“Baldy lives in his mother’s basement for sure,” Matt says.
“Where he has a closet full of skin suits.”
“What are the chances of losing them if we leave?”
“Probably high, but that’s not the point, is it?”
Eventually, we move on from lunch, the paparazzi follow us everywhere, and by the time we get back to Matt’s apartment in the early evening, I’m exhausted.
We did the most mundane things all day. Shopping. Coffee. More shopping. Pretending to be interested in what we were looking at.
But that’s not the most disturbing part. The thing that makes me unsettled is the fact that even though I hated shopping and the paparazzi were relentless, I had fun. Because I was with Matt.
I groan when I throw myself down on his couch. “I still have to drive back to New York.”
“You can stay if you want.” His gruff voice does things to my cock. “I’ll even let you have your own room.”
I hesitate because I want to stay but probably shouldn’t. We were supposed to have a clean break. It was our perfect opportunity to step back, and then I went and drove a hundred miles just so I could see him.
End this.
“Thanks, but I should get back tonight.”
Matt shrugs as if he’s oblivious to my inner turmoil. I want to stay, I don’t want to go home, but that’s a bad idea.
“Want to at least stay for dinner?” he asks, and damn it, I think I’m going to cave.
“If it’s pizza.”
He scowls.
“With extra cheese and all the delicious stuff I bet you haven’t been eating since coming home.”
“Fine, you win.”
“And beer.”
“Are you going to stay the night so I can burn all those calories?” He waggles his eyebrows, and now I know without a doubt I’m going to cave.
“I’ll have to head back first thing. My father’s probably going to flip his lid when those photos hit the news. I told them at the office that I have the flu.”
Matt grins. “Still can’t believe you played hooky for me.”
Shit.
“Umm, well, you know. My psychic dick did.”
I haven’t seen Matt smile as much as he has today, and I’m beginning to realize I’d do anything to keep it on his face.
Even stay the night when I know I shouldn’t.
Chapter Thirteen
Matt
I’m late. Very, very late. Noah’s already in his suit and ready for the benefit when I get to his place.
“Traffic was a bitch,” I complain as I step into his house. “Someone wanted to come look at the apartment, and then they ran late, which put me behind and—” I throw my duffel bag on the ground in haste to kiss Noah hello.
“Whoa.” Noah backs up before I can touch my lips to his. “Your beard. Or … not beard.”
I shrug. “Figured I should look respectable or whatever.” My cheeks feel naked, but they warm at the sight of Noah in his tux. He looks absolutely fuckable.
I push him against the wall right by the stairs in the foyer and force my tongue into his mouth.
“We don’t have time,” he says but keeps kissing me anyway.
“Stupid people,” I grumble. “Didn’t even buy the apartment. I need something to take the edge off. Haven’t seen you in forever.” Three days is forever, right?
“I’m sure you can make it a few hours without needing to touch me.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.” Hell, I’d settle for blowing him here in the foyer.
“Well, it has to be, because any minute now—”
There’s a knock at the door behind us, and I step back in time for Damon and Maddox to come through the door wearing tuxes. It’s not a surprise Damon’s invited to this too. Although, I’m not sure if it’s because he’s representing me and has been getting almost as much publicity as I am or because he decided he needs to keep an eye on me and Noah. Probably the latter. If Noah and I screw this up, it’s not just my career on the line but Damon’s as well. If we really dissect it, it could put Noah’s dad’s campaign in jeopardy too.
No pressure.
“You guys aren’t ready?” Damon asks.
“What gave it away, Captain Obvious?” Noah says.
“I can be ready in ten,” I say and run up the stairs. “Where’s my suit?” I yell out.
“In my room,” Noah says.
I wonder if Damon will have anything to say about that.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re out the door. On the car ride over to the Plaza, nerves and dread sit in the pit of my stomach. I have to be on tonight, and that always makes me antsy. I have to pretend like my career isn’t in the toilet, that I’m completely happy, and I’m not looking at the daunting possibility that football is over for me.
I run a sweaty palm down my leg, but Noah reaches for it. Wordlessly, he runs his thumb over my hand, and he doesn’t need to speak to tell me he’s there for me. He doesn’t need to reassure me, that’s not part of his job, but that doesn’t stop him.