Page 8 of Gossip Game

She pinned him with an affronted gaze. “I was nine. And I don’t cheat.”

He might have believed her had those luscious lips of hers not twitched slightly. Her long fingers made quick work of setting up the pieces on the board before she arched an eyebrow at him in challenge. His head told him to get the heck out of Dodge. Too bad that wasn’t the head he was listening to. Noah slumped down into the chair across from her.

Charlotte chattered endlessly about anything and everything while they played. Everything except that kiss, thank Christ. He let her keep score, mostly because her unique scent had scattered his concentration. They raided the mini bar for a midnight snack, neither of them mentioning that Kincaid was probably long gone by now. She was content to stay put, filling the night with her tales of her new business adventure.

If anyone had told him he’d be spending two hours engaged in a conversation about cosmetics, he’d tell them they were crazy. Yet here he was, hanging onto her every word. He sensed he was getting an inside look at the real Princess Charlotte. And unless she had multiple personalities, she was nothing like the tabloids depicted. And everything like a woman he’d like to know better.

By the time she stretched out on the bed and began scrolling through the guide on the television, Noah trusted his libido enough to join her.

“Ohmigosh,” she cried. “Thirteen Going on Thirty. This is my favorite movie. Have you seen it?”

Noah shook his head despite the fact it was his mother’s favorite, too, and he’d seen it more than a dozen times.

“It’s more of a chick flick. If you don’t like it, we can switch to the Marvel movie.”

That wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t dare do anything to dampen her joy. Instead, he curled his arm behind his head, crossed his ankles, and relished her delight in the movie. It was pretty damn special.

Until he woke up the next morning to find her gone without so much as a thank you note. It was as if she’d never been there. Not only that, but every time he’d seen her since, she’d looked right through him as though they’d never met.

“Do you ever wonder why he didn’t say anything? Spread rumors about me? And you?”

Her softly uttered words brought Noah back to the here and now. She was forgetting Kincaid did spill a lot of shit about him. Most of it untrue. But the podcast host was careful with his career. A man would have to be made out of Teflon to cross Jay McManus. And badmouthing McManus’ sister would be committing career suicide.

“He’s too busy trashing my play,” Noah said. He put his foot on the gas and drove toward the lights of the Inner Harbor.

“Puh-lease. Anyone who knows anything about football knows not to lay the blame for last season at your feet. You can’t help it if the receivers drop every ball you throw their way.”

His lips twitched at the ferocity with which she defended him. One of the things he’d enjoyed during that fateful night was her astuteness about the game. They’d talked into the wee hours about football, among other things, and he liked that he didn’t have to explain every nuance to her.

She was only half right about their crappy season not being his fault, however. The quarterback was the undisputed leader of the team. Last year, the offense hadn’t been in sync. And that was on Noah. They’d jelled during spring OTA’s and training camp, though. And this year was going to be a whole hell of a lot different than last.

“Kincaid won’t have anything negative to say about my play this season.”

Feeling the weight of her stare, he shifted his gaze toward her. The soft smile she wore hit him squarely in the solar plexus.

“That’s the spirit,” she said.

He forced his eyes back onto the road, steering his truck onto the circular drive of the apartment building where Jay McManus and his family lived in the penthouse. His boast lost a little of its steam when he saw the swarm of people with cameras awaiting their arrival. Kincaid would have a boatload of ammunition if he chose to use it.

Noah swore just as Charlotte gulped out a squeak.

“Can you turn this thing around?”

It was too late for that. The bottom feeders were already racing toward them.

“This truck isn’t that agile.”

“Dammit!” she cried. “This is what I get for seeking you out.”

That was it. She was on her own.

“Why don’t you have security detail like every other entitled socialite?” he snapped back as he pulled his prized truck up to the lobby doors.

Her eyes went round, and her lips flapped open and closed, but no words came out. Good.

“Don’t. Move,” he commanded before getting out of the truck.

Noah ignored the cellphones, the cameras, and the shouted questions as he rounded the hood. Luckily, the building’s doorman was the size of an offensive lineman. The guy was able to hold the blood suckers back with his out-stretched arms.

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