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NOAH

“You’re seriously saying no to popping bottles at LIV?” Theo asks, dumbstruck eyes on me as we exit Ken’s Karaoke. Our group’s heading to one of Miami’s most renowned clubs, but after a day at the beach, paired with multiple Grammy-award-worthy performances, my eyes are fighting for life.

“Sorry, bud,” I say, the stench of stale beer and cigarettes seeping deeper into my pores with every second. “The hotel shower is calling my name.”

“I’d feel less disappointed if the redhead was joining you in it.”

“Nah, not my type.”

He smirks. “Why, because she’s not brunette and in a relationship?”

I glare at him. “Fuck off.”

“See you, Cap.” He laughs, nudging my shoulder. “Don’t wait up.” The group waves, heading down the street for the next debauchery of the night.

Thirty minutes later, the scalding water is raining down on me, skin scrubbed new. After turning the metal handle to stop the stream, I step out. Reaching for a towel from the shelf, my hand waves in the air, coming up empty. My eyes fall to the floor, discovering a clumped white mountain. Thanks, Theo.

On top of the vanity, a dainty hand towel folded like a bird catches my attention. Beggars can’t be choosers. I snatch the sacrificial scrap of cloth and rub it against my hair, then continue with the rest of my body.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I roll my eyes at the door while rubbing the water off my stomach. Maybe if I don’t let Theo in, he’ll start remembering his damn key.

Do not enable Theo.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I glance at myself in the mirror and curse, knowing I’m not that guy.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I blow out a breath, heading towards it, hand cloth draped over my dick. Guess Mr. Impatient will have to deal with the indecency.

Hiding my bare body behind the door, I pull it open, craning my head around. “Listen, Theo, we’re gon—” The door shoves against me. “What the he?—”

Charlotte rushes into the room and spins to face me. Her vacant eyes meet mine, their usual sparkle lacking, arms over her chest as she holds herself tight.

“What’s wrong?” Panic sets in, my heart racing. “Did something happen? Sophia said you left the bar. I assumed you came back to the hotel.” I should’ve walked her myself. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No,” she says quickly, and I breathe a sigh of relief, shutting the door. “Well, yes, technically.”

My jaw hardens, worry returning. “Who?”

“It’s nothing,” she says, attempting to swipe away black mascara smudges from under her eyes. My Charlotte radar blares. She’s lying.

“If it’s nothing, then why are you here?” I ask, readjusting the tiny towel on my dick. How can I get clothes without making this awkward?

“Because—” Her gaze drops down my body, and my skin burns at the attention as her mouth falls open. “Oh my god! Why are you…?” Her eyes are glued to my crotch. “Wow.”

And it’s awkward.

“First time seeing a naked man?” I ask, trying to cut the tension.

Charlotte squeezes her eyes shut and spins away. “Second time tonight, actually.”

A knot forms in my stomach, and I snatch a pair of shorts off the top of my bag and tug them on.

“I’m clothed,” I say.

She turns slowly, opening one eye. “Half clothed.”

“Charlotte.” I blow out a frustrated breath, far too tired and tipsy to play games after she showed up to my room looking like this. I need to know what’s wrong. Now. “What happened?”

Gnawing on her lower lip, she lies again. “Nothing.”

She runs a hand through her hair—her usually beautiful brown hair, which looks almost black in its current state. The same way it did when she emerged from the ocean earlier today. “Why are you soaking wet?” Silence fills the air as she refrains from answering my simplest question yet. “Charlotte.” I raise my brows, reaching out to pluck what looks like rice out of her damp hair. Yep, that’s rice. I flick it into the nearby trash can.

“I had to walk here in the rain after I couldn’t find you all at Ken’s,” she says flatly.

“Everyone went to LIV.” My gaze returns to hers. “Why didn’t you Uber?”

“My phone died.”

“Why didn’t you grab a taxi?”

She huffs. “Because I didn’t want to be the star of a CSI: Miami episode?”

Santo cielo. ? 1 “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Like I said.” She looks at me like an idiot, and maybe I am. “My. Phone. Died.”

“You could’ve asked someone to use theirs,” I point out, unsure of how I’m trying to help.

“How would I have looked up your number”—she throws her hands in the air—“if. My. Phone. Died!”

“I’m going to tattoo my phone number to your fucking ass, Charlotte,” I mumble, dragging a hand over my face.

She rolls her eyes. “What if you change it?”

“Woman.” I groan, blowing out a frustrated breath. “I’ve been sitting up here, oblivious, while you were walking alone, soaked to the bone, looking like someone killed your dog.”

