We groaned in unison, the sounds lost in each other's mouths as our movements got messier and the kiss got deeper. My tongue pushed harder against hers when she caught the tip of it with the sharp edges of her teeth.
Her hands dug into my hair and pulled me harder against her. I couldn't get any closer to her, not if I tried. I rocked, pleasure gathering in a ball of flames at the base of my spine, so I gritted my teeth and pulled away from her.
She whimpered when I did, and I smiled against her mouth.
"Patience," I murmured between artless kisses. Whatever I lacked in finesse, I made up for in sheer fervor because she tasted so good and felt so good, and my hands were up underneath her shirt in the next heartbeat.
I wanted to feel the thrashing of her heart under my palm, I wanted to rip her leggings off and know how much she wanted me, I wanted to mark her chest with my mouth and stay with her like this for the rest of the night.
Molly froze completely, her hands pushing against my chest.
I did the same, my mouth hovering over hers as I took in the wide eyes and flushed cheeks and mussed hair.
"Noah," she whispered. "We shouldn’t do this."
Four years of playing professional football and four years of college before that honed my discipline into something that was iron sharp, and I had to use every single ounce of that discipline to let her feet drop carefully to the ground.
"Right," I said.
"We can't, Noah," she said apologetically. "You know we can't."
I nodded, swiping a hand over my mouth. I wasn't sure I knew that, but I'd respect her all the same.
"We-we have a whole weekend together after this. It's important," she continued. I wasn't sure who she was trying to convince—me or herself. "And Beatrice would kill me."
Like I cared what her boss thought. But Molly did. I pinched my eyes shut and leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead.
"It's okay," I told her. "It's okay."
For a moment, she leaned into me, letting her face fall into the center of my chest as I wrapped an arm around her back.
"It'll be all right."
Molly nodded shakily.
"It'll be all right," I repeated.
I just broke a woman-free streak that had lasted years, and I was about to spend the weekend with her. And a camera crew. And my grandma. And I was supposed to keep my hands off her now that I knew exactly how she tasted and the noises she made when she sucked my tongue into her mouth.
No problem.
Chapter Eighteen
Molly
A few things became clear to me over the next eighteen hours since I walked on Jell-O legs out of Noah's new house.
1- Noah could still kiss
2- I was an idiot
3- I needed an intervention because I tossed and turned the entire night afterward, replaying that kiss like he'd just served me the best sex of my entire life
Number two was the one I needed to focus on the most. It should have told me everything I needed to know that it wasn't in the number one spot in the first place. Rick and Marty wanted to do some editing before we left for South Dakota, and Noah had a big practice before the weekend leading into preseason, so we didn’t film the next day.
Work provided a meager distraction, but not enough to quiet my screaming thoughts. The whole day at my desk, my thoughts had done this basic dance.
Did kissing count as fraternization?
No.
Yes.
Maybe, because there was a lot of tongue action.
But probably not.
Fraternization was probably just P into V. Actual intercourse, like the way they'd taught us in middle school. Nothing else counted.
Would Beatrice demote me for making out with him?
No.
Yes.
Maybe, because holy shit there was a lot of tongue action.
I called Isabel as soon as I left the parking lot because I knew she was working, and I knew there were no classes scheduled that night.
"Can I come do a training session with you?"
On the other end of the phone, I heard the thumping bass and the mic'd up voice of one of their instructors running a class. She must have closed the door to her office because it quieted considerably. "Sure. I need to be here anyway because Amy is doing a one on one with a client, and we always make sure neither of us is alone when it's someone new."
"Good," I exhaled gustily. "I need you to beat the thoughts in my head into submission."
"I'll see what I can do," she promised.
By the time I got there, Claire and Lia decided to join too, and I grinned on my way into the building. The mirrored doors swung open, and I saw my sisters stretching in the empty square that was surrounded by steel frames and swinging chains holding heavy one-hundred-and-fifty-pound bags.
Isabel's hands were wrapped in black, her hair slicked back into a sleek ponytail at the top of her head, and her tall, lean body was covered in black leggings and a black halter top.
I'm nicer after kickboxing her shirt proclaimed in big block letters.
It was hard for me to recognize sometimes exactly how my little sister turned into such a badass.
Amy, the gym's owner, was in the back corner by the racks of free weights, medicine balls, and jump ropes. She was stretching too, and she waved at me as I joined my sisters.
"Will her client care that we're here?" I asked Iz as I plopped on the ground and started tying my shoes.
She shrugged. "I can't see why. He's still getting a personal training session."
"You don't think Amy could handle some new guy alone?" Lia snorted. "Amy could beat the shit out of Logan on a bad day."
We all laughed.
Isabel smiled. "She could, but that's not the point. It's a safety thing. When we don't know the client, male or female, we make sure we're not here alone with them."
Claire laid back on the rubber mat floor. "I'll just relax here. Someone wake me when you're done."
Lia nudged her as she stood. "Slacker. Come on, we're here for Molly."
When Lia glared at me, I held up my hands. "Don't blame me. I didn't invite you."
