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NOAH

The aroma of recently cut grass paired with acrylic paint infiltrates my senses. The air lacks the typical musk of a hundred sweaty athletes pushing their bodies to the limit.

The stillness is the most jarring part. Ninety-thousand seats surround me, and not a single one filled. Not a shout, a cheer, a “screw you.” Just absolute silence aside from the turf crunching beneath my feet as Sean Bexley, my new head coach, and I walk towards the giant white fish in the center of the field.

Tampa Barracudas’ stadium.

My new home.

For as long as they’ll have me, anyways.

“What do you think, Caruso?” Coach Bexley asks, raking a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“Hell of a view,” I reply, still in awe.

It’s not my first time here. But there’s something different knowing come fall, I’ll be in this stadium—running on this field—in front of ninety thousand fans.

Knowing my entire life, every practice, every sacrifice, every painful injury, brought me here.

“That it is,” Coach Bexley says as we cross the field toward the locker rooms. “I’ve seen what you can do, and I’ll admit, even I’m impressed. But you still have room to grow.”

“Absolutely,” I respond, not allowing my ego to be bruised. “There’s always room for improvement.”

“Training camp starts in July, and I expect you to be physically ready. You’ll receive an email this week with a suggested training regimen and diet.” By suggested, he means mandatory. “Mentally, this will be a big transition. We have team therapists if you need someone to speak to.”

“Got it,” I say, trying to retain all the information as we pass the field goal posts and enter the tunnel.

“There are a few events over the summer that aren’t required, but your presence would definitely be appreciated.” Appreciated also means mandatory. “You’ll get all that information too,” he tells me, turning the corner. I follow beside him and a body slams into my chest, eliciting a groan. I reach out my arms, steadying the assaulter, and look into the eyes of a flustered redhead. A familiar redhead.

“Watch where you’re—” She cuts herself off. “Noah?”

“Hey… you,” I say, tone full of surprise, her name not coming to mind. She bought me a drink at Ken’s Karaoke, but I headed back to the hotel before anything happened, and we didn’t exchange numbers.

“Hannah,” she reminds me, a smile creeping on her face.

“Right,” I say. “Hannah.”

“Mind taking your hands off my daughter?” Coach Bexley says, and I glance from him to my hands and yank them away.

“Sorry, sir.”

“You okay, Pumpkin?” he asks her.

“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes and cocking her head at him.

Coach Bexley turns his attention to me. “How do you know one another?”

My eyes bounce between them. “We me?—”

“We met when I visited Shannon at CBU a few weeks ago,” Hannah says, and I try not to display my confusion as she and I certainly know that is not true. “Anyways, are you almost ready to go, Dad? I’m starving.”

“Sure. I think we’re finished here.” He pats his pockets. “I’ve gotta grab my wallet in my office. I’ll be right back.”

He walks away, and once out of earshot, Hannah snaps her gaze to me. “Sorry, he didn’t know I was in Miami for spring break.”

“Not my business,” I say.

“So you’re my father’s next victim, I see,” she teases.

“Looks that way.”

“Good.” She smiles, eyes dropping down my body like I might be her next victim. No, thanks. Coach Bexley turns the corner, and I blow out a sigh of relief.

“Guess I’ll see you around?” I say as he nears.

“Hope so,” she says, biting her lip.

“Okay, now I’m ready,” Coach Bexley says. “See you soon, Caruso.”

“Yes sir.”

* * *

Desmond secures the cover over the pool table as I mount the cue stick holder to the wall of my new house. Staying in the Baller Pad with the boys didn’t make sense after graduating, and I have zero interest in getting home from long practice days to a kegger in my living room. I began looking for a new house months ago, and as soon as the signing bonus from the Barracudas dropped in my account, I put in an offer.

Crystal Bay is a quick drive from Tampa, so I opted to stay in the nice little beach town. Since Desmond was drafted to Vegas, Elijah and Theo are now renting the old house from me. The first of my rental properties—all part of the five-year plan.

