Offside Hearts: Chapter 22

Dammit.

I was hoping I could avoid seeing Noah until he got out on the ice, but I should’ve known that wouldn’t be possible. His question lingers in the air between us, and even though I don’t want to have this conversation with him, I know there’s no getting out of it now.

Not wanting anyone to walk by and see us having an obviously personal conversation, I grab Noah’s jersey and tug him into the nearby janitor’s closet. The light flickers on as we enter, and I let the door close behind us before I turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You don’t care about me or our dinner,” I say flatly, trying to keep my emotions in check. “You’re just mad because your ego was bruised when I didn’t show up.”

“What?” He looks stunned by that accusation. “Are you kidding? I was so fucking excited, Margo. I cooked for three hours! I went to three different florists looking for your favorite flowers.”

“Who cares?” I blurt. “You probably do that for all the women you want to sleep with. Including the cute little yoga instructor who came around that night to give you your t-shirt back.”

My voice rises a little on the last few words as the memory comes flooding back, fresh enough that it still stings like hell. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I suck in a sharp breath, looking away from him and staring at a mop bucket in the corner. I really didn’t want to get emotional in front of him, but it’s hard not to.

Noah takes a half step closer to me. “Margo—”

“No, it’s fine.” I shake my head, willing myself to keep my shit together. “It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, it’s my fault, isn’t it? Because I should’ve double-checked that you weren’t sleeping with other people before I agreed to go on a date with you. You’re used to dating people who are probably totally cool with that kind of thing, but I’m just… not built like that.”

This closet feels too small all of a sudden. I’m glad we’re hidden away where no one will accidentally stumble upon our private conversation, but in the confines of the little space, Noah’s body heat bleeds into me, his spicy scent filling my nostrils when I draw in a breath.

It reminds me of our night in the hotel together, and that just makes the hole in my chest ache even worse. I finally find the courage to look up and meet his gaze again, even though the tears I was trying to hold back are now crawling down my cheeks.

“Maybe there was a more mature way to handle things than to stand you up,” I admit, wrapping my arms tighter around myself. “But I just couldn’t face you right then. When that woman came in and handed me your shirt like I was next up in a revolving door lineup of girls, I realized I can’t do this. That’s just not what I want, Noah. I’m sorry.”

He frowns at me for a few seconds, seemingly trying to make sense of everything I just told him. He obviously didn’t know about me running into that other woman in the lobby, and I wonder if he’s going to try to defend himself or argue that he technically didn’t do anything wrong.

“Wait… what are you talking about?” he asks finally, speaking slowly as he holds up his hands. “What woman?”

“She gave me a shirt of yours,” I tell him. “She said you’d left it at her studio the night before and asked me to give it back to you because she was in a hurry and had to go. She told me to tell you that you left it at Stacy’s place.”

The confused line between Noah’s eyebrows deepens for a second, and then his features suddenly smooth out. Something like relief passes across his face, and he scrubs a hand over his jaw before he says, “Oh my god. You’ve got it all wrong, Sunflower. The woman who brought my shirt over isn’t someone I’ve ever hooked up with.”

My heart stutters. That wasn’t what I was expecting him to say. I figured he might make some excuse about how we’d never agreed to be exclusive, but I didn’t think he would outright deny it.

“Then who was she?” I ask, trying to shove down the swell of hope in my chest.

Noah moves a little closer, reaching up and using his thumbs to wipe away my tears. “She’s my massage therapist. And I’m pretty sure she’s married.”

“Your… massage therapist?” I blink up at him, swallowing hard.

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “She works out all the knots and kinks that I get while playing. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but hockey is a bit of a rough sport. I take a lot of abuse while I’m out there on the ice, and we’ve got a physical therapist on staff, but I also like to see a massage therapist sometimes.”

“So when she told me you left your shirt at her studio…”

I trail off, my brain slowly putting the pieces together.

“She meant her massage studio,” Noah finishes for me. “And I left my shirt there because I do get naked for the massage. But she never sees anything. I’m under a sheet the whole time. I layered up because it was cold, and when I left, I put my sweater on and forgot my t-shirt. I swear, that’s it. Nothing ever has or ever will happen between me and Stacy. Even if she wasn’t married, I wouldn’t want her.”