"You didn't have to," Claire said. "In lieu of a golden retriever, younger sisters must act in an emotional support assistance capacity."
"We really do need a dog," Isabel said. "Because you two complain too much."
Lia kicked her leg out, which Iz dodged nimbly. Then she shoved her hands into the focus mitts that I'd end up punching the shit out of and slapped them together sharply. It sounded like a gunshot in the gym, and Claire jumped. Isabel chuckled. "Come on, lazy ass, get up. We're not here to waste my time; we're here to work. Let's go. Two laps around the gym, then back to your bags and give me a side lunge into a side kick. Each side five times. If that heel isn't higher than your toes when you kick the bag, you owe me a burpee."
We all groaned but did as she asked.
Thirty minutes later, my mind was clearer, my shirt was soaked in sweat, and my arms and legs were burning.
I loved how yoga improved my flexibility and core, but sometimes, I just wanted to beat the shit out of the bag.
Trying to decide what to do after making out with Noah and dry humping him against his front door was one of those times.
I flopped onto the ground when I was supposed to be doing push-ups and watched with an exhausted grin as Isabel yelled at Lia to move faster.
"I'm done," gasped Claire as she joined me. "Next time you need emotional support, please go to a dog shelter or something, okay?"
That had me laughing, though it quickly dissolved to a groan when that hurt too.
"Why are we supporting you again?" she asked.
I gave a quick side-eye at her phrasing. "Just ... it's a big weekend. I needed to clear my head before I'm stuck in a cabin with Noah."
Stuck in a cabin. Imagining his hands. And lips. And oh, my stars, how big and strong and hard and ... big ... and hard ... he was.
Thank good
ness my face was already bright red from the beatdown Iz was giving us.
Isabel came over and frowned at the two of us. "You're not done."
"Yes," I said. "We are."
"I need to be able to walk tomorrow, Iz."
She blew a raspberry with her lips. "Walking easily is overrated. How else will you appreciate the body you have if you don't feel every single ... muscle." Her eyes went laser sharp, and her voice trailed off as someone walked into the gym. I sat up and turned, and Claire did the same. "Holy shit," Isabel whispered.
Holy shit was right.
New client was tall and dark and handsome. New client had muscles on muscles, and a dark, forbidding expression that sent a shiver down my spine.
"I know him," Lia murmured as she came to stand next to Isabel. "He was an MMA fighter. Finn loved watching his fights."
Just before he approached Amy, he glanced at us, eyes touching briefly on Isabel, before he dismissed us completely.
I heard Iz suck in a breath. "Yeah, he was. His wife just died, so he retired to take care of his daughter."
That cast a quiet hush over the four of us.
"You okay, Iz?" Claire asked.
She blinked. "Yeah. We're done, right?"
I exchanged glances with Lia and Claire, who gave me identical shrugs. "Yeah, we're done. I should go home to shower and pack anyway."
"When do you leave?" Lia asked.
"I have about three hours. But we're taking a private plane, so I can get to the air strip right before we take off and be fine."
"Baller." Claire grinned.
"Ha. Yeah, I am."
Isabel started picking up around the bags, and her cheeks were bright pink.
"What's her deal?" I whispered.
Lia shrugged again. "Who knows. I'd ask but ..." Her voice trailed off, and we all knew why.
We could ask, but unless Isabel wanted to share, she wouldn't tell us shit.
"Maybe she was a fan of his," Claire said, pointing at Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary-looking.
"Maybe." I sighed. "Okay. Tell me that I'll be fine this weekend."
“You will,” Claire said. “No matter what happens, you’ll be fine.”
Lia grabbed my shoulders, serious face in place. "You can do this. He's just a big dumb football player who won't remember you when he's gone from Washington, which will probably be soon since players are traded all the time."
Claire's mouth fell open. "You are terrible at this,” she told her twin.
My mouth screwed up like I had sucked on a lemon. "Thanks."
I gave all three of them hugs and made my way home to shower and pack.
As I did those things, Lia's poorly delivered words banged around my head like it was an empty crate.
She was wrong. He wasn't dumb, and he wouldn't forget me.
But she was also right. He could leave at any time, given his abrupt exit from Miami.
That still wasn’t justification enough to put my job on the line. But it did add a certain edge to my thoughts, an urgency that I couldn’t deny as I packed my suitcase.
My history with Noah had started off with a poorly thought out decision, one that was made without heeding any possible consequences, and ended—for me, at least—in humiliation and tears.
We were both older and wiser, but I couldn’t say we were any less stubborn, not in the ways that counted.
Noah was decisive and self-controlled. His journey to making a choice, no matter how big or small, was quick and instinctual. It was why he was a great player. All the great players had that in common. If you took the time to pause and second-guess, someone else would move past you.
In his new house, he’d decided that kissing me was his next course of action, and he never wavered. Kissing him back had felt amazing, but there’d still been a niggling sensation in the back of my head, a voice that I hadn’t quite been able to mute.
I zipped up the side of my suitcase slowly.
