Chapter 3 #2
She gave me a weak twist of her lips—something that might’ve been a smile if she wasn’t so wiped out—but her eyes flicked past my shoulder, unfocused and distant.
“I’m going to head back to my flat and rest.”
I frowned. “You got a car to drive?”
She hesitated, and that told me everything I needed to know.
I straightened up, crossing my arms. “You don’t look like you should be driving anyway.”
“It’s fine,” she said quickly, though she didn’t sound convincing. “I live far. I’ll take the tube.”
I narrowed my eyes at her.
“No, you won’t. Not in this state, you’re not.” I grabbed her hand. “I’m taking you home.”
Her gaze flicked to mine, and she shook her hand out of my grip.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I know I don’t need to,” I replied, holding her gaze. “But you look like you might pass out halfway down the path, and I’d rather not hear about that in tomorrow’s headlines.”
“I’m in no mood to argue, so if we’re going, let’s go,” she finally said with a deep exhale.
I smiled, seemingly satisfied that I’d won, and walked as she grabbed her bag out of an empty office.
We walked down the steps, and I guided us down the block to where my car was parked. The fresh air seemed to do her some good—the color was coming back to her cheeks, and her steps were steadier.
I pulled open the passenger door and held it for her. She climbed in quickly, a soft laugh slipping from her lips as she settled into the seat.
“What’s funny?” I asked, shutting the door behind her and rounding the car.
“I forget it’s on the opposite side,” she admitted as I slid into the driver’s seat. “I don’t know if I’d ever get the hang of driving like this.”
Ah. She must have just moved here.
“You’re new, then?” I asked as I started the car.
It would explain the hangover. Americans always underestimated London pubs—some were open late, but people from the States tended to act like they’d never seen a pint before.
“A couple of weeks ago, yeah.” She leaned her head against the window. “I moved here with my best friend.”
“Wow.” I glanced her way. “Bet your family’s upset about you moving across the pond.”
Her expression shifted, her gaze drifting outside as if she’d heard the question from a mile away. Then she sighed. “My mom died,” she said quietly, the words coming out flat, matter-of-fact, and way too heavy for a conversation with someone she’d just met.
My brows furrowed as I looked at her, caught off guard. People didn’t just say things like that—not to strangers. Sure, I’d wiped puke off her face, but still, we barely knew each other.
“Oh.” She giggled suddenly, though the sound didn’t quite fit. “Sorry. That was weird. Heavy shit.”
I shook my head and reached over without thinking, resting my hand on her thigh and giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze. “Not a problem, love. Sorry to hear about your mum.”
She shrugged, her fingers tracing the rim of the water bottle in her lap. “The least of my problems,” she muttered, like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.
I didn’t respond, just let go of her thigh and gripped the wheel, guiding us out of the training grounds.
She’s weird. Heavy. Odd. Blunt. A mix of things I couldn’t quite figure out yet. I’d never met anyone like her before, and it bugged me more than it should’ve.
“Where do you live?”
“Richmond area. If you take me to the center by the pier, we’re right there.”
“Nice area,” I said.
Richmond was fancy, outside of the center of London, but pricey.
“You’re the assistant coach, Oliver Stone?”
“I’m glad you know who’s driving you home.” I chuckled, which made her laugh.
“I did a lot of research. You were a really good back.”
I nodded a couple times, happy she knew who she was dealing with.
“Then you got promoted this year to assistant coach.” She sat up straighter in her seat.
“That’s me.” I smiled and glanced over at her before turning my eyes back to the road.
“Do you live nearby?”
“Nah,” I replied, easing the car through a quieter stretch of the city. “I’m north of you, in Ealing. I’ve lived there since my playing days, upgraded myself to a nice terraced house when I could.” I glanced at her again as I navigated into the area next to the pier. “You’re looking better.”
She shrugged, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. “Guess the fresh air was what I needed the most.”
I pulled the car over, slowing to a stop.
She undid her seat belt with a sigh and reached for her bag.
“Thanks for driving me. I really appreciate it.” She paused, her hand frozen on the strap, before glancing back at me.
“And, uh, for helping in the bathroom. But if you think we could just . . . never talk about that again, that would be great.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “What bathroom?”
That earned me a smile, but it still seemed forced.
“Thanks again.” She pushed the door open.
“Hey.” I reached out instinctively, gently wrapping my hand around her arm before she could step out.
She froze, snapping her gaze back to mine.
What the fuck was I doing?
She clutched her bag like it was some kind of lifeline, and my grip loosened on instinct. I should’ve let her go. I should’ve. She was my colleague—we worked together. There were boundaries for a reason, but apparently, I didn’t know how to keep my mouth shut.
“What’re you up to this weekend?” I asked, like an idiot. “I can show you the best pubs if you—”
“No.” Her voice was sharp, cutting me off mid-sentence. She shook her arm free of my grip like it was nothing, like I was nothing. “I don’t hang out with anyone from work.”
Before I could say anything else—before I could even process how quickly I’d been shut down—she slammed the door. Hard. I watched through the windshield as she crossed the street without looking back, her combat boots pounding against the pavement.
I sat there for a second, stunned, the quiet inside the car ringing in my ears.
“What the fuck?” I said to no one but myself.
That was fucking stupid. I was trying to be nice, to be helpful—hell, I didn’t even know why I’d said it—but that’s what I got. She didn’t want my help. Didn’t want anything to do with me.
I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, leaning back in the seat and staring at the empty street ahead of me.
I hadn’t dated, hadn’t fucked anyone since taking this coaching job.
It was easier that way—no complications, no messes.
Women were complicated. They wanted things I couldn’t give, and I’d decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
But her?
Nova was something else. Hours. It had been hours since I met her, and I couldn’t figure her out.
And yet, here I was, sitting in my car, replaying every damn word she said.