I blink, sending two more tears trailing down my cheeks where they get trapped beneath the pads of Noah’s thumbs. Part of me is so relieved to hear him say all of this, to know that he didn’t have a hook-up with some random woman the night before our date.

But honestly, I still don’t know if I can do this. I’ve never really been the type of person who dates casually, and the way I reacted when Stacy gave me Noah’s shirt makes it clear that I wouldn’t be okay with dating non-exclusively.

I’m about to tell Noah that when he opens his mouth and speaks again.

“The truth is,” he tells me in a low voice, “I haven’t slept with anyone else since the day we met.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“I haven’t. And I’m not just talking about the day you started working for the Aces either,” he goes on, sincerity burning in his eyes. “I mean since the day I met you in the elevator. It wasn’t even a conscious choice back then, since I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I just… wasn’t interested in anyone. Except you.”

My jaw falls slack as shock ricochets through me, and I stare at him in silence for a few seconds as I struggle to remember how to speak.

“Are you serious?” I ask eventually. “You really haven’t slept with anyone since then? Noah, that was weeks ago.”

“I know,” he says simply.

“But that would mean you haven’t had sex in, like… months! I didn’t even think that was possible for you.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Well, my dick hasn’t exactly been thrilled about it, I’ll be honest. But I was holding out for someone, and I wanted to make sure she knew I was interested in her as a hell of a lot more than a hookup.”

He tilts my chin upward, dropping his head to rest his forehead against mine.

“Don’t you get it?” he whispers. “Margo, you’re the only person I want to be with. The only one I want. There’s no one else for me but you.”

His blue eyes penetrate mine, so close that I can see every variation in their color, and my breath catches in my throat.

I make an inarticulate noise, tilting my head to capture his lips with mine. The second our mouths touch, it’s like some invisible thread snaps. He wraps his arms around me, practically bowing me backward as he deepens the kiss, and we end up staggering into the shelving unit behind me. I reach out blindly for something to steady myself with and end up grabbing one of the metal poles that secure the shelves.

Noah is still kissing me, his hands roaming over me like he’s trying to make up for lost time. When he gets to my ass, he groans as he squeezes it. Then he grabs my thighs and lifts, wrapping my legs around his waist. My upper body is braced against the shelf, and I hook my heels behind his ass, grinding against him as he plunges his tongue into my mouth.

My free hand moves to his hair, tugging roughly on the strands as I try to pull him closer, try to kiss him deeper, every atom in my body screaming for more.

“Fuck.”

Noah groans, stopping suddenly. He tears his lips away from mine, breathing heavily, and untangles my legs from around his waist, setting me back down. He takes a step backward, and I instantly miss the feeling of having him pressed up against me. I’m panting, and my body is on fire, electrified by his touch. My head spins a little as I look up at him, waiting for an explanation as to why he’s leaving me high and dry.

Well… not exactly dry.

“We can’t do this here,” he says, his voice raspy. “I want our first time to be perfect, and I need to be out on the ice soon. I don’t want to rush things, and I definitely don’t want to have sex with you surrounded by mops and cleaning supplies.”

Oh. Right.

Fuck, we’re still at the arena. He’s got a game to play, and I need to be in the stands documenting it for social media. I can’t believe how entirely I got lost in him, lost in this moment, and I’m grateful that one of us had the sense to stop.

But even so, I can’t resist pulling him in for another kiss, bingeing on him for another few heartbeats before I whisper against his lips, “When can we finish this?”

“After the game,” he tells me, his hands firm against my back. “Come over to my place.”

“Okay.”

I nod, and we separate. My heart is racing like a runaway train as he turns to leave, and as he grips the door handle, he turns to look at me over his shoulder.

“Sunflower?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t change your mind this time. I don’t think my heart could take it.”

The honesty in his voice knocks me back on my heels a little, and it takes me a second to respond.

“I won’t,” I tell him. “I promise.”

His answering grin is blinding. Then the door opens, and he’s gone.