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“The only person at fault is my brother.” I flex my hand. “Who you’ll be getting an apology from sooner or later.”
“Where does that leave us?” She finally finds my eyes, and that’s when I realize she’s been crying. Fuck, I did that. Me. And damn if that doesn’t rock my world.
“That depends on you. I want this with you. I want to see where this is going, and I want to do it with you by my side.” My mom would kick my ass if she knew I’ve hurt Noelle.
“Are you sure? Because this wasn’t what I expected. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to come back,” she admits.
“I’m positive. I’m going to show you exactly how positive I am, starting right now.” My hand cups her cheek, and when hers covers mine, she realizes my knuckles are cracked.
“What did you do?” Her hand slides to my wrist, pulling it down and looking at the cuts.
“My brother, Justin, he’s the one who owns Date for Hire. He asked me to accompany you in his place. He lied to me, lied to you, and now he’ll never pull a stunt like that again.”
“Oh, Easton, come on.” She stands up. The belt loosens and her robe gapes, showing me and the neighborhood skin.
“Inside, Noelle. Not worried about my hand as much as you showing too many people what’s mine,” I grunt as I straighten. My hand slides inside her robe, holding her close to me while feeling her skin.
“Hand first, then you can have your wicked way with me.” My hand slides down, cupping the cheek of her ass, lifting her up, and she wraps her legs around me.
“My hand can wait. Getting inside you is all that matters.” Her head dips. She nips at my jaw only to soothe the slight sting away with her tongue.
“Easton,” she moans, rubbing herself against me. Between the cat, the steps, and the door, I’m going to do good to make it inside the house before I take her against the front door.
“Fuck, Noelle,” I groan. My hand is on the doorknob, and we make it inside. There’s no holding back now. My mouth lands on hers, soft lips, sweet sighs, then my tongues invades her. I kick the door shut, push her against the nearest wall, and apologize to her with my touch.
Epilogue
Easton
Six Weeks Later
A lot can change in a short amount of time, kind of like me finally forgiving my shit-for-brains brother. Who now is making his own path in life with his dating service he has set up online. I didn’t agree with how we went about conniving his plan, but in the end, it got me the girl. Noelle is currently sitting on the back patio, a glass of wine in her hand, hair up in a messy bun, a sweatshirt hanging off her shoulder, and a blanket on her lap. She’s waiting for me to join her after spending the afternoon with our families combined. Thankfully, Isabella was a good buffer when things got tense and Justin opened his mouth to insert his fat foot. We’ve kept how we met a secret. Neither of us wants to deal with the looks and questions we’d get.
“Hey, where have you been?” Noelle asks, sitting up and moving from her slouched state on the couch and ottoman set. Tonight, we’re at my place, where she prefers, yet I’ve been unable to convince her to move in permanently. I’m hoping to change her mind after tonight.
“Work. I don’t know who’s worse, the players, the coaches, or the athletic department,” I grumble as I move closer, a bottle of beer in my hand. It’s not a total lie. The phone call came as I was in the closet, grabbing the important part of today.
“All of the above, I’d say.” She tucks her feet beneath her legs. Every night we’re here, my seat is in front of her in one way or the other. Usually, her legs are on the ottoman, open for my shoulders to wedge between them as we watch the last rays of sun cascade over the water. Noelle’s hands will be in my hair, and I’ll massage her feet while we both decompress after work.
“You’re right about that.” I sit on the stool instead, facing her, needing to see her face for what I’m about to ask. “Today seemed to go better.” Sonia is a force to be reckoned with. It doesn’t matter how many times Ramon gives her the look or tells her to stop, she keeps up with the questions. Thankfully, my mom was here to run interference, got her talking about the most mundane things and gave Noelle and myself some time to breathe.
“Remind me to send your mom the biggest bouquet of flowers tomorrow. I didn’t realize how neurotic she’d get once we made things official.” There’s a look of worry on her face, and she quickly adds, “In the dating sense, I mean.” My mother raised a teenage boy on her own. She knew the best way to get me to talk willingly was to sit me out. The waiting game is what Mom liked to call it. She’d be working at the kitchen counter on her laptop, making sure she was in the hub of the house. That was where our conversations happened, or when we were in the car. She’d bribe me with an ice cream or a meal in order to spend extra time with me. A lot of talking happened that way. Our relationship was always honest and open, and she used to tell me her biggest fear was raising her son to become a man she didn’t like. Truthfully, I think she was worried I’d turn out like my dad. Mom did a great job raising me, and I’m nothing like him.
