Marty flipped off both cameras and groaned like he'd just done the video with us. "That was great, guys. Rick will love it."
The way Molly fidgeted as she stood with the yoga mat and the way she didn't make eye contact with Marty meant she must have felt the same way I did after talking to my grandma. It was disconcerting to forget that he was there, but I still found myself doing it more and more.
"We didn't do that for show, Marty."
In surprise, I glanced over at the defensive tone in her voice.
Marty was giving her the same look. "I know. Just saying that it was a good segment. We needed some more stuff like this after a week of filming practice and Noah glaring at his iPad screen while he watched film."
That brought a smile to her face.
"I don't glare at my screen," I argued.
He pointed at Molly's iPad. "May I?"
"Go right ahead."
Marty lifted it and did this weird squint face frown that had Molly laughing out loud.
"I do not look like that," I said.
"Trust me, buddy, you do." He grinned, handing the iPad back to Molly.
As he packed up, the two of them chatting easily, trying to figure out if it made sense for Marty to drive her back home or if it was out of his way, I had a strangely settled feeling.
Was it sad that these two people—the guy who was being paid to film my life and the woman I should want nothing to do with—were now my closest friends?
They didn't look at me and see The Machine. I was Noah to them, and it had been a long time since that had been the truth for anyone.
Molly said goodbye to Marty as he hefted his camera bag over his shoulder, and I walked through the family room and dining area to make sure all the lights were turned off. Neither one of us spoke as she watched me tidy up and return the rolled yoga mats behind the loveseat where I found them.
I straightened and faced her, very aware of the quiet house, and how it was the first time we'd truly been alone since our moment in the elevator. No one would be coming up the stairs. Down the hallway. Through the front door.
It was just me and her.
Judging by the deepening pink on her cheeks, she was just as aware of it.
Her breath left her in a rush, shakier and louder than when we'd done the video, and I saw her punch some buttons on her screen almost frantically.
"Can I take you home?" I asked.
She shook her head, and a few stray chunks of hair that had slipped from her updo fell around her neck and shoulders. "I just called my Uber. It'll be here in about five minutes." Molly looked past me and stared at the lake again. "I think that makes more sense."
"It probably does," I agreed.
Me taking her home was a slippery slope. We were already going to spend the weekend together at my grandma's, and that was complicated enough. In one evening, I felt like Molly took a wrecking ball and knocked down every wall that had been constructed around my life, and she'd done it unknowingly.
Offering to take her home went in direct opposition to everything I'd promised myself after I left Miami, but I couldn't even care because it was her.
I realized with stunning and simple clarity that I trusted her. This was not someone who'd betray me. Who'd use me or derail me or undermine my career.
And I wanted her.
Those two things, true and real and important, were why I moved toward her.
Admitting that I wanted her was so much easier than I thought it would be. All week, I’d used an array of excuses as to why I fixated on her so much and why her distance from me was so bothersome.
All those excuses fell away quietly, easily. My brain clicked into place, another decision made, one that I knew instinctually was right.
I wanted Molly Ward.
For the first time in years, football wasn't the first thing on my brain. It wasn't even the second. Not at that moment. At that moment, the only thing I cared about was knowing more about this woman. About how she felt in my arms and what her skin smelled like underneath the ears that stuck out from her delicate face.
Molly, oblivious to the seamless thoughts in my head, had turned toward the door.
I snagged her wrist before she could.
"Wait," I said, turning her back to me.
Her face was full of pleading and yearning, the kind that I felt hammering behind my chest in the empty spot under my ribs.
"Noah, I—" Her voice came to a halt when my hand slid up the smooth length of her arm. Her eyes fluttered shut. I cupped her face in both hands and only let out a breath when her hands came to rest on my waist, her fingers curling into the material of my shirt. With that arching of her fingers, she anchored me in place. I'd only leave if she let go. I'd stop the second she asked me to. But as long as she held me to her that way, she was mine.
My mouth was on hers, my face tilting to seek out the taste that had eluded me earlier, the one that made my mouth water and my skin tighten over my frame. Our lips sipped, tasted, and tried, hers were soft and warm and delicious, and I bit gently on the full curve of the middle of her lower lip. Then tugged.
Her sharp inhale punched me squarely in the solar plexus, and my arm tightened around her small frame, clutching her to me desperately. It was the first moment that I realized the magnitude of allowing myself this kiss with her.
For years, I’d chained up the sexual desire for anyone.
Until right now, with her. My hands shook as I touched her because suddenly, it wasn’t enough.
Faster, more, harder, my brain screamed, and my whole body shook from the effort it took not to follow that instinct.
I wouldn't feel this with any woman, not after so long of not having the press of soft breasts to my chest, the natural way her hips cradled me, the rocking of her pelvis against me. It was Molly.
We kissed and kissed and kissed before she pushed up on tiptoes to get closer to me, and it wasn't enough.
My hands trailed down the supple line of her back and gripped her bottom so I could boost her up in my arms. Her legs twined around my waist, and with one stride of my legs, her back was against the door.
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."