Page 89 of Play On

I shake my head.

He pauses for a moment. “I don’t want this to scare you.”

“I think you’ve just scared me with that sentence.”

“I want you to know I’ve recently moved to an incredibly safe community in Surrey. I also have an extensive security system on my grounds. And a panic room.”

“Apanic room?” I cry, aghast. “What for?”

“Crime rings often target footballers’ homes when they are travelling or playing a fixture on the road,” Noah explains simply. “They go for jewellery. Electronics. Designer items. A guy on our team was hit last season whilst his wife was home. They tied her up.”

“What?” I’m horrified.

“That’s why I put in a panic room.”

“But … this is madness! Apanic room?”

“Lots of players are putting them in or moving to homes with them. Out of an abundance of caution.”

“Noah, what if they came when you were home?” I ask, feeling sick at the image that comes to mind.

He steps closer and sinks his hands into my hair. “Violet. That’s not likely to happen. But I’m confident enough alarms would be triggered that I would have time to get to the safe room and alert the police. I hate even talking about this tonight, but you have to know this is part of my life. Not just the public intrusion, but this, too.”

I shiver, and Noah winces as he no doubt feels it run through me.

“You have my word that I will do everything in my power to make sure you and every beautiful freckle on your face and shoulders are well-protected in my home. I promise you that.”

He dips his head and presses a reassuring kiss on my lips.

When Noah lifts his head, I smile up at him. “You’re so good at that,” I say simply.

“What?” he asks, a confused crease forming on the bridge of his nose.

I gently brush my index finger over that adorable crease. “You reassure me. You make me believe everything will be okay or sort itself out. I bet you do that on the pitch, too.”

His hand tangles in my hair, and now my shivers turn from those of worry to pleasure.

“I try. They say I’m the calm force in the dressing room.”

“I can see that.”

“But I’m not always calm, Butterfly. Remember that for later tonight.”

Ooh!

Noah releases me, and we go back to unloading our purchases for the rest of the weekend. Because neither one of us can cook, we do plan to have quite a few meals out, but we at least have the essentials here. There’s bread for sandwiches, cereal, milk, coffee. Tonight, we’re going to have spaghetti, so of course that meant buying pre-made tomato sauce.

“I should learn to cook,” I muse out loud.

“That makes two of us,” Noah says, rummaging in the cupboard. I can hear him moving pots and pans, and finally he places two pots down on the worktop. “Right now, I have a chef who makes all my meals based on my nutrition plan for football. Camden ended up hiring her, too. She’s a genius. Because even though we have to eat very specifically for performance, Daisy manages to make them all taste good.”

Noah turns on the tap and begins to fill a tall pot with water. Then he turns it off and puts it on the hob, turning on the burner underneath it. I grab the other pan and put it on the hob next to the water, turning on the heat. We chat easily as we cook, with me browning the mince, and Noah making a butter-garlic spread for the bread. Before long, he’s uncorking a bottle of red and pouring both of us glasses, and then we fill our plates and sit down at the table to eat.

“Noah?” I ask after I swallow a bite of pasta. “Can I confess something with the hope it doesn’t scare the shit out of you?”

His face lights up in amusement. “With an intro like that, you have to.”

I smile at him. “Is it weird I’m already trying to work out how I’m going to see you once you go back to Surrey and I’m still here in Dorset?”

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