteen
Noah
Hope For Me Yet
“Have you been here before?”
Savannah shrugs with a smile, both like she’s terrified of being caught, and somehow enjoying my reaction.
“How many of the rooms have you seen?” It’s absolutely none of my business, but I’m dying to know.
“Are you jealous?” she asks, teasing me, but so nervous and uncertain that it comes off way cuter than it has any right to be, especially when she worries her bottom lip.
“Considering Mike and Owen don’t bring girls home, Colt sleeps with anything that moves, and David will never get over his high school sweetheart, I am very curious.”
“But not jealous?”
“Not at all,” I lie.
“It was before you lived here.”
She says it dismissively, as if I don’t know this used to be the Football house. I take a moment to compose myself, not sure where the jealousy comes from, but this house saw a lot of parties last year, pretty much every weekend unless they had a big game, and there were maybe a hundred guests running around. She might have just explored the upstairs on her own out of curiosity. Or maybe tutored a jock. At home. In his bedroom.
“When you said you were more familiar with football, I naively assumed we were talking about the sport.” And the stands, because that’s where this girl does her best writing, other than a classroom, which is a habit she says she needs to break if she wants to graduate, but the more time I spend with her, the more I think she might be the smartest person I know.
She punches me in the arm with way more strength than I was expecting.
“Gross.” She flinches.
“You really don’t like athletes?”
“Nothing against them, just…never saw the appeal.”
“In athletes, or football players?”
Savannah bites her bottom lip as she takes me in like she’s considering it, but her cheeks flush.
“You mentioned a book? Unless it was a lie to kidnap me?”
“You don’t sound afraid.”
“Your neighbor saw me walk in and she seems like the type who pays attention and might call the cops if you leave without me. Or carrying a body bag,” she warns.
