It suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t supposed to be talking about the NFL. Fuck. Not even a couple of hours in, and I was already blowing it. “All organizations have politics, but I think it’s also about the fans and the media. Not just the NFL.”
“So you think fans are so antagonistic towards you because you’re one of the best tight ends in the country on a new team,” Spence surmised. “I bet you have a point. Could also be why they hate the fact that you don’t play the game.”
“The game?”
“You know,” he said. “Showboating. Celebrating. Being charming or at least entertaining. You just play the game and stalk off the field. Well . . . you started up with Instagram and Twitter.”
Noah was the one who updated my Twitter account, but I didn’t say that.
“What prompted you to get on social media after all this time?”
“Boredom.”
“Boredom is doing you good. The hashtag about Gavin Brawley’s smile trended for two full days. We’re talking millions of likes. For someone who claims to hate promo and marketing, that was solid gold.”
“And it was all Noah,” I said. “The scrimmage was his idea, and he’s the one who took and edited the video. To be honest, I know my reputation could use some work. I know people only look at me a certain way, but for a long time I didn’t give a shit. But when Noah came around, I guess you could say I started thinking about things differently.”
Spence nodded slowly. “How’s that?”
“Think about it, man. This guy who was going to be working for me and living with me was terrified. He thought I was a bully and an asshole. Worried about being here ’cause he worried I was going to antagonize him just because he couldn’t give two shits about football. I guess you could call it a wake-up call to realize a total stranger was wary of being around me due to my reputation and shitty attitude. I had to start thinking about my actions and what came out of my mouth. I don’t want to be a monster.”
Spence glanced over his shoulder as if seeking Noah again, but didn’t find him. “You two seem to get on pretty well now. I gotta say, I never expected to hear Gavin Brawley pleading with his PA not to abandon him with a hundred-and-twenty-pound journalist. It was adorbs. Especially when he all but patted your head in response before walking out without a backward glance.”
“He’s always like that,” I said, unable to resist a fond grin. “If you motherfuckers think I’m irritating on the field, imagine living with me and having to put up with my shit. Whiny and needy and obnoxious as fuck. But he handles it, and he isn’t afraid to put me in my place.”
“You’re saying the best way to get close to you is to call you on your shit?”
“Maybe? Yeah, I guess. It worked for him.”
Spence laughed. “So, I’ve been here for an hour and so far, this is what I’ve got—there are two things that can bring out DatBrawleySmile. Playing football and his personal assistant. Correct me if I’m wrong.”
It occurred to me right then and there that this sounded mushy as hell. But it also occurred to me that I didn’t care. There was nothing to correct. The only thing wrong about Spence’s statement was that I wanted Noah to be a lot more than my personal assistant.
I changed the subject not too long after that conversation and spent the next few hours watching game tape, but somehow things kept going back to Noah. By the time Spence was on his way and I was shutting the door, I couldn’t tell if I’d blown that interview or if I’d humanized myself by talking about my only fucking non-football-related friend.
When I found Noah hunched over my desk with his head braced in his hand, my spirits sank.
“Shit, I fucked up, didn’t I?”
Noah jumped up, looking guilty. “I didn’t mean to spy on you.”
“I don’t care about that. Did I mess up?”
“No . . . I don’t know.”
“Fuck.” I shook my head, scowling. “I never should have done that alone. I should have known I don’t know how to talk to people.”
“Gavin, that’s not—”
“Now that whole thing will backfire and—”
“Gavin, stop. I didn’t say any of that.”
I clammed up when he closed the distance between us. He was trying to reassure me, but he was clearly stressed. Dark brows wound together, back tense, and hair wild like he’d been clawing his fingers through it for the past few hours. I brushed some of it out of his face, unable to help myself. For just a second he closed his eyes.
“Why did you talk about me so much?”
“I’m locked in this house with you every day. Who else would I talk about?”
“I don’t know. Your other friends? Pretend Max is a female and talk about him?”
“Me and Max just have fun together, man. There’s nothing to talk about unless someone is trying to get TMI about my sex life.”
“And there should be nothing to talk about when it comes to me, unless . . .” Noah gestured as if searching for words. “Unless you’re talking about how you had to adapt to someone being in your space because you’re usually really private. But you . . . you made it out like . . .”
“I made it out like what?” I demanded. “Like we’re friends? Sorry. My mistake.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he snapped. “You said I’m the only thing besides football that makes you smile. Do you realize how that sounds?”
“I don’t give a damn about how it sounds. It’s true. And if they want to use my words to start some gay rumor, that’s their choice. I’m not gonna pretend you haven’t made a difference in my life.” I pointed at him. “How can it be a human-interest piece if I omit the person who made me want to act like a decent fucking human?”
Noah flushed so red I expected him to unload on me about the boundaries we’d just discussed, me being his boss, and then detour into how I was sabotaging myself and my shot at improving my reputation with fans, but he didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer to me, slid a hand around to brace the back of my neck, and pressed his lips against mine.
All the tension flushed out of my body to a resounding yes finally echoing in my brain.
A wrecked moan escaped me as soon as his tongue was in my mouth. I couldn’t help it, and I couldn’t hide how much he turned me on. His body pressed to mine was everything. His taste in my mouth was fucking heaven. I loved how he writhed against me, and how he wasn’t shy about taking what he wanted. He didn’t wait for me to make a move—this was happening on his terms. And that turned me on like nothing else.
Noah only released his tight grip on my hair to slide his hands up my shirt and guide it over my head. He smoothed his hands over the bumps and ridges of my torso, breath coming faster and heart pounding so violently I could feel the rhythm like a drumline beating against my chest.
“Your body is so fucking amazing.”