Her brown eyes narrow on mine. “No one killed my dog.” Her expression softens, a sigh escaping her. “Someone just fucked my boyfriend.” My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. “Well…” She pauses, looking down to pick at her fingernails. “Ex-boyfriend.”

Maybe I’m not too tipsy or tired after all.

“Wow,” I say as the admission hangs heavy in the air between us. Only two ridiculous words finally leave my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“I had the honor of walking in on the whole naked fuck fest,” she says, smiling sweetly, but I see straight through her facade. “It was spectacular.”

My lips part open, and I have no words. Actually, I have four. “He’s a fucking idiot.”

And for once, Charlotte doesn’t correct me. “You said I could come find you if I needed to.”

Nodding, I confirm. “I did.”

Her eyes connect with mine before trailing downward. She sucks her lower lip between her teeth, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was checking me out. Her gaze wanders all the way to my cock, and I beg it to stay put so she can’t see how much she’s affecting me.

My attraction for her has been locked up tight since her boyfriend tossed me out after Halloween like a candy wrapper. For twenty minutes, I listened on the other side of the door before deeming she was safe and dragging myself away.

We were mid-season, and I definitely didn’t need the drama or distraction.

My eyes snag on another piece of rice in her hair—or is that egg?—and I’m brought back to how disheveled this poor woman looks tonight. My stomach aches as I determine what the hell to do about it.

“How can I help?” I ask, the words strained.

She steps forward, placing her cool, trembling hands against my bare chest, and I freeze.

Rule number one: don’t touch Charlotte.

But she’s touching me, so that’s a loophole… right?

Her brown eyes lock with mine, and her mouth curves into a smile so wicked it knocks the breath from my lungs. “I need you to fuck me.”

My lips part as her words cover every inch of my skin, strangling my dick like a boa constrictor. “What?” I manage to croak out.

“Come on, Noah.” She drags a soft fingertip up and down my abs. “We all know about your no-pussy-during-season rule.”

“How do you know about that?” I force out, preparing to add whoever broke bro code to my shit list right below Jonathan.

She laughs softly, and it reverberates in my chest like a light echo throughout the universe. “Everyone knows about it.”

My mouth opens and closes as I struggle to form a coherent thought.

She drags a thumb beneath the hem of my shorts. Ohhhhh, fuck .

Rule number two: don’t think about Charlotte.

And definitely don’t think about her slipping a hand into your pants and gripping your dick until you ? —

“Season’s over, Noah,” she says, feigning confidence, but the quiver of her lip gives her away. She removes her torturous touch from my stomach. I breathe a sigh of relief until her fingers find the hem of her dress, and she pulls it over her head, then tosses it to the floor. Her perfect, perky tits stare at me. Nipples pebbled from the AC hitting her wet, bare skin. Fuck. Pretty black satin panties have drool pooling in my mouth.

“I know you’re aching for it,” Charlotte says, voice sultry but shaky, bringing my gaze back to her eyes. “And I’m aching to make sure I’m not the problem, so for the love of god, will you just fuck me?” The desperation in her tone shoots straight to my dick, and it threatens to take over the rest of this conversation.

How could she be the problem?

“Charlotte.” I attempt firmness, but it comes out a breathless moan as her pleading eyes bore into mine.

“Please.” Her hands find my neck, and I allow myself one breath to enjoy the feeling of her touch before I do the right thing. The noble thing.

An inhale as her thumb glides slowly down my Adam’s apple.

An exhale as her fingertips trace my collarbone.

My breath stops as she drags a nail between my pectorals, causing my own nipples to harden.

Being the good guy sucks.

Begrudgingly, I place a hand on hers, halting the torment, and hopeful, pained eyes meet mine.

This can't happen. Not here. Not like this.

“No,” I force out, and her lips part open, eyes welling with tears before darting away.

It’s official. The hardest thing I’ve ever done is denying this naked, beautiful, desperate woman sex. Never have I ever hated a two-letter word so much.

Cursing myself, I drop her hands, head to the dresser, and grab a blue CBU hoodie. She doesn’t protest as I tug it over head, pulling her arms through the warm material that drops to her upper thighs.

She takes the hem of the hoodie between her fingers, a small smirk gracing her lips that’s fiercely feeding the devil on my shoulder, and tucks the material to rest on her waist.

“You’re killing me, woman,” I groan, retrieving the matching sweatpants, and I bend down, helping her into them. Standing, I’m greeted by her brown eyes glistening to the brim with pain.

“You don’t want me?” Her voice cracks, a tear rolling down her cheek. Fuck.

“Char, this isn’t you,” I say, chest aching at her tone. “This isn’t us.”

