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I nod. “I don’t know what he’s doing, calling me now.”
My mood tanks, and I’m suddenly nervous about everything again. Nervous about Noah, nervous about what I’m doing.
“Don’t let him get in your head,” Michelle says. “You didn’t answer the call. You don’t know what he wants, and it doesn’t matter. Right now, you’re a million miles away from him.”
I let out a shuddering breath. “You’re right. I just hate it when he does this. Just as I think I’ve forgotten about him; he does something to remind me again.”
“That’s his plan. He doesn’t want you to put him out of your mind. He’s toxic, Ray. But you can focus on something else. Let Noah take you out; let him help you forget. Allow him to show you that not all men are assholes and you can be treated right for a change.”
I nod. Michelle is right. Maybe that’s exactly what I need to do—put my focus on something else. Noah wants to take me out, to spoil me, and I’d be lying if I say I don’t want to see him again.
Michelle finishes her sandwich and crumples the wax paper it came in. I do the same, and we stand.
“Back to work,” she says and takes my paper from me, tossing it in the bin along with hers. “Two more shows, and then you’re going to tell Noah you want to go out again.”
I nod. I’ll do exactly that. I want to see Noah again. I want to forget about Jean-Pierre. I want to have fun. And like Michelle said, I’m entitled to it.
I throw myself back into the work, but after yesterday, it’s smooth sailing. The models know what to do, I know what to expect, and we all work like a machine with all its cogs in place. The collection gets the right reaction from the crowd, and I’m pleased.
If we keep going like this, things might change for us—I’m starting to hope more and more, allowing myself to imagine what it might be like to open a branch here, to be recognized as a brand everyone wants.
I’m allowing myself to envision a better future rather than accepting this one.
Chapter 8
Noah
Rooster is at the training center long before the players arrive. I find him in the cafeteria, eating a bowl of granola and scrolling on his phone.
“Hey, man,” I say and sit down.
“What’s up.” Rooster grins at me, locks his phone screen, and puts it down on the table before shoveling more granola into his mouth. Milk drips onto his chin, and he wipes it with his sleeve. “How was your Valentine’s evening?”
I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, not bad.”
“Not bad?” Rooster guffaws. “Asshole. Tell me what happened with her.”
I shrug. “I took her home. Wasn’t that what we were there for?”
“Sure, sure,” Rooster says, nodding. “So, one and done, like always?”
I laugh. “What’s with the cross-questioning? I feel like I’m in the Spanish Inquisition. What didyoudo last night?”
“I took one of them home,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “But the difference is I didn’t know either of them. Youknewyours, didn’t you?”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“I’m not stupid, man. You have a way about you with women, and when you saw her, you lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. It’s very unlike you, so I noticed.”
I laugh. “You see, that’s why you’re a good coach. You notice the smallest offense.”
“Offense?” Rooster laughs heartily at that. “If you see what happened between you two as an offense, you’re in trouble.”
I sigh, still chuckling. “Yeah, that’s just it. Iamin trouble. I like her, man. I want to see her again.”
“Seriously?”
I nod. I know it’s weird—I don’t do shit like this. I don’t rinse and repeat, and I sure as shit don’t allow for an emotional connection if I can help it. But this isn’t like every other time. It’s Raven.
