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NOAH

The moon is high, and I have an unobstructed view of the Seattle skyline outside the window of the ritzy hotel room I was put up in for the weekend. The Space Needle’s lights glitter in the horizon. They’ve really gone all-out to not only sell me on the Grizzlies, but on Seattle. Still, even with all their schmoozing, something just feels… wrong.

After pulling out my phone, I take a photo and post it to my socials, along with one of me touring the Grizzlies stadium today, with the caption, Wake Me Up When Draft Season Ends #dreamsarebecomingreality. My posts are few and far between, but this seems like a moment to immortalize. The last official meeting with an NFL team before my entire life changes.

I set the phone on the nightstand and head for the walk-in rain shower to wash off the day’s festivities.

After I’m done and dressed, I sprawl out on the large king-size bed and grab my phone off the nightstand to catch up on messages.

Damn. My home screen is blowing up. I go to my settings and turn off push notifications for the app responsible, then switch to it.

My Grizzlies post is flooded with comments. Some from guys excited to see me drafted, but mostly from girls who are using the app as a ballsy Bumble alternative.

I’d rather you wake me up at dawn.

Noah come-fuck-me Caruso is in Seattle? Yes, plz.

Hot hot hot.

Marry me?

It’s not the first time I’ve garnered attention on socials. Comments mostly come from CBU students, but this is unmatched. I discover the Seattle Grizzlies official page reshared my post to their story. Well, that explains a lot. They have over three million followers.

With the number of DMs overwhelming me, I opt to clear those next and quickly realize it’s a mistake.

Saw you’re in Seattle. Lmk if you wanna grab a drink

Hey. Wanna hang with me and a few girlfriends tonight? We don’t mind sharing.

FUCK you’re hot.

Oop. And there’s an unsolicited tit pic.

Auto block.

A text notification pops in.

Charlotte

Fun fact: All Noah Caruso had to do to get famous was sell his soul to Seattle

ME

I haven’t sold my soul

Charlotte

The rainy city girls sure seem to think so

My finger hovers over the keyboard. Is she… jealous?

ME

Too bad for them

Charlotte

Why didn’t you like Seattle?

ME

Never said I didn’t like it.

I don’t.

ME

There’s just some things it’s lacking

Charlotte

Like?

A brown-eyed, brown-haired, smartass little cheerleader.

ME

Palm trees & Pub subs

Charlotte

Ohh yeah that’s rough

I’m lying about the palm trees. There are surprisingly some around here, but the Publix subs I’m totally serious about.

Charlotte

Anything else Seattle is lacking?

I bite my cheek, unable to gauge if she’s baiting a certain answer.

ME

Didn’t see any dandelions

Charlotte

Plenty of them in Florida

ME

One is all it takes

Charlotte

Your wish come true yet?

ME

Nah, yours?

Charlotte

Nope.

After the exhausting day I’ve had, I ache to hear her voice, but as often as we text lately, we never talk on the phone. Guess there’s a first time for everything. Ten seconds later, Charlotte’s face fills the screen.

“Hey,” I say, forcing a relaxed, I’m-totally-not-freaking-out smile.

“Hey,” she replies, her voice muffled by her surroundings.

“Where are you?” I assumed she was home by how quickly she was replying.

“Well…” She glances around, and I spot a familiar painting hanging on the wall behind her.

“Are you at my place?” I ask, sitting straight up.

“ Maaaaaybe ,” she says coyly.

“Without me?” The realization hits me like a three-hundred-pound linebacker.

“ Yeessss. ”

“Are you at Des’s graduation party?” I ask, and she doesn’t reply, but given the loud noises in the background I can assume. “Seriously? Put Des on.”

Charlotte giggles, the video shaky as she makes her way through the house. “It’s for you,” she says, handing off the phone to Desmond, my roommate, whose grinning face fills the screen.

“What’s up?” he says.

“How’s the party?” I ask casually to avoid potential ball busting.

He grins. “Good.”

“Who showed?” I press.

Charlotte is single now. The guys are going to be all over her.

“Why?” he asks. When I don’t reply, he looks away, then grins, returning his gaze to the camera. “Ohhh, I get it. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

So much for playing it casual.

“Excuse me,” Charlotte sasses, snatching her phone back. “Noah Gabriel.” She narrows her eyes. If only she knew my body’s reaction to the way she says my name is not one of remorse. “I do not need a chaperone.”

“Halloween would beg to differ.” Her expression goes flat. “I’m sorry, I just meant—” The camera blurs once more as she shuffles through the house, and when I see her face again, I groan, taking in her surroundings.

She’s in my room. Sitting on my bed while I’m on the opposite side of the country.

The woman is torturing me, and she knows it.

“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “I know that night is a sore spot.”

“It is,” she says with a searing look.

“You want the truth?” I say, opting for vulnerability to thaw this Elsa act.

“Please.”

“I’m frustrated you’re in my house and I’m not.”

She stares at me, brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why ?”

Because the thought of you finding some other guy to be your rebound who’s not going to even remotely give a shit about you or your feelings makes me want to vomit.

I drag a hand through my hair. “Because it looks like a good party.”

So much for the truth.

“It is,” she says, glancing away, then back to the camera. “And I’m actually gonna get back to it if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say lamely, and she hangs up, killing the call and my mood.

I curse myself, feeling dumb. Why’d I have to bring up a night I know she hates?

When I return to my home screen, the countdown clock stares at me.

NFL Draft: 6 days. 21 hours. 18 minutes. 43 seconds.

By this time next week, I’ll finally have the answer to where I’m spending the next chapter of my life, and fuck if that doesn’t scare the hell out of me.