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“I’m really sorry about today’s match,” I finally said.

“You win some, you lose some.” The weak glow from an overhead light cast broken shadows across his face. “Is that why you followed me out here? To talk about the match?”

Heat scorched my cheeks. He was such a fucking asshole sometimes. “No.”

“You should return to the bar. Samson’s waiting for you.” His tone was even, but his eyes were sharp as flint. “I’m glad you guys are hitting it off, though I have to warn you—your infatuation is ill-fated. He goes through girls like tissues.”

I crossed my arms. “What makes you think I’m infatuated with him?”

“You’re wearing his jersey.”

“It’s a shirt. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Either way, you should be talking to him, not me,” Noah said coolly. “Unless there’s something else you’re dying to tell me.”

“You are so—” I forced myself to take a deep breath before I cursed him out. That wouldn’t solve anything, no matter how good it’d feel. “Never mind. I wanted to talk to you because I feel like things have been…weird between us.” I couldn’t point to a specific action or conversation as evidence. It was just an instinct, underscored by Noah’s refusal to speak to me like a normal person in public.

Case in point: our interaction at the bar earlier.

“How so?”

“Don’t play dumb. I’m not in the mood for games, and you’re too smart for them. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” My patience had reached its limit. “You’re acting the same way you did after Budapest.”

Noah stilled. Faint laughter trickled out from the pub, but the alley went dead silent. Even the wind stopped blowing.

Last year, during Vincent’s birthday trip to Budapest, a group of us had gone clubbing. I’d had a few too many cocktails and ended up making out with some guy I met on the dance floor. I’d gotten blackout drunk soon after, so I only remembered bits and pieces of what happened next.

The guy trying to get me to go home with him. A waiting cab. Noah’s voice. A loud argument, shouting, and then—nothing. Not until I came to again and found myself in Noah’s arms.

He’d carried me into my room at the rental villa.

Helped me take off my shoes and unlace my dress.

And when he’d tried to leave, I’d wrapped myself around him and asked him to stay. It’d been so cold, and he’d been so warm and solid.

He hadn’t, but there’d been a moment, right before he left, when we’d almost kissed. I was sure of it.

“You’re drunk,” Noah said. He didn’t push me away, but he was rigid as a board as I clung stubbornly to him. It was sort of like climbing a tree. I loved climbing trees.

“Drunk but lucid,” I corrected him. Is that the right word? I think that’s the right word. “Can you at least stay until I fall asleep? You are so, so warm.”

I snuggled deeper into his chest for emphasis and sighed. It was like wrapping myself in the world’s best-smelling blanket.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” He sounded slightly pained. “You don’t need me here for that.”

I looked up at him and pouted. “But I do.”

He glowered down at me, but beneath the exasperation, I could’ve sworn I detected something else. Desire.

My heart thumped.

How come I’d never noticed how attractive Noah Wilson was? I always knew he was a good-looking guy, but the full impact of his presence hadn’t hit me until now. The strength of his arms when he’d carried me upstairs, the roughness of his hands when he’d unlaced my dress, the careful way he’d averted his eyes when I’d changed into my sleep clothes…

I licked my lips, my throat suddenly dry. His mouth was only a whisper away from mine.