Page 158 of Forever Relentless

“What about mini me? You still going to screw him?”

“I hate you.” I hung up.

I called him back, and he answered on the first ring. “I’m so proud of you for volunteering. I love you. Don’t talk to me about Noah!”

I hung up again when he laughed. I sat there on the bench for a little while longer. I read Noah’s texts from today and the ones from before.

I shouldn’t sleep with him again. Not for any of the reasons my brother mentioned, because yuck, but because of the stupid smile I always wore whenever I thought about Noah Matthews.

I could fall for him.

Easily.

Not because he was beautiful, though he was. Because he saw things clearly and chose to act on what he saw. Because he waited for my permission on his knees in a gallery hallway. Because he said ‘I’ll be good to you’ and meant it.

And then it could be a thing; it’d be so easy to be a thing with him. And if the thing became a thing, like a relationship . . . Then he’d graduate, get drafted, probably break my heart, and, God, it was a sad, sad story that had been told a thousand times before.

Whereas if I stayed away nothing could happen. Not when it could be avoided.

No. I wouldn’t fall for the linebacker — not any more than I already had. That ship had sailed, I suspected.

It was decided. I would avoid him.

Avoidance was the answer to my problems. Avoidance and denial.

A winning combination.

Chapter 30

Noah

Dante paced once across the room before he spoke.

“Tell me you didn’t do it.”

I took a seat on the couch, checked my phone, saw I had no new texts, and rubbed my thumb across the edge of the screen before I finally looked up at him.

“I helped.”

For a second, he just stared at me like I’d said something in another language. Then he let out a breath that sounded halfway between a laugh and a swear.

“Jesus, Noah.”

“Relax.”

“Relax?” He dragged a hand down his face. “The entire department is getting tagged in corruption posts, and you want me to relax?”

“They’re allegations,” I said.

“They’re our allegations.”

That part wasn’t technically wrong. Dante turned and paced, slower this time, like he was trying to decide whether to shout or punch something.

“You know what happens if this blows back on us?” he said.

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”