Beauty and the Baller (Strangers in Love #1)(55)

Sonia drops her piece of tofu as her eyes drift over Skeeter. “Oh?”

He nods at his burger, oblivious to her wide-eyed stare. “As long as she likes football and knows how to cook, we’d get along.” He glances up. “You like football, Sonia?”

“Um, yeah. Since high school,” she says, her face reddening. “I cook.”

Skeeter nods, then gets pulled into a conversation with one of the other assistant coaches.

She slowly deflates.

“Ronan, has Nova ever told you about some of the crazy things we did?” Andrew says.

Nova stiffens, and out of instinct, I take her hand in mine under the table. It’s not the first time this week either.

“I’ve heard some stories,” I say, my voice lowering, daring him to say anything that hurts her.

He chews on his sandwich, then swallows. “Let’s see. There’s the night the entire senior class ran around in our underwear on the football field. Nova’s idea. Then one day we skipped school and went to UT. Nova wanted us to pretend to be students and crash frat parties. We drank too much to drive and had to get a hotel room.” A knowing laugh comes from him. “She got in trouble with her mama. For a month, she had to crawl out her bedroom window to meet me—”

“That’s enough, Andrew,” I say sharply.

He shrugs. “It’s no secret we dated for a very long time—”

“Yet it feels like a million years ago,” Nova says with a sugary smile, then looks at me. “You ready for the field house, darling?”

I glare at Andrew, who’s got a smirk on his face—what a dick. Then we stalk out of the lounge, our fingers laced together.

“You okay?” I ask as we reach the sidewalk. I should unclasp our hands since no one is looking, but I don’t.

Her forehead furrows. “Yes, but let’s not talk about him.”

All right. I can understand that. Sometimes a person just needs to process, and I get the feeling she’s still figuring out how she feels about Andrew . . .

“He isn’t worth worrying about.” I brush my lips against her forehead, a total impulse.

“Totally.” She squeezes my hand as we walk, our steps in sync as she keeps pace with me in red high heels.

“Let’s talk about this ‘adorable’ thing. It’s a word for puppies and little girls,” I say a few minutes later. “Can you find a new adjective?”

She turns her face to me and laughs, her lips curving up as her eyes dance. “Nope. You’re stuck with it. I adore it. I’m going to post it on the team’s Insta.”

“I think sexy would work,” I say. “You already think I am.”

“So cocky, Ronan, but it will forever and always be adorable.” She giggles and leans into me, her shoulder brushing mine. Her scent wafts around me, sweet and tart. We’ve been careful around each other, but today we’re still stuck together like glue, naturally and effortlessly.

Loneliness rises and taunts me, at the idea of going home after practice, just me and Dog. Unbidden, I picture Nova in my house, sitting next to me on the couch. We’d have dinner and talk about her lack of Star Wars knowledge or football or New York or goats. She’d be pressed against me, her face upturned and animated as she told me a story about high jinks she might have gotten into in New York.

I inhale a sharp breath. I mustn’t think about things I can’t have.

I ease away from her when we walk into the office. “I need to change.”

“Okay.” She nods, all business, as she picks up the ringing phone.

I shut the door and yank off my shirt, my chest rising. I toss my slacks on the table and jerk on my shorts, reminding myself . . .

Keep it professional. No attachments means no pain. Don’t forget it.



My cell rings as I park outside the stadium in Collinwood, a small town an hour away from Blue Belle. I snatch it up.

“Yo. Tuck. What’s up? I’m about to head to the locker room. It’s game night.”

He lets out a noisy exhale—as usual—the sound of disco-tech music in the background. “What’s up? What’s fucking up? I don’t care if you have a game! Your mom called me is what’s up! You’re dating Nova? When? How? I’m hurt, man, hurt! I’m your best goddamn friend in the world! I did that! I did that! I found her for you, and you wouldn’t give me a call and let me know?”

“Calm down. You are my best friend.”

“I am calm! It’s loud in here!” He groans. “You never told me she lived in Blue Belle when you called me.”

“Go outside so I can hear you. And shouldn’t you be recuperating?”

“I left the apartment so the maid could clean.” I hear rustling, the sound of the music dampening. “I’m doing some kick-ass physical therapy. I’m dead every time I leave the therapist. I needed to get out. I miss playing, bro; I miss the team so fucking much.” He pauses. “Ah, shit . . . I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m good. Don’t worry about it.” I want him to feel free to talk to me. My loss still cuts, but it always will.

“Tell me the deets about Nova. Every single one. How did this happen?”

I wince and run down her being my neighbor, then her job at the school. I remind him about the machinations of the town, then tell him about Andrew. “We’re, um, fake dating.” Jesus, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud.