Page 25 of Play On

“It’s a good word. It should be used more often.”

“Okay. I’ll agree to use endeavour more often in conversation. But maybe we should do more than wait for some men to hit on us. Maybe we should approach them.”

I cringe. I was talking a great game about flirting with some guys, but as soon as Aimee makes this suggestion, I feel a bit sick.

I hate myself for the reason.I feel ill because none of these men are Noah.

“Ooh, okay, I have a target,” Aimee says excitedly as she looks over my shoulder. “Don’t turn around, but some fantastically fit men just walked into the bar. We need to make a move.”

Even though she said don’t turn around, it’s the first thing I do, and I hear her chastise me the second I look.

“Stop! You’re being obvious!” she says as my eyes scan the front of the bar.

Then I gasp in shock.

Because standing in the entrance to the bar is Noah Darby.

Chapter Seven

Kaleidoscope

My stomach twists like a kaleidoscope, turning with different emotions with each rotation. Excitement. Sorrow. Panic. Regret.

Oh, is there regret.

He hasn’t spotted me yet. He’s with Camden and Kieran Doring, another player for Stonebridge United.

“Violet! You’re being too obvious! Would you turn around?” I hear Aimee hiss.

I ignore her.

I’m desperate for him to see me. To not see me. Is this a chance for me to say something, to admit why I did what I did?

Is it fate that he’s here in this very bar tonight, when I know he doesn’t go out to many bars at all?

Or do I even want Noah to see me? What if he does and there’s a look of disgust on his face? What if he doesn’t want to talk to me at all?

Understood.

I swallow hard as a lump threatens to form in my throat.

What if he’s here to meet women?

I know I should turn around, but I can’t. I can’t stop staring at the wonderful man I cast aside out of fear. He’s wearing jeans, a plain navy T-shirt, and white trainers. His inked arms are fully visible, and his dark hair is casually tousled.

He’s gorgeous.

Everything rushes back to me. That night he sat next to me in the garden. How he smelled like fresh soap and citrus. The soft pitch of his voice. His observations and the quiet way about him that made him so uniquely different from any other man I’d ever met …

Then it happens.

Noah spots me.

I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I desperately search his face for any kind of indication of what he feels when he sees me.

His gaze never wavers. Noah’s eyes are locked on mine, and one emotion becomes clear in my kaleidoscope.

Hope.

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