She blinks rapidly, more tears escaping, and I reach up to brush them away. My thumb pauses on her jawline, and I know I should keep my distance, but how can I when she stands there looking like a weeping angel fallen from heaven?

“I know,” she says, leaning into my touch.

“Get in bed,” I instruct, pulling away and pointing towards mine.

She smiles weakly, brows furrowed. “I thought we weren’t?—”

“We’re not,” I say firmly, cocking a brow. And please don’t ask me a second time because I am not that strong. “But you’re, like, two degrees away from hypothermia.”

“I’m fine.” She gestures at the sweatsuit. “All warm.”

“Bed.” I point, brows raised.

She huffs and pulls back the comforter, then slides under. I sit on top of it and lean against the pillows, fighting the urge to reach out and brush the damp brown strands falling every which way over her face. She beats me to it, tucking them behind her ears, and looks up to catch me staring.

“What?” she asks.

I sigh, worry lines creasing my forehead. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“Perfectly content, snuggled in clean sheets?” She cocks a brow, straining to get her armor in place.

I see right through your stained glass window.

“No.” I frown. “Sad.”

“I’m fine.” She nuzzles her head against the pillow, eyes darting away.

Within seconds, I break my own rule and tip her chin to look back at me. “You’re not.”

“What do you want me to say?” she asks, her tone laced in frustration—in heartbreak. “That I’m so sad I’ll never be happy again? That I don’t think I can live another day without his dick?”

My lips tug upwards. “Stop making jokes to deflect talking about the real stuff.”

“No one ever wants to talk about the real stuff. It’s always ‘how are you?’ and the only acceptable answer is ‘fine, and you?’ People panic if you say anything else.”

“Not me.” I rub my thumb selfishly along her jawline. “I want to talk about the real stuff.”

She stares at me in disbelief. “Why?”

“Because you’re my friend ,” I remind her—and myself—pulling my hand away. “And I care about your well-being. This isn’t the first time we’ve had a heart to heart.”

“Yeah.” She groans, throwing a hand over her face. “But this time is different.”

“Why? Cause you’re not puking your brains out in a porcelain bowl?”

She nudges me with her foot under the covers. “We agreed not to talk about that night.”

“To other people. I’m allowed to bring it up with you. We were both there,” I say pointedly.

“Fine.” She curls into herself. “Yes, that was different.”

“How?” I tilt my head. “What’s so different?”

“Last time I was depressingly drunk.” Her voice cracks on the last word, along with the rest of my restraint. “Tonight, I’m soberly sad.”

“Soberly?” I ask, knowing she had her fair share of wine at the bar.

“Mostly soberly.”

“Forget about him. Seriously.” My tone is harsher than I intended.

“Easy for you to say. The memory of him moaning that girl’s name is seared into my brain.” She pauses. “ Kendraaaaa, ” she exaggerates sarcastically.

My thoughts fight for clarity. “I want to tell you it’s okay to feel how you feel.”

Her eyes flick to mine. “But?”

“You’re acting like the perfect man dumped you when you’re way too good for him.” I shake my head. “I’m talking pee-wee-league-versus-Super-Bowl-status too good for him.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I have flaws, just like everyone else.”

“The right person will love your flaws. They’ll see them as quirks, not try to make you hide them. And they definitely won’t degrade you for your mistakes.” She sighs and purses her lips together as heat bubbles under my skin. “Don’t you remember how shitty he was to you on Halloween?”

“I know, but maybe I shouldn’t have drank so much,” she says, picking at her nails.

Typical victim-blaming bullshit.

I shift my body closer. “Look at me.” Her head tilts upward, and I instantly realize it was a mistake as her warm breath hits my lips. I swallow hard. “He did you a favor.”

“By boning another girl?” she deadpans.

“By proving he doesn’t deserve you so you’d finally leave his ass.” Took her long enough.

She looks away, resting against the headboard. “Shit.” She drags a hand over her face. “This really fucks up my five-year plan.”

The corners of my mouth twitch upward. “You have a five-year plan?” I ask with a bit too much enthusiasm.

“Apparently not anymore,” she grumbles. “The plan was basically to graduate, marry Jonathan, start teaching at the local elementary school, and a few other things. But obviously it’s all gone to shit.”

“You can still do the teacher thing,” I point out.

“Yeah.” She sighs. “Until my mom finds out.”

“What do you mean?”

“We had to confirm our majors last week to schedule pre-rec classes for sophomore year,” she explains. “She expects me to major in pre-law, but I selected early childhood education.”

“You don’t think she’ll be okay with you being a teacher?”

