Beauty and the Baller(62)

“A little. Mostly, I was just thinking about how happy you look.” I pause. “I want that one day. A family, kids . . .”

“You will—I mean, when you meet the right person.”

“What do you want?” I ask. “You know, besides football.”

“More football. Friends. And like you said, to live a meaningful life, and for me, I guess that means helping others. That’s what the bookstore is. I don’t technically own it or manage it. I donated it to the town after I bought it and requested they hire young people to run it. It’s good for the community and the kids. Someday I’d like to open a free camp for kids to come and learn football from pro players. It’s just an idea, I guess.”

I recall that literacy billboard he had in New York, his perfect face, that wide smile that said I own the world. Was he as kind then as he is now? I think so. Only now, he’s a man who keeps people at a distance to preserve his heart. The only exceptions seem to be Toby and the team. I’ve watched him on the field, the light in his eyes when he coaches. Will he miss that when he leaves? Will he miss me?

“Do you want a family someday?” I ask.

He tenses, and I turn around as his blue eyes darken, vulnerability in their depths. “I always wanted them, you know, before, but now . . . I can’t see it.” He looks away from me and shrugs, chewing on his bottom lip.

He and Whitney had plans for kids, and I wait for jealousy to hit me, but it doesn’t. Tenderness rises inside of me, for his pain. For his loss.

I’ve lost my parents but never a soul mate.

I smile. “We’d better get this off of us before it burns our heads.”





Chapter 16


RONAN

My body is hyperaware of Nova as she stands between my legs blow-drying my hair. She hums under her breath as her fingers massage my scalp. We’ve spent two hours rinsing out the medication, then combing nits out of each other’s hair. Since hers is long, it took a while. I enjoyed it, showing her the comb, then watching her gross out. We laughed until tears ran down our faces. Lois brought over tea tree oil shampoo, and we each shampooed our hair three times. She also gave us tea tree, mango, and rosemary oils for future use as repellents. Those little fuckers better be dead.

“I could have dried it myself,” I say when she clicks off the dryer. Hers is already dry, lying smooth and straight down her shoulders. I reach up and rub the glossy strands between my fingers. I love her hair.

“It gave me another chance to make sure your scalp was good,” she murmurs.

I look up at her from the vanity seat. My hands land on her hips, my thumbs caressing her skin through the shorts. I can’t stop myself. I’m in Nova overload, drunk on her proximity.

“Was that the only reason?” Did you want to be as close to me as I want to be to you?

She bites her lip. “Let’s get your place cleaned up.”

I stand and stretch. I’m wearing loose joggers and a black tank top. I picked it out of the bureau on purpose, knowing it shows off my jacked forearms. I’ve caught her gaze lingering there several times since we started this “fake” relationship.

Right now, her gaze lands on the tent in my crotch, and I laugh sheepishly. I really don’t care if she sees I’m turned on—which is the exact opposite of how I should act. Apparently, the primitive side of me has taken over my brain.

My arms fall to my sides. Must do better.

“Thank you for helping me out.” It’s one of the things I like about her personality—her willingness to help others.

“It’s called teamwork, darling,” she says sweetly. “And you’re going to help me after we’re done here.”

“Deal.”

She’s a bundle of energy as we sweep through the house, tossing linens and my duvet in the washer. She’s wiping down my bedroom while I vacuum, humming “Jolene” under my breath. I finish and flip it off. When I turn, she is behind me and pulls her phone out and takes a pic. “‘Coach Cleans after Lice Scare at Blue Belle.’ This will go viral on social. Gives you a real homespun appeal.”

“You better not.” I walk over to her and reach for her phone, but she tucks it behind her back and twirls away from me, laughing.

“You didn’t know it, but I snuck some pics of you with the plastic cap on your head.”

I hated that cap! “You didn’t!”

“I did, and I’m going to tag the Huddersfield coach. He’ll love it,” she calls as she runs out of the room.

I chase her down the stairs as she hits the bottom, turns the corner, and disappears.

“I’m going to find you,” I sing out. “And when I do . . .”

I check the extra bedroom downstairs, looking under the bed and in the closet. I move to the bathroom and rip back the shower curtain.

I stalk to the den and circle the perimeter. Dog barks from the sofa, then jumps down and trots to my office door. I pet him. “You’ve got some use after all.”

I ease the door open and step inside. The place is spotless from when we both cleaned earlier.

I check under my desk, then the shadowy corners behind the recliners. I half expect her to jump scare me.

There’s a crash from the kitchen, and I run out, bumping into Dog. I glare at him. “You’re helping her? That’s it. We’re over, Dog.” I slide past him and run my gaze over the kitchen. Nothing looks out of place, so what fell? I do a systematic patrol, then check the cabinets under the sink, then laugh under my breath. Where is she?