Chapter 22
Nik
Loud music and flashing lights fill this tiny restaurant making us feel like we’re caught in a spotlight.
Loving swears he picked this place because “it’s quiet,” which, given the wall of electric neon signs that buzz and the mariachi band two tables over, is complete bullshit.
His girl Valentina, loves margaritas. That's why he picked it.
We’ve got a corner booth big enough for six but not quite big enough for three NFL egos.
Loving raises his glass first. “To the Rage, the Drillers, and the Warriors. May we all continue to be wildly better than each other.”
“Translation,” Soba says, “to me, for getting drafted first and carrying this group.”
“You’re carried by your mouth, not your stats,” I say, clinking my glass to his.
He smirks. “That’s what Scottie says, too.”
We all groan, and she gives him a pinch to his bicep before asking, “Is it always like this? The paparazzi? The fans?”
I nod. “Your man is a big deal.” I wink at Soba. “But having the Trickie Nickies in the same place at the same time?” I whistle. “That's the pull.”
The table groans in mild laughter. Noelle hides her smile behind her margarita, but her shoulders shake.
She’s wearing this little black dress with a strap that keeps falling off her shoulder.
It’s enough to ruin a man’s concentration.
She knew exactly what she was doing when she walked out into the hallway in the hotel.
And I suppose I deserved it, after the innuendos I dropped during the press conference.
We’ve been doing this dance since we first met and though I continued to tell myself it can’t happen, right now I’m not so sure I can stand by that thought.
I catch her watching me from over the rim of her glass, and when I raise a brow, she doesn’t look away.
She just places her glass down and licks the salt off her thumb, slowly, and I’m done.
I adjust myself in my seat and try to focus on the table.
“So,” Loving says, always ready to stir the shit, “looks like Saint Nik finally met his match.”
“Bro,” I groan.
He smirks. “What? I’m just saying, for someone who's been adamant about the non-girlfriend, you two look pretty cozy together.”
“Non-girlfriend?” Noelle laughs. “Is that what you call me?”
“He’s just trying to cause trouble.”
Soba chimes in, pulling out his phone. “Should we review the tapes?”
I snatch his phone from his hand. “See? Trouble. Both of them get girlfriends and now they think everyone needs one.”
Loving sighs. “No trouble here, just trying to make you see the light.”
“Please,” I laugh at him. “Saints live in the light.”
Noelle leans forward, her voice smooth and teasing. “Hope I don’t get blinded by that light.”
“Would you rather be in the dark?” I question.
Loving groans. “Jesus Christ, get a room. Or at least let me order dessert first.”
“Already got dessert,” Soba says, eyeing Scottie as she steals a fry off his plate.
Noelle clears her throat. “So, off the record, of course, tell me about your boy.” She passes me a glance and sits back in the booth, her thigh brushing mine. I pretend I don’t notice.
Loving claps his hands and laughs. “Now we’re talking. Let me tell you about this guy.”
I lean my head back and sigh out loud. “Bruh, just remember, whatever you say, I've got stories to match.”
Soba chuckles. “Do we want to talk about that homecoming weekend, senior year in high school? Or do we skip right to the good shit at Zeiders?”
“Let me say it again: I’ve got the same stories. Everything I did, you both were right there with me. Now think about it, do you want any of that in an article?”
They both sober, look at each other, and say “Nahhhh!” at the same time, and our table doubles over in laughter.
This right here is what I've been missing. Sure, I love my team. They include me. I’ve made friends with Starks, Garrison, and Jameson …but there's something about being with your friends that you've known from the start—the ones who have been there through every win and loss, year after year.
I miss it.
I miss them.
“Noelle,” Scottie says, grinning, “you sure you wanna sit amongst the saints of sarcasm?”
Noelle’s eyes flick to mine. “I don’t know. I’ve heard one of them prefers to be a sinner.”
I choke slightly on my drink while Soba and Loving howl. “Oh, she’s got your number, Saint!” Soba says.
They’ve no idea, but this game she’s playing right now? I’m here for it. I lean forward, elbows on the table, locking eyes with her. “Depends what she plans to do with it.”
