19. Noah
CHAPTER NINETEEN
NOAH
RECOMMENDED LISTENING ‘TONIGHT’ BY ZAYN
“Diving catch,” Fox grumbles again . And shoots Ares a poisonous glare, the next night. “You took a fucking dive to catch that last ball when you don’t reach across the dinner table for the salt, you arsehole.”
Ares buffs his nails. “My hands are precious. I’m saving my wrist from unnecessary action.”
Fox growls and ducks his head to headbutt Ares. But it’s actually my girlfriend… fake girlfriend, Queenie, who taps him on the shoulder and stops him.
He huffs out a breath and gives her an impatient look. “What?”
She leans up and whispers something in his ear. Fox grins at her and then turns a cool look at Ares. “Congrats, mate,” he says sincerely. “I’m sorry if I haven’t appreciated your match winning move. It was world-class.”
Ares’ mouth drops open. “What was that?” He is bewildered. Then he turns accusingly to Queenie. “What the fuck did you tell him? Why is he congratulating me now?”
She squeezes his hand. “Just tell him thanks, will you? And stop trying to rile him up.”
Ares shakes his head. “I don’t like you taking his side against mine, Queenie.”
My fake girlfriend laughs. “I’m not. I am on both your sides.”
“Actually, you’re on my side, remember?” I lightly touch her rounded waist. She stiffens up. If I look at her face, the laughter would have faded. Yep. She’s okay with being touchy-feely with my best friends but not me. Her actual fake boyfriend. I’d feel jealous if it wasn’t beneath me.
So there.
The smile she sticks on her face is entirely unconvincing. “One hundred percent on your side,” Queenie repeats robotically.
“He needs you on his side. He gave you his jersey, right?” Ares gives me a cool look.
“Yes, he did.” My fake girlfriend smiles.
“He’s never given a jersey to a girl before,” Ares snickers and gives me a good-natured shove with his elbow. “I don’t recall Noah even being interested in chicks before you came along.”
Fox grabs Ares before I go for him.
“Why would you give me a jersey, then?” Queenie asks, frowning.
I shrug, discomfited and a little sweaty. “I don’t know. It seemed like the thing to do…to convince the coaches I was serious about you.” I rub a hand down my face. “And maybe I thought it’d be good for my morale to see one person cheering just for me in this strange town.”
Her frown dissipates as she dissects my uncomfortably honest statement. Someone calls out Ares’ name, so he gives her a sweet smile and bounds up the stairs of the mansion on Prewett Drive, where the victory party is being held. It belongs to one of the boys on the team whose uncle owns a bank on Wall Street.
The place is completely lit up, with raucous, techno music pumping from the inside. Designed to shatter eardrums and get girls out of their clothes in equal time.
A girl in a leopard print bikini shows up with two frothy drinks and eye fucks Fox. “Hey, captain,” she breathes. “I thought you might be thirsty.”
“You know what, love?” Fox turns on the De Rossi charm and accepts the drink. “I am.” He clinks glasses with the girl, who puts a hand on his arm.
He gives me a shrug and Queenie a smile as the girl leads him to somewhere private.
“How is it he’s the losing captain and he got offered a drink?” I muse out loud.
“Because he’s like way more handsome than you, obviously,” Queenie says absently, tugging her khaki shorts down her thighs. Her short nails sparkle witch black in the spotlights.
I wonder how they’d look on my back, my abs. Running over my thighs. I shake my head to dispel these stupid thoughts.
“What?” She demands. “Objectively speaking, Fox is pretty. That combination of grey eyes and blonde hair is stunning. You’re more…” I resist the urge to squirm under her clinical look. “Ruggedly handsome.”
“Maybe you should fake date Fox if you think so.” I don’t sound jealous. I am not jealous. Jealousy would mean real feelings and none of this is real.
“I can’t.” She tugs at her shorts again and adjusts the tie holding her shirt together below the waist. “I signed a contract with a different cricketer.” She even gives me a tiny smile. “I even have the jersey to prove it.”
“Hey!” I look around, mindful of where we are. “Can you just…?” I make a locking motion at my lips.
“Right.” Queenie nods unconvincingly.
“You know?” I begin thoughtfully. And step closer to her because a drunk arsehole brushes against her. “I just won a grueling fifty-over match with a team that did not begin well.” The swell of pride and satisfaction and relief at the win washes through me again. “And I’m ruggedly handsome. Any other girl would consider me a catch.”
