Page 28 of Alive At Night

Noah was a straight shooter, as evidenced by his text. I was positive he would have just texted her himself…if he had her phone number.

Yeah

LONDON: Number?

Some people have regular jobs they have to get up for in the morning, Noah

LONDON: If you don’t want to give it to me, that’s fine. I’d also take your sister’s.

I didn’t have to ask which one. I knew it was Gemma. He’d hinted at it more than once after she visited our senior year in college.

I punched my screen with my fingers as I typed a response, feeling exhausted and irritated.

Fuck off. You might be in the pros, but I can still kick your ass.

This was the exact reason I’d hesitated when it came to setting Noah up with Juniper. He was a good guy with a good heart, but damn if he wasn’t still a player. Noah and I lived on different planets. Every time I talked to him, he sounded like he was still in his college party era while I was firmly in my work-eat-sleep-repeat era.

LONDON: You think so, huh?

Yeah

Maybe if I gave him one-word answers, he would get the picture that I was trying to get some rest. I should have known sleeping tonight was a useless effort, considering Juniper was involved.

LONDON: Enough to bet on it?

LONDON: I’ll make it easy. All you have to do if I win is hand over the numbers.

No deal, no numbers

LONDON: Maybe I misunderstood at the game, then.

What do you mean?

LONDON: You made it seem like you weren’t interested in her.

JULIAN: I’m not.

LONDON: …

I sighed into my pillow. Truth was, when he’d asked at the game if the jersey was mine and then trailed his gaze over Juniper appreciatively, I’d fought the urge to tighten my hold on her. I didn’t like how Noah looked at her. That jersey she wore tonight might have had his name on it, but it was from my closet.

I’m not giving you her number without her permission

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognized that Juniper would undoubtedly give permission. After worrying over what to say to him—which was weirdly un-Juni-like—she’d probably love it if he texted her first.

Not to mention, I hadn’t precisely asked Noah’s permission before handing overhisnumber. But this wasn’t the first time a girl had asked for Noah’s digits. When I was living at home after college, everyone seemed to know—likely from my bigmouthed sisters—that I was friends with Noah London, the newly drafted New England quarterback. I couldn’t go out for a goddamn drink without a girl, usually one I went to high school with, approaching me to ask for Noah’s number.

When I told him about it once, he flashed a smile.

“Eh, give it to them,” he’d said.

LONDON: Oh, why didn’t you just say that? That’s fine, man.

I’ll talk to her. Night, London.

Unfortunately, talking to Juniper was a given these days. More than likely, I would walk into the office tomorrow, and she’d bombard me with talk of Noah. But I’d deal with that tomorrow.

For now…sleep.

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