Beauty and the Baller (Strangers in Love)
: Chapter 14

“Hello, darling,” Nova says sweetly as she breezes into the staff lounge. Wearing a tight black leather skirt and a low-cut red blouse that hugs her breasts, she sashays to us and takes the seat next to me. She kisses my cheek, and my face tingles as a small silence fills up the room like it usually does after our PDA in the lounge. We’re at the end of week one of our pretense, and it seems to be working. We play it up in the lounge, darling and babe, then go our separate ways in the field house. I’ve made up my mind to keep her at arm’s length, and so far, it’s working.

She unpacks her lunch and pulls out wrapped cookies. “You forgot these when you left after dinner.” Thick lashes flutter at me. “You ate two before they even cooled last night. You’re so adorable.”

I open the chocolate chip cookies and take a bite and nod appreciatively. “Thanks, babe. You’re the sweetest. I loved that, um, casserole you made.”

“What kind of casserole was it?” Skeeter asks.

“Beef,” Nova says as I say, “Sausage,” at the same time.

Melinda frowns. “Which was it?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow, his eyes darting from me to Nova.

Nova nudges me with her shoulder. “Darling, it was a beef thing with black beans and sour cream and, um . . .”

“Pasta,” I say as she says, “Rice.”

Jesus!

Andrew squints. “Pasta and rice?”

Nova nods. “Yep. That’s right. Both. Very tasty. It was one of Mama’s recipes.”

“So good . . . ,” I add, then squeeze her leg under the table. I chance a glance at her, and her lips are pressed tight, as if she’s trying not to laugh.

Thank God I didn’t have dinner with Skeeter last night . . .

Melinda frowns at me. “It sounds gross. How can you mistake beef for pork?”

“Sometimes a man just thinks about food, Melinda. Images run through your head, and you just want meat,” Skeeter answers for me, around his double hamburger. A drip of mayo gets on his chin, and he wipes it away. He nods approvingly at me. “Builds up that protein so you can stay in shape.”

Nova strokes my arm. There’s a sly look on her face that’s unmistakable. “This guy, hmm, he’s already in great shape.”

I lean into her. “Ah, you’ll make me blush, babe.”

Sonia hoots. “Keep it clean, you bloody deviants; you’re making me horny.”

Skeeter puts a fry in and chews. “Y’all are enough to make a man want a girlfriend. Dinner and cookies. I can get behind that.”

Sonia drops her piece of tofu as her eyes drift over Skeeter. “Oh?”

He nods at his burger, oblivious to her wide-eyed stare. “As long as she likes football and knows how to cook, we’d get along.” He glances up. “You like football, Sonia?”

“Um, yeah. Since high school,” she says, her face reddening. “I cook.”

Skeeter nods, then gets pulled into a conversation with one of the other assistant coaches.

She slowly deflates.

“Ronan, has Nova ever told you about some of the crazy things we did?” Andrew says.

Nova stiffens, and out of instinct, I take her hand in mine under the table. It’s not the first time this week either.

“I’ve heard some stories,” I say, my voice lowering, daring him to say anything that hurts her.

He chews on his sandwich, then swallows. “Let’s see. There’s the night the entire senior class ran around in our underwear on the football field. Nova’s idea. Then one day we skipped school and went to UT. Nova wanted us to pretend to be students and crash frat parties. We drank too much to drive and had to get a hotel room.” A knowing laugh comes from him. “She got in trouble with her mama. For a month, she had to crawl out her bedroom window to meet me—”

“That’s enough, Andrew,” I say sharply.

He shrugs. “It’s no secret we dated for a very long time—”

“Yet it feels like a million years ago,” Nova says with a sugary smile, then looks at me. “You ready for the field house, darling?”

I glare at Andrew, who’s got a smirk on his face—what a dick. Then we stalk out of the lounge, our fingers laced together.

“You okay?” I ask as we reach the sidewalk. I should unclasp our hands since no one is looking, but I don’t.

Her forehead furrows. “Yes, but let’s not talk about him.”

All right. I can understand that. Sometimes a person just needs to process, and I get the feeling she’s still figuring out how she feels about Andrew . . .

“He isn’t worth worrying about.” I brush my lips against her forehead, a total impulse.

“Totally.” She squeezes my hand as we walk, our steps in sync as she keeps pace with me in red high heels.

“Let’s talk about this ‘adorable’ thing. It’s a word for puppies and little girls,” I say a few minutes later. “Can you replace a new adjective?”

She turns her face to me and laughs, her lips curving up as her eyes dance. “Nope. You’re stuck with it. I adore it. I’m going to post it on the team’s Insta.”

“I think sexy would work,” I say. “You already think I am.”