She doesn’t blink. “Delete it.”
“You won’t,” I murmur, and she smirks before taking a slow sip of her drink, tongue catching the salt on the rim this time.
She knows what she’s doing.
Hell, she’s excellent at it.
This,” Scottie says, shaking her head, “is why grown men shouldn’t sit together unsupervised.”
Valentina, Nico’s girlfriend, raises her glass. “Amen.”
Noelle’s foot brushes my leg under the table. Once. Then again. I freeze mid-sip, heartbeat punching harder than it should. She doesn’t look at me; she just keeps talking, calm and sweet with the girls, like she’s not casually undoing me one inch at a time.
“You okay, Saint?” she asks, finally glancing up.
“Define okay.” I take a slow drink to hide the grin I can’t stop.
She’s dangerous, and the fact that we’re staying in the same room tonight?
I already know what I want to happen. She may not think I want her, but I do.
And after tonight’s show here at the table? I’ve a feeling she’s feeling the same.
The conversation around us blurs. Soba is bragging about his New York house with its special room just for Scottie to paint in.
Loving is making Valentina roll her eyes at everything he says.
But all I can focus on is Noelle. The way her necklace catches the light.
The curve of her smile, that damn fucking strap slipping off her shoulder, and the heat still lingering where her leg touches mine.
She leans closer, her voice just low enough for me to hear. “You’re quieter than I expected.”
“Just letting them talk,” I say. “They get themselves in trouble without even knowing it.”
“Strategic.”
“Always.”
She tilts her head. “You like control.”
“On the field? Always.”
Her gaze drags down my face, lands on my mouth. “And what about now?”
I smirk. “Right now, I’m trying not to lose it.”
She laughs softly, fingers tracing the condensation on her glass. “That’s sweet. Almost sounds like you care.”
“Oh, I care,” I say, leaning in just enough that my voice drops low. “Just not about playing fair.”
Soba snaps out, “Yo, Warrior! You running plays again?”
“Strategizing,” I shoot back, still grinning.
“Uh-huh,” he says. “It’s what you're good at.”
Noelle bites her lip to keep from laughing, and I’m gone again.
She doesn’t even need to touch me this time.
She’s already under my skin. It's amazing how easily she fits here with everyone. I didn't think twice about bringing her tonight, and now that she’s here, I don't have a care in the world, and I know I’ll hear about it from these two fools tomorrow. It’s okay.
I can’t deny it. I’m not so slowly falling over the edge for her.
Just before the check comes, Loving announces he and Valentina have to jet out early. They're heading to meet up with his family, who came in for the weekend, so we all give him a bit of shit for it.
Loving tries to bail himself out. “Rookie rule, first round draft buys.”
“Bro, we all make millions,” I fire back.
“Yeah,” Soba replies. “But mine’s New York millions.”
“Then by all means, pick up the check.”
Noelle laughs. “You three are ridiculous.”
“Guilty,” I say, and lean in close, “Don’t you dare think about throwing your card down.”
“Oh, I’m not. Seems you three wanna pose for the biggest dick.”
I retort, “No posing necessary."
We say goodbye to Nico and Val, and I feel kind of sad.
I don’t know when I'll see him next. Our schedules have us playing opposite each other.
But we make plans for the off-season. I shake hands with Valentina; she and Noelle exchange numbers, and it feels good.
Noelle and I aren't anything to each other, but the fact that she and the girls hit it off feels good. Because maybe it could be something.
Another drink later, we wrap things up. I stand, holding Noelle’s coat out for her. My hand brushes her back as she slips into it.
She turns, eyes bright, voice low enough to be dangerous. “You handled yourself well tonight, Saint.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Though I think I lost the battle of self-control about three tequilas ago.”
Her smile curves slowly. “Then maybe stop fighting so hard next time.”
I lean in close enough for her perfume to drown out the room. “Careful,” I whisper. “I play to win.”
She meets my eyes, not even pretending to be innocent. “Good,” she says. “So do I.”