Chapter 6
Noah
Idrum my fingers on Jasper’s steering wheel, trying to work up the courage to get out of the car. Thanks to my father’s military-like expectations, I’m five minutes early to pick up Hannah for our date, but that only gives me five minutes to freak the fuck out.
Why am I doing this? To keep my father off my back? Or to stop myself from thinking about two incredibly hot blonds I would much rather be spending time with tonight?
My chest tightens at the thought.
One.
One fucking blond.
The guy from Euphoria.
Because there is no fucking way I would rather spend a night with my infuriating goalkeeper.
I shouldn’t be thinking about either of them, though, and that only makes me feel worse. I’m so tired of all this bullshit.
Running a frustrated hand through my hair, I push open the car door and force myself to walk to the dorm Hannah lives in.
When I reach the front entrance, I lean against the wall and pull out my phone. My finger hovers over her contact details for a moment before I finally grow a pair and make the call.
“Hey,” I croak out when she answers. “I’m here.”
Less than five minutes later, we’re in Jasper’s car heading to the restaurant I booked.
Hannah’s floral perfume is cloying, but I fight the urge to roll down the window.
Our conversation is stilted and awkward, and sweat beads between my shoulder blades as I ignore the little voice in the back of my head telling me to turn around and take her home.
I’m committed to this, and I need her to stop me from doing something that could fuck my life up completely.
“Wow,” Hannah breathes when I pull up in front of Birch House, a renovated homestead turned into one of Beckford’s fanciest restaurants. “I’ve always wanted to come here.”
I hum in response, ignoring how wrong this feels as I climb out of the car and rush to open her door and help her out of the car. Her eyes widen when I offer her my hand, but good manners were drilled into me since I was young.
Even though I want nothing more than to wrench my hand away, I force myself to lace my fingers in hers as I close the door and lock the car.
I lead her up the steps, grinding my teeth at the clicking of her heels against the old timber boards.
White fairy lights wind up the veranda posts, and soft jazz hums through the open windows. This is not my scene at all.
I feel terrible.
Hannah’s a beautiful girl—petite, with wavy blonde hair that catches the light when she turns her head to smile at me.
Her makeup is soft, with just enough to make her pale green eyes stand out.
She looks perfect standing beside me in her purple sundress, like she belongs in a place like this.
The perfect future wife for an oil tycoon’s grandson.
I swallow, trying to ignore how her hand is too soft in mine, her fingers too delicate. Every part of me knows I should want this—I should want someone like her—and I hate that I don’t.
After giving my name to the hostess, we’re led to a table near the window overlooking the manicured gardens, the last of the evening light spilling over the lawns.
I pull out Hannah’s chair before sitting down opposite her, and her eyes widen again, like she’s not used to anyone bothering with small courtesies.
The sparkle there makes me feel worse—like she’s seeing something in me that isn’t real.
I’m nothing but a lie.
When the waiter hands us our menus, I’m grateful for the distraction. Birch House offers simple food with a fancy twist, and my mouth waters as I run my eye over the options—we order the slow-cooked lamb with native herbs for her, and the barramundi on cauliflower purée for me.
Once the waiter disappears, she leans forward, resting her chin on her hand.
“You know,” she says, a teasing smile tugging on her lips, “you’re not as much of an arsehole as I thought you were.”
I blink. “Thanks… I think?”
She laughs. “At your party the other week, when you called me Molly, I figured you were just another cocky soccer player who can’t keep up with the names of all the girls he hooks up with. Guess I was wrong.”
I cringe. “Sorry about that. But honestly, there haven’t been many girls at all. I’m too focused on school and soccer to have time for anything else.”
It’s a subtle hint that I don’t see this going any further than dinner tonight, but I immediately realise my mistake when her smile widens.
“Not many girls, huh? Guess that makes me pretty special?”
Shit.
Thankfully, our drinks are delivered, and I get out of answering by chugging half of my Coke. Coach Johnson would kick my arse if he found out I’d been drinking the night before a game, date or no date.
“So,” I say lamely, “You’re studying business?”
She nods, twirling her straw between her fingers. “Yeah. Majoring in marketing. It’s not exactly thrilling, but I’m hoping to get into brand management or social media marketing. Maybe for a fashion label or something in lifestyle. I like the idea of creating an image people buy into.”
I nod politely.
“Your grandad is Samuel Bentley, right? I assume you’re being groomed to take over the family business?”