“So cocky, Ronan, but it will forever and always be adorable.” She giggles and leans into me, her shoulder brushing mine. Her scent wafts around me, sweet and tart. We’ve been careful around each other, but today we’re still stuck together like glue, naturally and effortlessly.

Loneliness rises and taunts me, at the idea of going home after practice, just me and Dog. Unbidden, I picture Nova in my house, sitting next to me on the couch. We’d have dinner and talk about her lack of Star Wars knowledge or football or New York or goats. She’d be pressed against me, her face upturned and animated as she told me a story about high jinks she might have gotten into in New York.

I inhale a sharp breath. I mustn’t think about things I can’t have.

I ease away from her when we walk into the office. “I need to change.”

“Okay.” She nods, all business, as she picks up the ringing phone.

I shut the door and yank off my shirt, my chest rising. I toss my slacks on the table and jerk on my shorts, reminding myself . . .

Keep it professional. No attachments means no pain. Don’t forget it.

My cell rings as I park outside the stadium in Collinwood, a small town an hour away from Blue Belle. I snatch it up.

“Yo. Tuck. What’s up? I’m about to head to the locker room. It’s game night.”

He lets out a noisy exhale—as usual—the sound of disco-tech music in the background. “What’s up? What’s fucking up? I don’t care if you have a game! Your mom called me is what’s up! You’re dating Nova? When? How? I’m hurt, man, hurt! I’m your best goddamn friend in the world! I did that! I did that! I found her for you, and you wouldn’t give me a call and let me know?”

“Calm down. You are my best friend.”

“I am calm! It’s loud in here!” He groans. “You never told me she lived in Blue Belle when you called me.”

“Go outside so I can hear you. And shouldn’t you be recuperating?”

“I left the apartment so the maid could clean.” I hear rustling, the sound of the music dampening. “I’m doing some kick-ass physical therapy. I’m dead every time I leave the therapist. I needed to get out. I miss playing, bro; I miss the team so fucking much.” He pauses. “Ah, shit . . . I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m good. Don’t worry about it.” I want him to feel free to talk to me. My loss still cuts, but it always will.

“Tell me the deets about Nova. Every single one. How did this happen?”

I wince and run down her being my neighbor, then her job at the school. I remind him about the machinations of the town, then tell him about Andrew. “We’re, um, fake dating.” Jesus, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud.

“What are you, an idiot? Why isn’t this a real thing?”

My hands twist around the steering wheel as an image of Nova flits through my head.

“I’m just . . .” I can’t explain it to him. He breezes through girls, one after the other, and he’s never been broken.

I was. The pieces inside of me aren’t meant to fit back together. I don’t want them to.

There’s a silence. “Ronan. Dude. You don’t seem like the type of guy to initiate a fake relationship for the sake of warding women off. That’s bullshit. You can fend off women yourself—”

The bus pulls up alongside me. Posters with GO BOBCATS decorate the sides. “Gotta go, Tuck. My team’s here. I’ll call you later. Miss you, bro.”

He’s still talking when I get out of the vehicle.

In the pouring rain, one of the Collinwood players, a big defensive baller, tackles my backup quarterback, shoving him down in a pit of mud. A late hit.

“These refs are a joke!” Skeeter says as the Collinwood crowd does the wave to cheer on their team. “They’re not calling shit!”

My guy stumbles to his feet and shakes his head.

I call a time-out, our last one. We’re on our third down with ten seconds left on the clock until the end of the game. We’re down by six, and my frustration rises. I hate the early rainfall that ruined the field. I hate that I can’t play my star players.

Mud smears the players’ uniforms as they jog over to the sideline.

“Put Toby in!” someone on our side yells.

“Yeah, Coach!” another person calls. “And Bruno!”

I ignore them, not even turning around.

Skeeter stops his pacing and stalks over to me. “Should we?”

I glower. “No.”

He nods and joins the huddle, slapping the guys on the back.

“Okay, what’s the play?” Skeeter says. “Hail Mary?”

My backup quarterback’s eyes flare. He’s a freshman, a good player, but he can’t throw that far.

Rain pelts us, and I tug my hat down. “We’re on the fifty, and that’s what the defense will expect.” I pause. “Let’s do a hook and lateral.”

The players gape. “Coach?” comes from one of them. “Are you sure?”

“We’ve done it in special teams practice.” My tone radiates confidence, but there’s a knot in my gut. It’s a complicated play that depends on everyone being in the right place at the right time.

I lean in. “We haven’t lost a game yet. And you know why?”

“Our heart!” one of them calls.

I nod.

“Win the heart, win everything!” they say in unison.

From the bench, Toby and Bruno and Milo come into the huddle and encourage their backups. They form a circle with their arms around each other. Bruno leads them as they yell our motto.

I slap the backup quarterback on the shoulder pads. “Shotgun formation—three wide receivers on the right, tight end on the left, and the running back is next to you. Fake that big pass. You got this!”

