Chapter 13
EM
There was no true reason to look extra…spicy today to head to the stadium.
The brand meetings were normal, and I’d have to talk to the same team—and that did mean Noah, but clothes were my armor.
My makeup gave me an extra layer of protection.
It always had, when I was younger living at home and when I went through a breakup.
God, after Jace cheated on me and I had my breakdown, I started really having fun with colors.
Applying an extra layer of mascara and spending a little extra time on my eyeshadow made me feel good, and that was what mattered. How I felt about myself.
“Look good, feel good, right girl?” I spoke to Sassy, who lay on the bed with her tail thumping. “We’re pretty girls, huh?”
Her tail wagged harder, and I bent down to kiss her head and breathe in her scent.
Life was just her and me, and I was so lucky I’d found her.
My dad made his opinion clear on me getting a dog without a real career, but my mom and siblings loved her and asked for daily photos.
I placed my spare glasses on her and snapped a pic, sending it to the group chat without my dad.
I waited for Daniel’s response—he loved her the most—but my phone buzzed with a text from Noah.
Noah: Hi, good morning. I dropped Miles off and am stopping for coffee. Can I bring you anything?
Simple. Sweet. So Noah. Regret from last night weaved its way through me, threading under my skin to the point I itched it with my navy nails.
For the tiniest heartbeat I considered not answering. I could let the message sit there until I felt less stupid. But ignoring Noah never lasted more than twenty seconds. I didn’t want him to worry.
I typed back carefully, choosing each word like it might explode in my hands.
Em: Morning! I’m all set. Already caffeinated. Thanks though! Have a great practice. :)
The smiley face was overkill—borderline suspicious—but I needed to project sunshine, stability, and zero emotional wreckage. Sassy huffed like she didn’t buy my act either.
“Don’t judge me,” I muttered, swiping a bit of mascara smudge from under my eye. “We’re going for ‘unbothered queen,’ today. I’m totally cool. I’ll hold my head high.”
Another buzz.
Noah: You sure? I’m right by your favorite place.
Of course he was. He’d memorized my coffee order back when we were nineteen and always brought me some when I had an off day.
He’d always been such a good friend. That’s what we were.
Great, special friends. We’d been friends for years, and he never made a move.
Why would he now when he was famous? When he was making millions? And I was a complete and utter mess?
I stared at the screen, my heart doing that pathetic squeeze thing.
Me: Totally sure! Seriously, I’m good. See you later!
Sassy rolled onto her back, legs in the air, snorting as she mouthed a bunch of my blanket. My sweet, silly girl loved to mouth the fuzzy blanket. She stared at me with her wide brown eyes.
“What?” I asked. “I am fine!”
Her tail flopped once. A pity flop.
I grabbed my bag, checking for the tenth time that my tablet and sketchbook were inside, and did a slow spin in the mirror. Navy blouse tucked into dark denim. Blazer sharp and blinged out. Winged eyeliner exhibiting Olympic stability.
Yes. This was fine. I was fine. Noah hadn’t hurt my feelings, and I couldn’t blame him for his choice.
Still, shame sat under my ribs like a hot stone. Every time I blinked, I heard myself from last night—Then why didn’t you text me after the Ferris wheel?
God. I needed that memory scrubbed from my brain with industrial-grade bleach.
Daniel: Give me your dog.
Penny: You can’t have one in dorms, idiot.
Daniel: Sassy loves me more though.
Penny: No??
Penny sent ten photos of her and Sassy spooning from when Penny visited me for a weekend.
Em: You’re both her godparents. Calm down.
Penny: yeah, but Danny there needs to stop talking shit.
Daniel: DANNY. Okay Pen Pen
I silenced my phone, snorting at their bickering. They might act like shitheads, but they loved each other.
I smoothed my hair, squared my shoulders, and headed to the kitchen to grab my water bottle. As I bent to fill it, a small plate on the counter caught my eye: a blueberry muffin wrapped neatly in a napkin with a sticky note on top.
Thought you might want this for later! Blueberry is your favorite!
—N
A breath punched out of me. Too soft to be a sob, too sharp to be normal. Sassy nosed my leg, like she somehow understood the way the note made my chest simultaneously ache and melt.
Ugh, he was too sweet. Noah was a sweetheart and kind and thoughtful and hot.
God, why did I have to grow feelings for my friend?
He was always large and handsome, but between the heat and want and muscles, he made me feel invincible.
