“No, it’s not.” I take Noah’s hands, pulling them into my chest. “It’s not. He doesn’t get to do this to us.” I shake my head, breathing him in. “I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have gone after him. I should have come back inside with you. I should have left it alone.”
A shadow falls over us, and he strokes my cheek. “Some conversations have to be had. Even if they’re tough.”
“I know.” I lower my forehead to his. “But I don’t want any part of anything that could hurt this.” My nose begins to tingle. “Noah, I want this. I want us.”
“Baby.” His hands frame my face, his palms shaking.
“I want you. Only you.”
His lips throb against mine, his eyes closing, only to open, satin blue piercing mine as he whispers, “Say you swear.”
My chuckle is more of a cry, and I smash my lips to his, my emotions whirling.
He kisses me back, the sweep of his tongue against mine serving as a promise.
An unspoken whisper from his heart to mine.
A whisper I’m ready to answer with one of my own.
“I swear.”
Chapter 33
Arianna
* * *
After the fiasco on Thanksgiving, Noah and I have found ways to spend even more time together, be it a quick walk to class or an early morning coffee run, even a few sleepovers a week at my place.
One of the nights he was here was rather embarrassing, because my parents called pretty late, so I had to let it go to voicemail, then make myself presentable and drag Noah into the living room with me, so I could call them back. The minute I told them he was here, my mom insisted on a FaceTime call instead, as I knew she would.
She was smitten in an instant, and my dad was won over when Noah deflected every compliment he was given regarding his game, finding a way to roll it over into something that didn’t place him in the spotlight, but highlighted the team as whole.
It couldn’t have gone any better, and by the end of it, they invited him over for the holidays, which I had to promptly remind them they wouldn’t even be home for.
Of course, that only led to Mom casually slipping in how she meant next year’s Christmas—her way of claiming him a keeper.
I had to agree.
Mason is back in full force and better than ever, according to Noah’s play-by-play of recent practices I had decided to skip. The game plan they went with when Mason was hurt is being rolled out again this week, but with several adjustments on the line.
Brady is an official starter now. He only steps off the field when the ball is turned over and it’s the defense’s turn.
Chase is doing well too, I guess, but I can’t even look at him, let alone speak to him.
I’m angry and with good reason.
But I wish I weren’t, because rage always leads to ruin.
And it seems mine was no exception…
Noah had to skip his workout this morning because he had an exam he had already rescheduled from their last game, so when he messaged me saying he was going to go to the stadium to use the gym he has a key for, he asked if I wanted to tag along.
He’s been beasting it up for about forty-minutes now, but I’m shot.
Completely winded, I step off the treadmill, snatching my towel off the railing to wipe my face, and as I turn around, I gasp, my hand freezing midair.
A shirtless Noah stands not ten feet away. His body is angled just right, allowing me the perfect view of his abs, clenching and unclenching as he works out his delectable arms.
I bite my lip, trailing the beads of sweat running down the center of his chest, over and between the lickable ridges of his ribs and stomach, before disappearing into his waistband.
My breathing grows heavy, my core constricting as his muscles do with each movement he makes, sending a burning desire straight through me. Rhianna’s “Skin” plays through my iPod speaker and all I can think of is the feeling of his body against mine.
My hand lifts, my fingertips skimming across my jaw, and slowly dragging down from there, past my throat, until they’re sprawled across my collarbone.
Noah lifts the hand weights over his head with fluid motions, his arms bending backward, his elbow bent in the air, giving me a full view of his core working. His sexy scripture tattoo teasing me, begging me to touch it, to kiss it.
To run my hands along it as I have so many times, waiting for the color within his eyes to change.
To darken.
Waiting for my man to lose his patience and take it out on me.
When he brings his arms back to his front, he glances over and does a double take. His stormy eyes lock on mine, sending a bolt of electricity from my head to my toes. Goosebumps rise over every inch of me.