“End of an era,” Desmond says, eyes glued to the pool table where many, many games were played over long conversations about life and football.

“Beginning of a new one,” I reply, smiling down at it.

“Still can’t believe Vegas drafted me.” He was a second-round pick, which is bull considering he’s one of the top receivers in college football. But he got drafted nonetheless.

“You’re going to crush it,” I tell him.

“And we’re going to crush you in the fall.”

“Bullshit.” I shove him.

He smirks. “You don’t have your favorite roommate to make you look good anymore.”

I laugh, pulling him in for a hug. “We’re still gonna kick your ass.”

He slaps my back, then releases. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

“What time are you leaving?”

“I actually gotta head out. Wanna get on the road before rush hour.”

“Well, text me when you get there,” I tell him.

“You got it,” he says, shooting me a wave and walking out the door. It really is the end of an era.

Ignoring the pang of sadness, I grab a broom, sweep up the fallen drywall from screwing in the cue stick holder, and head towards the kitchen to dump it in the trash.

Elijah enters carrying a plastic box, Charlotte and Sophia in tow, and I set the broom on the counter to greet them. She’s here.

“That’s the last of it,” Elijah tells me.

“This place is sweet,” Charlotte says, heading to the kitchen. “Vaulted ceilings, are you kidding me?”

“An outdoor kitchen?” Sophia says, ripping the tape off a small box of dishes. “This is for sure the new party house.”

“The old house can keep the parties,” I say firmly, my muscles seizing at the thought of Theo doing a keg stand in my new kitchen.

“Soph, can you help me?” Elijah shouts from the guest room where he’s setting up the bed frame.

“Coming,” Sophia calls back, walking away.

“Please don’t christen the house before I have,” I tell Sophia.

She turns around, shooting finger guns and a devilish smirk at me. “No promises.”

“God, they are just…”

Charlotte laughs. “I know.”

“So you like the place?”

“Hell yes,” she says, her response pleasing me as she sets another glass in the cabinet. “Can I sneak in and use your giant bathtub when you’re at away games? I’m so sick of only having a shower.”

“You don’t need to sneak in,” I say, reaching in my pocket and glancing down at the shiny piece of metal. You’ve got this, Caruso. Releasing a shaky breath, I say, “Just use your key.”

Her head snaps to me. “My what?”

“Your key.” I hold up my spare attached to a special keychain.

She walks over slowly and takes it from my hand. “Why are you giving me this?”

“Because you’re the person I trust most in Crystal Bay,” I say, the admission hanging heavy in the air between us. “And I’m one hundred percent certain Elijah and Theo would throw a rager the first weekend I’m gone, and I’d have to kill them. The backyard is spacious, but not big enough to hide two bodies.” She analyzes the little keychain and holds it against her chest. My casual expression breaks into a full toothed smile. “Do you like it?”

She rubs her fingertips over the cornicello keychain. “I love it.”

“To protect you when I’m gone,” I tell her, my chest tightening, and she glances up, eyes meeting mine.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.” I grin.

She hooks the keychain around her finger, twirling it. “So let’s say you were out of town and I wanted to use your place.”

“Consider it your personal getaway.” Although I’d prefer you use it when I’m here too.

“And if I want to bring a guy here to use the amenities?”

My veins buzz, and I fold my arms over my chest. “Absolutely not.”

She pouts. “Why not?” The corners of her lips curling upward suggest she must be messing with me.

She better be.

“If I have to think about you being in my house with some other guy’s hands—” I cut off the admission, taking a calming breath. “No.”

“Why?” she asks, expression turning serious. “What if he’s just a friend?”

I’m “just a friend,” and I still think about her naked at least four times a week. But I don’t need to mention that.

“No,” I repeat, narrowing my eyes at her. “The only guys you’re allowed to bring here are Elijah, Julian, and Theo.” She cocks a brow at the last name. “Actually, not Theo.”

She contemplates me. “You’re a possessive friend.”

