Beauty and the Baller(66)

“Nova—” I sit up.

She holds her hand up. “No. We finish some spectacular sex, and you immediately . . . ugh. You really suck at pillow talk.”

“It’s a valid topic. We shouldn’t have—”

“Regrets already, Ronan. How predictable.” Her lips twist.

I groan. “I said I was sorry for New York, Nova. It’s bothered me for years, wondering who you were and if I hurt you. I know I did, and I hate it, okay, hate it. I’m not that kind of guy. I was with you that night. Totally. What we did, it was all us. Did I regret it? Initially, yes. It came at a weird time, and I felt guilty, but in the end—”

“Stop talking.” She tosses my shirt at me, and I catch it before it hits my face.

I pull it on, then put my hands on my hips. “Okay. You talk.”

Her jaw clenches. “I don’t like that you’re pulling away mentally five minutes after we’ve had sex. We both know exactly what this was. A get-it-out-of-the-way fuck. Hey, there’s one to add to my list. No need to repeat it, especially since you regret it.”

Shit. “I never said I regretted this.”

“You didn’t have to!” She heads to the door, her eyes shiny.

There’s a burning sensation in my chest. “Nova . . . wait . . .” I open my mouth to try and explain my anxiety, but nothing comes out.

She pauses and looks over her shoulder at me, her hair messy and tangled, her lips bruised. “You want to know my real secret, Ronan?”

My heart stutters at the emotion in her eyes. “Yes.”

She breaks my gaze, her eyes darting around the pantry as if looking for answers. She comes back to me, a resigned expression on her face. Her hands clench. “My secret is . . . that night at the Mercer Hotel . . . by the time we got to your room . . . I was already half in love with you. The way you danced with me, the way you kissed me in the elevator—boy, that was the clincher . . . and now you’re here in my hometown, and we’re spending time together.”

Then she whips out the pantry door, and I lean back against the wall, winded by her words.

Half in love with me . . .

You fucking know what it means, Ronan. Feelings.

Adrenaline spikes as my heart races, nearly exploding. Fear rushes, that sensation of things moving too quickly for me to process. Somehow, I follow her out of the pantry, and she’s at my front door.

I watch her, hating myself. My head flashes with images of what could be with her, and part of me yearns for that, wants to run to her, but my limbs won’t move, frozen in the foyer. I feel dizzy, my head spinning.

Stop her, stop her.

If I do, I’ll slip toward something dangerous, toward an ocean I can’t swim in. I’ve drowned before. I loved and lost. I ruined it. And that pain is excruciating.

She clicks the door shut.

My eyes close. My heart truly is made of stone . . .





Chapter 17


RONAN

Saturday rolls around with another win in the books for us last night. Only a few games left until the end of the season.

I step out of my Suburban and scan the parking lot the Tylers have set up across the street from their mansion in an open field.

I find Nova’s Caddy. She’s a few rows over, leaning against the car. Tucking my hands in my gray slacks, I walk toward her, unease in my gut. It’s been a cold week with us, even in the staff lounge.

My eyes take in her clingy black dress, above-the-knee length with a mandarin-style collar. Yellow roses splash over the fabric, snug against her curves. My groin tightens.

“You should have let me pick you up,” I say when I reach her, smoothing down my jacket. I sent her a text this morning, but she replied she wanted to drive.

She smiles tightly with red lips.

“I like your hair,” I say, reaching for normal. It does look pretty, swirled up in a complicated twist that frames her face.

“Thanks. Sabine did it.” She straightens up from the car. “As long as we walk in together, then that’s all we need. I’m ready for a drink.”

I exhale. “Nova . . . about the other day. I never want to hurt you—”

She stops me with a narrowed look. “We had sex. It’s done.”

Tension fills up the warm night as we stare at each other.

I don’t want it to be done . . .

Someone in the parking lot calls my name, breaking our connection.

“Fine,” I say, then crook her arm in mine as we walk toward the French-country-style mansion across the street. She stares straight ahead, a pinched look on her face.

“At least try to enjoy it,” I mutter.

“I will, darling,” she says, her accent thick.

Some of the players see us and jog to us, ending any other conversation. They’re dressed in khakis and button-downs, and I give them a nod of approval. We do fist bumps all around. Toby gives me a hug, and I squeeze his arm and tell him he looks great in his slacks and shirt.

Melinda and her dad are in the foyer when we enter. Melinda rushes to us, gives me a blinding smile, and then puts her hand on my other arm. “Ronan! I’ve been waiting for you. You remember my dad, of course.”

Before he can step forward, Nova leans in. “I’m going to get us drinks.”

My hand clings to hers longer than it should. I’m not ready to let her go, and I have a feeling she isn’t coming back . . . “Sure,” I finally say, my gaze searching her face.