Focused: A hate to love sports romance(37)

If I reached back far, so very far, into my memories, I could still remember what it felt like to kiss him. I'd kissed dozens of boys, even slept with a couple who I thought would be something to me, but the memory of Noah Griffin's lips still haunted me the most.

Slick tongue. Strong hands. Muttered curses as I climbed onto his lap.

My eyes popped open because those thoughts wouldn't bring me anywhere of value.

"What prompted it." I sighed. "That would have to be maternal influence in a nontraditional family structure."

His laughter came instantly, loud and surprising, a sharp burst of sound that had me sitting up straighter. There it was. His elusive smile. Perfect, straight white teeth and lips stretched wide across his face. The lines bracketing his mouth made it look like he smiled often, instead of the reality, which was that it was rare and fast and made you feel fortunate to see one.

"So that's why you left? Talking about Paige's role?"

"No," I said immediately. "No, it was the discussion of how our own mother influenced our family structure by her leaving."

His smile faded. "How old were you when she left?"

"Just turned fourteen. We were so young, you know? And having three younger siblings to look after, plus an older brother who was just getting his footing in his own way, it was almost like ... I couldn't dwell on how much it hurt me that she left because I had so many other things to worry about. I had my sisters to worry about, and they were so much more important than Brooke."

His eyebrows popped briefly. "I never really ... I never thought about why you guys lived with Logan. Where your parents were."

"Most people didn't know. He did such a good job of protecting us. And because he did, we could just be kids. Teenagers who got into trouble and played pranks and were allowed to make normal mistakes because we had him."

"Sounds like you protected your sisters, though, too," he said. The look he was giving me, searching and intense, reminded me of the night on the couch when he was watching film. Like I was something worth studying, like picking me apart would help him understand.

That knowledge was like someone pressed their foot on the gas pedal, but I was stuck in neutral until I could explain something to him in the right way.

"I think what I used to do then, and still do now," I said, leaning forward, my knees almost touching his, "is try to take responsibility for how they feel. And that wasn't my job. I didn't want to impose my will, you know? It wasn't like I wanted them to feel what I felt. I wanted to make sure that everything stayed okay, even if it was to my detriment."

"Even if it hurt you," he said slowly.

"Maybe. I don't know. I wasn't the teenager who threw tantrums for attention, but if I went too long trying to keep the peace among my sisters, I'd just ... burst. Do something stupid."

His eyes drifted to my mouth. "I can't imagine what you mean."

"Liar."

His grin flashed bright again, and it made my skin tighten deliciously.

"I still do it, and that's a big part of what's made me good at my job, yes, but... some of it isn't smart for me," I admitted, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "I was doing it with you."

That had him straightening. "What do you mean?"

It was so hard for me to say things like this and risk what he might think of me, so I stood nervously from the couch and went back to the window. The coffee table creaked when he stood and followed.

"I found myself worrying about how this process, this move, this change was affecting you. Affecting your game, your mood, your frame of mind."

Noah breathed deeply behind me, and I felt his exhale ruffle the hair on the back of my neck. In my mind, I imagined the string connecting us, wound tight around my hips when I turned slowly to face him.

"Is that why you pulled away this week?" he asked.

My eyes stayed focused on the line of his throat and jaw, sharp as a knife’s edge. He swallowed roughly at my unwavering attention. "Yes. Because I need to worry about how this is affecting me too."

"H-how was it affecting you?"

Had he moved closer? Or was that me?

I didn't answer, probably because my mouth went tumbleweed dry at his nearness. My eyes fell shut; my head spun dizzily. No alcohol in the world could've affected me like Noah Griffin's body next to mine.

"Because I can tell you what it did to me," he continued.

Opening my eyes, I had to tilt my chin up to see his face. "What?" I whispered.

"You became the most unreadable offense I’d faced, and you knew something like that would drive me insane. All I could think about was what I'd done wrong or how I'd upset you to make you shut me out like that."

The protestation was on my lips instantly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"So quick to defend me," he said, his mouth curving in a smile. "And I've done nothing to deserve that from you."

My hands lifted, like an invisible puppet master raised them into the air, and I forced them back down. Touching him wouldn't help. None of this was helping him or me but neither of us seemed motivated to move.

"Why did you invite me here?" I asked.

Maybe Noah had a string wound under his skin too because his hand lifted, and he watched it like he had no control over where it was going, his shaky exhale hitting my forehead in a sharp burst.