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“Maybe? Yeah, I guess. It worked for him.”
Spence laughed. “So, I’ve been here for an hour and so far, this is what I’ve got—there are two things that can bring out DatBrawleySmile. Playing football and his personal assistant. Correct me if I’m wrong.”
It occurred to me right then and there that this sounded mushy as hell. But it also occurred to me that I didn’t care. There was nothing to correct. The only thing wrong about Spence’s statement was that I wanted Noah to be a lot more than my personal assistant.
I changed the subject not too long after that conversation and spent the next few hours watching game tape, but somehow things kept going back to Noah. By the time Spence was on his way and I was shutting the door, I couldn’t tell if I’d blown that interview or if I’d humanized myself by talking about my only fucking non-football-related friend.
When I found Noah hunched over my desk with his head braced in his hand, my spirits sank.
“Shit, I fucked up, didn’t I?”
Noah jumped up, looking guilty. “I didn’t mean to spy on you.”
“I don’t care about that. Did I mess up?”
“No . . . I don’t know.”
“Fuck.” I shook my head, scowling. “I never should have done that alone. I should have known I don’t know how to talk to people.”
“Gavin, that’s not—”
“Now that whole thing will backfire and—”
“Gavin, stop. I didn’t say any of that.”
I clammed up when he closed the distance between us. He was trying to reassure me, but he was clearly stressed. Dark brows wound together, back tense, and hair wild like he’d been clawing his fingers through it for the past few hours. I brushed some of it out of his face, unable to help myself. For just a second he closed his eyes.
“Why did you talk about me so much?”
“I’m locked in this house with you every day. Who else would I talk about?”
“I don’t know. Your other friends? Pretend Max is a female and talk about him?”
“Me and Max just have fun together, man. There’s nothing to talk about unless someone is trying to get TMI about my sex life.”
“And there should be nothing to talk about when it comes to me, unless . . .” Noah gestured as if searching for words. “Unless you’re talking about how you had to adapt to someone being in your space because you’re usually really private. But you . . . you made it out like . . .”
“I made it out like what?” I demanded. “Like we’re friends? Sorry. My mistake.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he snapped. “You said I’m the only thing besides football that makes you smile. Do you realize how that sounds?”
“I don’t give a damn about how it sounds. It’s true. And if they want to use my words to start some gay rumor, that’s their choice. I’m not gonna pretend you haven’t made a difference in my life.” I pointed at him. “How can it be a human-interest piece if I omit the person who made me want to act like a decent fucking human?”
Noah flushed so red I expected him to unload on me about the boundaries we’d just discussed, me being his boss, and then detour into how I was sabotaging myself and my shot at improving my reputation with fans, but he didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer to me, slid a hand around to brace the back of my neck, and pressed his lips against mine.
All the tension flushed out of my body to a resounding yes finally echoing in my brain.
A wrecked moan escaped me as soon as his tongue was in my mouth. I couldn’t help it, and I couldn’t hide how much he turned me on. His body pressed to mine was everything. His taste in my mouth was fucking heaven. I loved how he writhed against me, and how he wasn’t shy about taking what he wanted. He didn’t wait for me to make a move—this was happening on his terms. And that turned me on like nothing else.
Noah only released his tight grip on my hair to slide his hands up my shirt and guide it over my head. He smoothed his hands over the bumps and ridges of my torso, breath coming faster and heart pounding so violently I could feel the rhythm like a drumline beating against my chest.
“Your body is so fucking amazing.”
Many people had said those exact words to me before, but coming from Noah, with his gaze heated and hands moving over me, it made my knees weak. I leaned against the desk and let him touch me—his fingers following the path of my pecs down my torso to my abs and then dipping along my V-cuts. I thought he would stop there and keep massaging my chest while I explored his mouth, but he dropped his hand lower and slid it into the band of my shorts.