I smirk down at her. “And before you get any ideas, I have a doorbell cam, so I’ll know if you show up with any of your suitors.”

She presses her lips together and bursts out laughing. “Noah, I’m fucking with you. I wouldn’t use your place for that.”

“I know.” A wicked smile spreads across my face. “Because your possessive best friend would hunt them down and bury them in his new backyard.”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “I thought there wasn’t enough room?”

“I’d find room.”

She shifts in place. “And best friend?”

I shrug, heart stuck in my throat. “You got a better option?”

“Andi, Stella, Theo?—”

My jaw ticks. “Seriously?”

“Kidding.” She grins, picking up a vibrant cappuccino cup with lemons and flowers on it to continue her organization. One of my favorites. “This is so pretty.”

“I made it in Palermo last summer.”

“You made this?” she asks, analyzing my handiwork.

“Well, not the cup, but my mom and I took a glaze and sip class to paint them,” I tell her as memories of the day come to mind. Mamma saw the flyer when we were at a morning market and insisted we go. Saying no to her is impossible.

“This is hand -painted?” she gasps. “By the famous NFL quarterback Noah Caruso?”

The tips of my ears burn. “Are you really so surprised?”

“No.” She side-eyes me teasingly. “I’m sorry, it’s just so beautiful.”

I take it from her, looking down at the design that took me ages, rubbing my thumb over the little citrus. “Fun fact: Sicily’s nickname is the Lemon Riviera because of how important lemons are in the culture and cuisine.”

“I can’t even imagine the quantity of lemons they go through.”

“It’s a lot,” I tell her, setting the cup down on the counter and leaning against it to enjoy her in my space. “A lot of people have their own trees. My nonna does.”

“Are they hard to keep alive?” she asks, scrunching her cute nose. “I’m not great with plants.”

“It takes time, but with the right care they grow into a strong tree, basically making lemons forever.”

“Powerful little things,” she says.

“Definitely. My nonna’s grows so many, we’re all but forced to have something lemon every day.”

“Mmm,” she moans, and I can’t decide whether to imprint the sound in my memory or erase it. “The food there must be unmatched.”

“It is.” My mouth waters at the thought. “We’ll have to go sometime.”

She smiles at me softly. “Too bad our summer is booked.”

“Yeah.” I press my lips together, daydreams of tanning on the Mondello beach with Charlotte fading away. “Are you looking forward to Camp Dickson next week?”

Her nose scrunches up. “Kinda.”

“I thought you loved it last year?”

She turns to face me with narrowed eyes. “We weren’t even friends last year. How would you know?”

“I’ve always noticed you,” I admit, stomach swirling. “You were constantly laughing with the girls.”

“Yeah.” She smiles sadly. “It was nice to be able to let loose.”

“Then why aren’t you happy to go this year?”

She blows out a heavy breath. “Noah.”

“Charlotte.” I raise my brows while keeping my expression neutral. Her concern is, well, concerning.

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” she says, picking up the lemon cappuccino cup.

I place my hand on the cabinet door and gently close it to steal her focus. “Please?”

Her frustrated gaze slides to mine. “Jonathan’s going to be there with his team.”

My skin flushes hot. “I forgot about that.”

The light in Charlotte’s eyes dims, and she turns her attention to the cup in her hand. “I didn’t.”

She lifts it toward the cabinet and slams it against the closed door, causing it to fall and shatter against the counter. My muscles seize.

“Shit,” she says, freezing in place.

“Are you hurt?” My eyes scan every inch of her body, finally landing at her feet, where multicolor ceramic fragments are sprinkled around.

“I don’t think so.”

“Hey!” Sophia shouts, still in the guest room with Elijah. “You christening the house too?”

“There better not be any christening happening today!” I call out, reaching for Charlotte, thankful to have sneakers on.

“Too late!” Elijah replies, and I blow out a breath. Focus.

“I’m so sorry,” Charlotte says, looking at the mess.

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” I tell her, considering it seems like an acceptable time to break rule number one.