“No chance,” Charlotte scoffs. “She’s made it clear since I was twelve she expects me to go to law school like she did.”

“That’s bull,” I say, sadness settling in my chest for her. My mom has encouraged me to chase my dreams over stability for as long as I can remember. Constantly saying, Chi non risica non rosica.

No risk, no reward.

“Like I said, five-year plan’s fucked,” Charlotte huffs, and my lips quirk upwards again at the mention. She narrows her eyes, zoning in on my amusement. “What has Noah Gabriel Caruso so giddy right now? Is my life falling apart funny to you?”

“Of course not,” I say, the grin not leaving my lips. “I just thought I was the only person who made one in real life.”

“ You have a five-year plan?” she asks, sitting up, a wide grin spreading across her own face, bringing me relief.

“Damn straight.”

“Care to share with the class?” Her eyes light up, easing some of my worry.

“Yes, Ms. Benson,” I tease, grabbing my phone off the nightstand, pulling the tiny piece of paper out of the case.

She snatches it from my fingers. “You have it written down?”

“More titties, more touchdowns?” She holds the paper out. “Really?”

“That was Theo.” I snatch the paper back from her, our fingers grazing in the process. Ignore the electricity, Caruso.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums. “I also noticed the relationship spot is blank. What gives?”

I shrug. “It’s not a priority right now.”

“So, what? No pussy until the five-year plan is up?” she asks, and my jaw ticks.

“The list didn’t say pussy , it said relationship .”

“What would even possess you to make a rule like that?” she asks, ignoring my clarification.

There’s an array of reasons that prompted the rule, but I opt for the simplest explanation. “Getting dumped right before the most important game of my high school football career.”

Her mouth falls open. “Hold up.” She sits up, watching as I place my ironclad plan safely back in my case. “ You got dumped?” Her eyes are wide, and I’m amused by her surprised reaction. “ Mr. Perfect got dumped?”

“Shocking, I know,” I say with a laugh.

“ Daaaamn ,” she says, hitting me with a playful fist. “Mr. Perfect’s got secrets.” She has no idea. “Give me the story. I’ve earned it for wingwomaning you earlier.”

“Fine.” I roll my eyes, choosing not to point out the wingwomaning was highly unnecessary. “Senior year of high school, my team made the state championships. It was a huge game for me. Tons of college coaches came to see me play. Even Coach Porter was there.” I blow out a breath. “Half the school stayed at a hotel the night before, and my girlfriend asked me to come to her room. I thought we were gonna hook up, but she dumped me instead.”

Charlotte cringes. “That’s terrible.”

“Yep.” I huff a laugh. “I wasn’t in love with her or anything. We’d only been dating a few months, but it messed with my head so much that the game was almost a disaster. Luckily, I was able to pull my head out of my ass and ended up impressing Coach Porter enough to recruit me.”

She eyes me curiously. “Do you miss her?”

“Nah.” I shake my head, and it’s the truth. “But the situation showed me how much a relationship can affect your focus, and I don’t want the distraction. Especially during season.”

“Hence the rule,” Charlotte says with a small smile.

“Hence the rule.”

“I mean, I can understand while you’re trying to get drafted, but once you’re actually in the NFL… would it really be so bad to be in a relationship?”

I shrug. “It’s not in the plan.”

She laughs, a sweet, infectious sound. “You know that thing isn’t written in stone, right?”

“Yes.” I pinch her side, and she yelps. “But it’s worked for me so far.”

“Well, I hope Ms. Perfect comes around and fucks up your plan like Jonathan did to mine.” Her shoulders sink, the storm cloud returning overhead. “Well, maybe not the same way. Hopefully yours will be for the better.”

I slide off the bed, make my way to the mini fridge, pull two pints of ice cream out of the tiny freezer compartment, and grab the plastic spoons from the dresser.

“Look at you, coming in clutch with the Rocky Road.” She laughs, making grabby hands as I return to the bed, and I swat her away.

“When I was in high school, my stepdad would take me to get milkshakes after a loss. He’d tell me the sweetest things come after the shittiest moments.” I hand her a spoon and pint. “It’s not a milkshake, but it’s the next best thing.” When I play away games, I always go to the closest convenience store and grab a pint. Now the habit’s so hard to break, I couldn’t stop myself from buying some at the store earlier.

“That’s so sweet ,” she teases as I remove the top of the ice cream and pull off the plastic film. I raise my spoon in mock cheers, and she grins, clinking the plastic against mine.

“To fucking up the five-year plan?”

“To fucking up the five-year plan.”

1 ? IT: Santo cielo. - EN: Holy sky.