She doesn’t disappoint me with her comeback. “You’re a jock who’s aware of the power he holds over others. I do not consider that a catch because it’s typical alpha male—What?” Queenie snaps. “What are you staring at?”
“Why do you keep fidgeting with the shorts, Queenie? Is everything okay?”
She glares at me with spitfire eyes. Someone shoulders me and I move closer to her.
“Will you talk to me?” I ask quietly. And look at her. Just look at her.
Her curls are arranged to fall over her shoulders, tied over her crown. A wing-type liner elongates her eyes. And she’s slicked on a luscious pink over her lips as if I need directions to notice them. And want to lick and bite them…
She sighs. Of course, my gaze slides over to her chest. Her very defined chest in the checkered shirt knotted at her waist.
Focus, Dumaine.
“I…I don’t usually wear these kinds of clothes,” she admits gruffly.
“These kinds—” I hold the laugh in. Because she looks genuinely uncomfortable. “Why’s that?”
“Because when one of the stick figure plastic girls see me, they make fun of my thighs and boobs, okay?” she almost snarls the words out. “My nickname in middle school was Rounds.”
I will not stare at her thighs and boobs. I will not stare at her delicious thighs and sexy, sexy boobs…
“Rounds?” I repeat.
Queenie nods. “Yeah.” And squeezes the skin around her thigh. “You know. Round-shaped? It wasn’t original but it stuck.” She doesn’t say it, but I know it hurt. Words like these always hurt.
I can’t help it. I reach out and stop an inch from her thigh. “May I?”
“Noah--” She sounds so uncertain. I love hearing my name on her lips.
I touch her warm skin, let out a breath. “Those girls would kill to be you, Queenie. That’s why they made fun of you.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” she’s doubtful. “It just seemed like I don’t conform to the acceptable standard of traditional beauty, and I’m punished for it.”
I bring her close by the edge of her shorts. “My words might mean nothing, but you are…gorgeous, Queenie.” I put a hand around her round waist. Those plastic girls were dumb. Holding Queenie is like holding warmth and heart and heat. It’s perfect and addictive.
This close, I can smell the sugar and vanilla on her.
“You’re gorgeous and wicked smart, Hellcat.” I brush a curl to the back of her ear.
Awareness replaces the doubt and vulnerability in her expressive eyes. Her lips part slightly. I could bend down slightly and kiss the fuck out of her. And maybe she won’t knee me in the nuts. It’d be worth it even if she did.
She doesn’t look away from me.
“Queenie!” A quietly sexy female voice says from behind.
Queenie steps back. And the spell between us is broken. Again.
“Hey, Meesh.” She waves and tugs her friend forward, hugging her by the waist. “You made it.”
I turn around and place my tee shirt over the front of my board shorts. I only have a semi, but it’s not the best impression to be aroused when meeting the best friend.
I take a leaf out of the De Rossi charm book and clasp Mischa’s hand in mine. Then I bend and kiss the tips, accommodating for her petite height.
Mischa’s all quiet beauty, like a moon stuck behind the clouds with her pin straight hair and demure sky-blue dress falling below the knees, but her light brown eyes are wary.
“Hi, Mischa!” I infuse Nice and Charming into my voice. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Queenie’s told me a lot about you.”
“Likewise, Noah.” She extracts her hand, simply assessing me. She is not nice or charmed.
“I love this dress. Is this why you didn’t let me borrow it?” Queenie hugs Mischa tightly. “Because you wanted to wear it yourself?”
Mischa steps back. “Were you going to kiss him right now?”
Queenie hisses. “Mischa, stop it.”
Mischa skewers me with a shrewd look. “Were you, Dumaine?”
I decide to go with the truth. “Actually, I was. Queenie’s feeling doubtful about this stunning outfit she’s wearing because the plastic girls might make fun of her.” I shrug. “And I wanted to prove her wrong.”
Queenie shoots me a fulminating glare.
Mischa is expressionless. Then she cracks the widest smile. It ups her beauty from quiet to luminous. And she tucks her hand in my elbow. “You pass, Noah. You’ll do.” She jerks a nod toward a stunned Queenie. “Now take good care of my best friend, okay?”
I hold my other arm out to my fake girlfriend who’s entertaining very real murderous thoughts about me. “I’ll try my best, Mischa. If she will let me.”
Mischa laughs and looks over me and tells Queenie, “Looks like you found your match, Q.”
I enter the party feeling like the winning team captain, after all.