“Yeah, something like that.” I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation is taking. I don’t hide who I am. That doesn’t mean I want to be reminded of my family when I’m only on this date to distract myself from doing something Dad won’t approve of.
Hannah’s astute, though, and she shoots me a warm smile. “I get the family pressure. My grandma is Christina Finlay.”
My eyes widen. “The Minister for Resources?”
She laughs. “The one and only.”
“Holy shit.” I shake my head. “What are the chances?”
“Not many people make the connection because she’s my mum’s mum.
” She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but for someone in the industry, her gran is a name often spoken around the dinner table.
“As her only granddaughter, she hoped I would study politics, but it really doesn’t interest me.
My brother and one of our cousins have taken that path, though, so I’m off the hook. ”
“I’m an only child,” I confide. “And my uncle had three girls. So, I pretty much inherited the legacy.”
Hannah arches a brow. “Women can’t be involved in the oil industry?”
“Of course they can,” I say. “But in my family’s eyes, they’ll get married one day. Their kids won’t have the Bentley family name.”
“They’ll still be Bentleys, though,” she points out. “I’m still a Finlay, even if my surname is Abbott.”
“I know that, but the decision wasn’t up to me.”
She shrugs. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know. What would you do if you could do anything in the world?”
I stare at her. No one has ever asked me that before. It’s always just been expected that I’ll follow in the family footsteps.
I clear my throat. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
Hannah shakes her head, not letting me take the easy way out. “The world’s your oyster, Noah. What is your dream?”
I take a moment to consider her question, and she waits patiently. My mind drifts to the way I felt after the scandal in Perth. “I don’t know,” I say finally. “Something that matters, I guess. Not just chasing money for the sake of it.”
“What kind of something?”
I shrug, staring at the condensation sliding down my drink. “Maybe something to do with mental health. Helping others who are going through… stuff.”
She tilts her head, her sparkling eyes studying me. “I didn’t peg you as the type.”
I huff a laugh. “Yeah. You and everyone else.”
The conversation flows naturally as our meals arrive, and the more I get to know her, the more I like her. If only I felt some sort of attraction to her. It would make everything so much easier.
As the night wears on, my mind wanders to the mask hidden in my gym bag in the back of Jasper’s car.
It was reckless for me to throw it in there when the whole point of tonight was to stop me from doing anything that would screw up my life even more than it already is, but the more I try to drag the night out with Hannah, the more I realise this isn’t where I want to be.
After dessert, which I force myself to swallow down despite loving a good crème br?lée, I ask for the bill and wrap up the night.
I walk Hannah to her door, all the while feeling antsy over what I’m about to do.
When we reach the entrance to the dorm, she turns and smiles up at me through her lashes, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“I had a really good time tonight, Noah.”
“Me, too.” It’s not a total lie. She was easy to talk to, and we shared a few laughs.
She hesitates, then says, “Look, I know I don’t really know you that well, but I could see the spark in your eye when you spoke about mental health earlier. I think you should give it some thought. You might be able to tack on a double degree or something.”
I rub the back of my neck. My father would never allow it, but I don’t want to admit that to her. “Yeah, maybe.”
“We’re all in charge of our own lives, Noah. You can make your own decisions, and your family will accept it, eventually.” She bites her bottom lip and takes a small step towards me.
Feeling like I owe her something, I reach over and release her lip with my thumb before brushing my mouth over hers. There’s absolutely zero spark, and I can’t help but think her skin is too smooth.
I don’t deepen the kiss, but when I pull back, she looks… dazed. My stomach clenches. I shouldn’t be leading her on like this.
Walking backwards, I lift a hand and wave. “Night, Hannah.”
I turn and stuff my hands in my pockets, and as I walk back to Jasper’s car, I tell myself I should go straight home. No, I am going straight home. Get a solid eight hours’ sleep and smash Macquarie University on the pitch tomorrow.
Prove to my dad that he has nothing to worry about.
His son will protect the Bentley name and keep him happy.
Only it’s not my house I’m pulling up in front of ten minutes later. It’s not my bedroom door I’m pushing open as Hannah’s words keep repeating in my head.
I am in charge of my own goddamn life, and I’m going after what I want. Fuck the consequences. I’m sick of hiding who I am and what I want. What I want is him—only I won’t focus too hard on which him I’m referring to, because there’s only one him I can have.
My mask is firmly in place as I push through the navy curtains and cast a glance around the dance floor. There’s only one person I’m looking for, and it looks like Hannah isn’t the only person I’m apologising to tonight. Only, this apology won’t include dinner and a goodnight kiss.