Could I walk into this weekend and not allow that voice to hold me back?
What I wouldn’t do was be a typical football groupie, begging for whatever scraps he’d allow me.
And I wouldn’t ask him to sacrifice something he wasn’t ready to sacrifice. I respected his drive more than that. Just as he respected me enough to stop when I’d asked.
The choice was mine.
I could take this weekend and own the opportunity for what it was. A chance, even if it was my only one, to finally bring this tangled history with Noah full circle. I could clearly, and deliberately, take a step into action and understand the weight of what I was doing, if he got on that plane and wasn’t shutting me out completely.
Noah's career, my career, was so much bigger than anything we were working on that weekend. I wasn't even sure that this Amazon documentary would make a highlight reel by the time he retired. Which also meant my time with him was short within the context of his career.
A window to finish something we’d started a very, very long time ago.
The comparison had me smiling because a window is what got us into this mess in the first place. His behavior back then had guided my own, and as I finished up, I knew I’d treat this weekend no differently.
I arrived at the airfield in jeans, a black zip-up hoodie, and my black Chucks in place on my feet. He smiled at them when I approached.
"I'll take your suitcase," he said and lifted it up for me so I could ascend the narrow steps uninhibited.
"Thanks," I told him. He let me go up into the plushy decorated plane first. A smiling flight attendant stopped and asked if I wanted a glass of champagne. "Oh, just water, please."
No more wine for me, not in the presence of cameras and Noah Griffin. Marty and Rick had their heads bent toward a laptop screen, and I waved at them before taking a seat in the wide captain’s chair covered in soft, buttery leather.
"You ready for this?" Noah asked as he sat opposite of me. His eyes were warmer today than I'd ever seen them, and I liked the way he studied my face, like he could absorb the details on my skin without so much as a single touch.
"I'm excited to meet your grandma," I told him.
The way he smiled melted something inside me. If his behavior was going to be my guide, then I was slowly, slowly sinking into an ooey gooey puddle of I want him.
"My grandma is the best woman I've ever known." He shook his head. "Just to warn you, she'll probably call me embarrassing nicknames and fuss over me."
I smiled. "There's nothing wrong with that."
"No," he admitted. "There's not."
He glanced over at Rick and Marty and shook his head again. "I should probably interrupt them to say thank you."
"For what?"
When he glanced back at me, his eyes glowed. This was Noah happy. That was why he looked so unfamiliar. It wasn't that driven, hyper-focused man who kept blinders on to everything outside of the game. It wasn't the man who frowned at the screen when he watched film. Because no matter what he said to Marty, he did do that. Or who worked out simply because he was bored at night.
This was Noah. The version of him I'd never met before.
I wanted to tie him to my bed and mount him like a cowboy on a bucking bronco.
"For picking me," he said. "If nothing else, I'm glad I did this documentary thing because it's getting me out to visit her again. It's been too long." Noah shrugged. "I miss her, you know?"
If this was my first glimpse of a carefree Noah, and we were on our way to his happy place, free of the distractions of work, I was completely and utterly screwed, and we hadn't even taken off yet.
Chapter Nineteen
Noah
As we left the small airstrip about forty minutes away from my grandma's, it was hard for me to make polite conversation with the three people riding with me in the car. Molly had taken care of all the logistics of getting us from Seattle to Custer, South Dakota, and the stoic driver of the large black Escalade was about as talkative as I was.
Our reasons were dif
ferent, no doubt, but nobody riding in the vehicle questioned either of us.
As he maneuvered the car along the winding roads toward my grandma's, I stared out the window and felt a foreign pang of melancholy. And guilt.
For the second time in the past week, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd made a sharp turn in the wrong direction of my life. It was unsettling, and I didn't like to feel unsettled in this place that I loved so much.
I wanted to plant my feet and know that where I was heading was right, was correct, because that was how I did things.
If you weren't sure about what you were doing, then you probably made the wrong decision. And in my eyes, making the wrong decision was the same as failing.
But the problem with that was too much had caused me to second-guess things lately, stemming back to offering my teammate’s drunk wife a ride home because it was the right thing to do. That was minor even though it had major consequences.
What wasn't so minor was kissing Molly. Even worse was that I was struggling to feel any sort of guilt or regret over it, except for the fact that I didn't know how she felt about it.
That was what made its impact so much bigger than the impetus to my presence in Washington. One kiss with her wasn't just one kiss. It was more than knowing how she tasted or how soft her lips were. It was a simple motion that had not so simple consequences because it could undermine everything I'd cultivated.
I woke up earlier that day in Seattle, and the first thought that crossed my mind wasn't about workouts or practice or preseason. I found myself wondering if Molly drank coffee. If she was a morning person or a night owl. If she slept sprawled across her bed like I did mine. And how tonight, I'd go to bed under the same roof as her.
That was why that kiss mattered.
But as difficult as it might be, I had to put it out of my head. At least for the day.
The green hills and black tree-covered mountains rose everywhere, a totally different kind of landscape from Seattle, but to me, it was just as beautiful. And I hadn't been here in years.
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