I totally got why he had a fan club. Noah Abbott was special, and I’d made our dynamic weird.
I was messing our friendship up by creating scenarios in my head.
He wasn’t into me. He wouldn’t be. We were friends.
I tucked the muffin into my bag, vowing to come up with a plan to fix this. I’d give some distance, let him forget about it, then I’d have a plan. I might not have a career or anyone in my life, but I always found a solution.
The drive to the stadium took twenty minutes and three pep talks.
Pep talk one happened at the first stoplight, where I reminded myself I was an adult woman who paid her own bills, not a teenager who blurted out feelings in the back row of AP stats.
Pep talk two was in the parking structure, after I flashed my temporary credential at the security guard and pulled into the spot marked Design / Brand.
Which, honestly, should’ve been enough proof that I belonged here.
That my work mattered. That this wasn’t some cute little hobby I’d give up when I got serious like my dad always implied.
Pep talk three was in the elevator up to the third floor, where the offices and meeting rooms lived. I stared at my reflection in the stainless-steel doors—sharp blazer, good hair, neutral lipstick that said I have my life together, thanks—and practiced my smile.
Friendly. Professional. Totally over my little moment with Noah last night. I could face him and be chill. Nonchalant.
The doors slid open, and the familiar hum of the Rampage offices wrapped around me. TVs on the walls replayed clips from last week’s win on a loop. A framed photo of Noah hugging Miles at Kids Day tugged at something low in my chest. I looked away before my brain could go full montage.
“Em!” Marla waved me over from the glass-walled conference room. “You’re right on time.”
I slipped inside and set my bag on a chair halfway down the table.
The brand team was already assembling: Marla with her color-coded tablet, Jax from social in a hoodie and beanie, a retail guy named Colin in business casual, and Bea with a notebook and an energy drink, representing player relations.
“Morning,” I said, turning the friendliness up to eleven. “Everyone ready to talk about clothes and make questionable financial decisions?”
Jax snorted. “That’s my love language.”
“Did you email the new CADs?” Marla asked.
I tapped my tablet awake. “Yep, but I’ve got them loaded here too if we want to go through them together.”
“Perfect.” She turned to the wall screen and cast my tablet so the line sheets popped up. “Let’s start with the family jacket.”
My heart did its little anxious tap dance, but the work pulled me in the way it always did. Lines and fabric and function; the familiar language that made sense when everything else felt like static.
“The biggest feedback last time,” I said, swiping to the technical drawing, “was making sure guys could layer without feeling like marshmallows. So I reduced bulk in the sleeves, added gussets under the arm for range of motion, and widened the cuff slightly for big watches.”
“Bless you,” Bea muttered, scribbling a note. “You saved me twelve complaints from the tight ends.”
A laugh rolled around the table. I liked Bea. She was head of PR and wore thick black glasses and had part of her head shaved. She looked cool and badass at the same time.
I zoomed in on the side view. “We kept the charcoal as the base, but I added a tonal black-on-black version to test online. Still on brand, but more wearable. And the kids’ bomber matches with simpler seam work, so it’s comfortable but looks like the grown-up version.”
Colin leaned forward. “These are good. Clean. I love the hidden zip pocket callout. Moms are going to lose their minds over that.”
I tried not to glow too visibly. “I’ve ruined enough lip gloss in my time to know where women actually need pockets.”
We worked through the rest: joggers with reinforced knees for the players’ kids, a cotton-modal jersey for the pajama-style top, a tiny snap on the neckline so toddlers couldn’t rip it off easily. I flagged where I needed color approvals and where the licensee might push back on costs.
The rhythm soothed me. Here, no one cared that I’d asked a dumb, vulnerable question in a kitchen. Here, I was an expert.
“Timeline-wise,” Marla said as we wrapped, “we can get you vendor notes by Friday. Does that give you enough time to adjust tech packs before we lock them?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m basically living in Illustrator this week anyway, so send whatever you’ve got.”
“Love that dedication.” Colin closed his notebook. “We’ll also want to schedule a content capture day once samples come in. Locker room, guys in the line, maybe some family stuff. You good being on site to tweak fit?”
“Of course.” My stomach did a tiny flip. Locker room meant Noah. Quinn. The whole roster. “I’ll bring my kit.”
“Great. Let’s tentatively pencil next Tuesday morning. Practice is light then and the guys will be around.”