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Another mouth twist and another skeptical stare. Noah loved letting me know he disagreed with both the full power of his side eye and his words. “Not all journalists are evil, you know. Sometimes I bet stories go wrong after they run it up a flagpole and editors tweak things to fit the narrative they want to put out.”
“So now I have to worry about editors fucking me up even if Spence likes me.”
“Gavin, stop.” Noah stepped around the counter and put a hand on my shoulder. He squeezed, frowned at how tense my muscles were, and squeezed again. “He doesn’t have to like you. Everyone knows Gavin Brawley doesn’t put on a show for anyone, and I doubt he’s expecting you to. Just be the same with him as you were with me, and we’ll be fine. You barely even have to talk to the guy if you don’t want to. Remember? He said he was going to shadow you.”
That was a very good point I’d somehow forgotten. “So you’re saying we can just go about our day?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. He might talk to us or ask questions, but this isn’t really an interview. It’s him seeing what a famous athlete does when he’s under house arrest and observing.”
The kinks unwound in my shoulders, and I was putty in his grip. Without thinking, I inched forward. It didn’t occur to me I was too far into his space until he took a half step back. Fuck, I liked him. The desire to be nearer to him was constant and distracting. But I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d ever read me as well as he could, and who tried to talk things through with me instead of treating me like an idiot or a child.
I’d spent the previous night trying to figure out if him treating me with a measure of respect was why I was so infatuated, but I liked too many other things about him for it to just be that one. He stood up for himself, he was fair, he cared about people, and he was the only dude I’d ever met who looked hot in a button-down. Or maybe that was my infatuation speaking.
“You’re good at de-escalating me.”
“Deescalating,” Noah repeated, smiling. “I see you’re taking your therapy sessions to heart.”
I grunted. “Only so I can figure out how to channel my near-constant rage into working out and football instead of blasting on you and Joe all the time.”
“You don’t really blast on me anymore. Just call me on the weekend to weirdly question me about what I was doing.”
“What can I say? I’m a curious person.”
“A nosy person,” Noah countered. “If you really want to know, I was watching sports-themed rom coms with Jasmine. We were using it to create a bullshit list of pros and cons as to why she should or should not date Marcus.”
Snorting out a laugh, I grabbed a slice of his toast and bit into it. He watched but didn’t scold me.
“You should tell her to give him a chance.”
“Why? I don’t know him.”
“He’s a good dude,” I said. “Only had one girlfriend since high school. She dumped him after he got drafted in the first round. Figured he’d turn into some sleazebag and didn’t want to spend the life of their relationship being paranoid. I don’t blame her.”
“Did he?”
I shrugged. “After she dumped him, he started partying hard. Couldn’t say if it would have happened regardless or not, but over time he realized it’s not his thing. Doesn’t like screwing around.”
“Huh.” Noah did his thinking pose again, pressing the flat of his thumb against the swell of his lower lip. “Can I tell her this information came from you?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. I’ll pass it along.”
We looked at each other, me still chewing his toast and him pensive the way he always was, before the clock chimed. It drew him out of his thoughts, and he grabbed his remaining slice of bread.
“So, I emailed Mel after you called me on Saturday and she gave me a list of safe topics. We can go over it after breakfast.”
“That’s what you did on Saturday night?”
“Yeah. I don’t mind. It didn’t take very long.” Noah walked around the counter without meeting my gaze. “What did you do?”
“Worked out, watched porn, and swam. I lead a full life.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
He gave me his skeptical face, which was half eyebrow raise and half exasperated and fond smile, before turning to the refrigerator. He knew I was full of shit, but he had no idea why.
I’d also called a woman at Under Armour to follow up on whether they had any corporate openings that would fit Noah’s father. She’d apparently not seen the résumé in her email, and had agreed to look into it as soon as possible.
