“I’ve just never seen you be this short with anyone.” Noelle leans in with a sly smile. “You promised to be my fake boyfriend, which by extension means my emotional support. It’s in the contract. Fine print, obviously.”
I finally let myself grin, just a bit. “Is that before or after the ‘no feelings’ clause?”
She cackles, and it’s like an arrow to the heart. The good kind.
But my chest tightens. She doesn’t know how right she is. I know I’m grumpy. I know I’m being a jerk. But keeping my distance is easier than letting her see just how quickly she’s gotten under my skin.
“Are you ready to go back out?”
She splashes her face with water, then dabs it dry. When she makes a little “o” with her mouth, my mind goes straight to wondering if she would make a similar face when she’s having an orgasm. I shake my head to rid myself of the thought.
Does it help?
Not in the slightest.
I follow behind her and order two waters from the bartender before we reach our table.
Pros of fake dating Noelle O’Ryan? She’s a firecracker. Real, raw, too bright to look at straight on. She makes me remember things I thought I’d boxed up just fine.
Cons? Everything that matters. She laughs like my demons aren’t scary. I work for her family. I’m her brother’s best friend. Her oldest brother is the head coach. And I’mhiding things from her—invisible things, the kind that can blow up a whole life without warning. And I’m worried it’s the beginning.
She sighs, then grins. “You know, dodging questions makes you even more suspicious. Should I be checking your pockets for illegal kale?”
“Only if you want to find sugar-free mints and lint,” I deadpan, attempting to understand the emotions I’m having about my best friend’s sister.
She snorts. “Well, thanks for meeting up… even if the wheatgrass attack nearly killed me.”
I tap her arm, softer than I mean to. “You survived. Tougher than most rookies I know.”
She glows for a second, and damn if it doesn’t make my day a little less heavy. I search for a distraction. “So, do you have any other interviews lined up? Or did you terrify the network suits with your honest answers again?”
Her eyes light up and she launches in, describing the questions, the panic, the bit about her brothers and the photo wall, all while my own pulse thrums unevenly, the way it always does when I’m around her. I let her talk, stealing glances when I think she’s not looking. Even if we’re just faking it, Noelle breathes life into me after some not-so-good news. I’ve never been so taken with a woman. And I don’t have a clue what to do about that.
ELEVEN
NOELLE
It’s a universal law in the O’Ryan house that dinner is loud, messy, and slightly hazardous to your physical or mental health.
When the whole crew is here it’s slightly chaotic, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. My brothers act like every household item is a football—throwing glasses, utensils, or whatever is in reach.
Tonight’s spread is chaos on steroids: J.D. and Birdie carrying in chicken wings with all our favorite flavors. My personal fave is the bone-in garlic parmesan ones. Flats only for me. Sutton slices watermelon. Dad has the deep fryer going with homemade fries. Parker grabs the roasted vegetables from the oven, transferring them to a bowl. Paulina sets out plates, and even Witt emerges from his cave long enough to roll his eyes at Parker’s playlist.
Family banter is the soundtrack. “You call that music?” Greyson shouts over the thump of Parker’s phone, grabbing tongs like a weapon. “If you start dancing, I’m leaving.”
“Says the man who once did the worm at his wedding,”J.D. fires back, and Paulina snorts her lemonade through her nose.
“I was just practicing my moves.” Greyson grabs Sutton by the waist, kissing her neck. “Gotta come up with new moves to shake the defenders.”
Birdie waves a hand for calm, gesturing for everyone to sit. “Let’s hold off on the sports talk. We have a couple of weeks before you’re back at it, so let’s talk about something else.”
Sutton jumps in. “Noelle, give us the scoop. Any news on job interviews? I know you’ve had a few.” Instantly, every head swivels, some hopeful, some dreading more football talk.
“It’s between me and two other girls for the sideline reporter gig. I’m cautiously optimistic, which means I already stress-bought three blouses I can’t afford.”
Dad shakes his head. “Noelle, please don’t act like you’re destitute. You have everything. And if you need anything, just tell me.”
I know he’s right, but I try to live as my mom would have wanted and take responsibility for myself. “Sorry, Dad.” He just grins as everyone fills their plates.