“I’m perfectly capab—” Her lips snap shut as my gaze sears into her.

“Hands. Shoulders. Now.”

“So bossy,” she says, reaching out to grip me.

“Good girl. See?” My teasing eyes meet hers. “I knew you could listen.” I place my hands on her hips, holding firmly. “Jump,” I instruct, and she pushes off her toes, allowing me to pull her into me. She wraps her legs around my waist, arms looping my neck, and her scent surrounds me. How does she always smell so good? Like peaches and torturous temptation. Her warm body is pressed against mine, and I fight a fucking hard-on as I walk over to the counter and set her on the edge.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Welcome.” I reluctantly remove my hands from her waist as indecent thoughts run rampant. She releases her hold, dropping a leg on each side of me, and I regain the ability to think straight. Mostly .

I lift her foot, checking the top and bottom closely for any shards. She doesn’t speak as I drop her leg and examine the other foot, only pausing to run my thumb over the softness of her ankle.

Are ankles usually this sexy?

“You sure you didn’t step on any?” I ask, slowly sliding my palm up her smooth leg, and resting it on her knee. So soft.

“Yes,” she croaks out as I step between her legs, and reach around to grab the handle of the broom. Her warm breath fans against my neck. “What are you…” She presses a palm to my chest, and I stop breathing. With my free hand, I brush her hair behind her shoulder and bring my lips to her ear.

“Don’t move,” I murmur, pausing for one selfish moment in her presence. Rein it in, Caruso. Gripping the broom, I pull it around, stepping away.

Charlotte releases a shaky breath. “Yes sir.”

She’s really not helping the fighting of the hard-on situation.

After the last shards of the cup are tossed, I grab Charlotte’s sandals. Taking her foot in my hand, I slide the shoe on, denying myself a pause as I do the same with the other.

“I feel like Cinderella,” she teases, and I offer a hand, which she accepts before hopping off the counter.

“Are you okay?” I ask, steadying her.

“Yes.” She sighs, releasing me. “I’m so sorry. I feel awful. You must have worked so hard on it.”

“I don’t care about the cup.” I do, but I’m used to things breaking. “I want to make sure you’re okay.” A burning feeling settles in my stomach. “You started talking about your ex and immediately spaced out.”

“I know.” She pauses, eyes on the floor. “I feel ridiculous.”

“Don’t. You’re allowed to feel how you feel.”

She heads back to the cabinet, and silence blankets the room. Clinking fills the air as we arrange the remaining coffee mugs. I track her movements, hoping she’ll give away anything she may be feeling or thinking.

My curiosity overwhelms me, and I ask, “Do you miss him?”

Her face scrunches up in disgust. “God, no,” she says, and I let out a shaky laugh in relief. “I just don’t want to see him. Or talk to him. Or think about him.”

“I wish you would’ve told me you were worried about this.”

She tilts her head to the side with sad eyes. “I like how I feel around you, and I didn’t want to bring him up and ruin that.”

‘I like how I feel around you.’

“What do you mean?” I ask, heart racing.

“You’re annoyed, and now I have to keep thinking about him even though I want to forget he ever existed,” she says, exasperated.

I take a step forward, and her eyes find mine. “Charlotte.”

She attempts to keep her face passive but one corner of her mouth quirks upward. “Noah.”

“Please don’t hold anything in with me.” I raise my brows at her. “I don’t want you bottling things up. You wanna talk about it, we talk about it. You wanna forget it happened, we’ll erase it from your memory together. Okay?”

She nods, a smile breaking free. “Okay.”

Her agreement fills me with relief. “And promise me something?”

Her expression turns serious. “Anything.”

“If that prick tries getting you back, you tell him to go fuck himself and walk away,” I say, and she huffs a laugh. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

She smirks. “No.”

“He doesn’t deserve you. He never did.” My jaw clenches. “Repeat it.”

“What?” she scoffs.

“Repeat. It.”

She tilts her head. “He doesn’t deserve me. He never did.”