My hands are on my hips as the center snaps the ball. The wide receivers spring to the end zone on the right, and it looks like a perfect long-pass opportunity for the backup. The tight end fakes blocking, then runs fifteen yards down the middle of the field. The ball sails to him, and the Collinwood defensive players run toward him. Before he’s tackled, the tight end throws a backward pass to the running back, who’s alone on the left side. He dashes for the end zone, nearly thirty yards away. I stiffen as a Collinwood defensive player figures out the play and runs to tackle him. Skeeter jumps up and down, waving his arms as our guy runs down the field. From the other side, the opposing coaches yell out what’s going on, but . . .

My running back hits the end zone.

Yes!

Our fans cheer as our kicking team runs out.

“We still need one point,” I say under my breath.

The kick juts into the sky and splits the goalpost.

Elation rolls over me, and I shut my eyes.

The buzzer goes off, and Skeeter runs for me and attempts to pick me up, then gives up and laughs.

“Another win in the books!” he yells as the crowd and local reporters rush the field.

I shake the opposing coach’s hand, then give a few statements to the media, then fight through them. I stop at the entrance to the locker room. Underneath an overhang, spinning a closed umbrella, is Nova.

Her hair is damp, her cheeks flushed. She’s wearing tight jeans and a Bobcats jersey she picked up in town. She gives me a blinding smile, and my heart skips a beat. She walks toward me, and I pick her up and twirl her around.

“Wow. Is this part of the plan?” she says on a laugh.

“If Jimmy can do it, I can too,” I murmur in her ear.

“No one expected the hook and lateral,” she says as I ease her down, my arms wrapping loosely around her waist.

I dig that she knows the plays. “It’s been a long time since a girl waited for me after a game.”

“Oh.”

“I like it,” I murmur.

“Is everyone staring at us?” she says, her fingers toying with the ends of my hair that stick out from my hat.

“Hmm.” Reporters are lingering, fans and parents waiting to see the players. “Pretty sure there’s some photos being taken. Hope you don’t mind being on the front page of the Blue Belle Gazette.”

“Poor people. They have no clue how devious you are.”

“At least they aren’t throwing their daughters at me anymore.” I keep my voice light. “I saw Andrew sitting with you.”

“He sat next to Lois, actually.” She shrugs. “Are you jealous?”

“We’re together, and he’s your ex. People will talk.”

Her eyes search mine. “Give them something else to talk about, darling.”

I press my lips against hers, taking her mouth like I own it. It’s the first real kiss since that night in my office, and I admit part of me has wanted to do this for a while. She tastes like rain and sweetness. God, she feels good.

“That’ll do it,” she breathes, then steps out of my arms, her chest rising. “I’ll see you later tonight,” she adds loudly, probably for the female fan club waiting by the locker room door.

I grab her hand before she gets away. I look up at the sky, anxiousness flitting over me. “Hey. Drive safe in the rain. Go slow, and put your seat belt on, okay? Are you stopping anywhere on the way home?”

She searches my face, and I see the dawning in her eyes. “Slow. Got it. And no, we’re going straight back.”

“Text me when you get there, okay? For real.”

She nods, and I let my hand trail away from hers as she walks away, replaceing Sabine and Lois.

I’m still watching her when Skeeter hits me on the arm. “Killer game. You ready to talk to the team?”

“Yeah.” I turn and head to the locker room, reminding myself that my anchor in life is coaching football. Nothing else.

The following week, I’m midbite of my turkey sandwich when Melinda breezes in the teachers’ lounge carrying a cake. “Ronan! I’m so glad I caught you.”

“Here we go,” Skeeter mutters under his breath, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Bloody hell, she can’t catch a clue,” Sonia whispers, then glances at Skeeter. “Like some people.”

Skeeter shoves a Philly cheesesteak sandwich in his mouth and chews. “What do you mean?”

Sonia turns red. “N-nothing.”

Melinda places the cake on the table, then touches my shoulder, her hand lingering. “My dad sent this over. I thought you might want to share it with the team.”

A triangular sheet cake, it has the score from the game last week and GREAT GAME, BOBCATS!

I murmur a thank-you as she sits across from me. She crosses her legs, her foot brushing against my knee for a little too long. I set my sandwich down and pull out my cell.

I need u asap. Stat. Not a drill. Where r u?

Maybe this isn’t exactly an emergency, and the truth is I can handle Melinda on my own, but Nova’s usually in here by now. Andrew is noticeably absent as well.

She sends me an eye roll emoji. On my way. Hold your horses.

A few minutes later, she comes in the door, and my eyes rake over her hip-hugging yellow dress. The neckline is cut deep, showing the silky skin of her cleavage. Her blonde hair is straight and glossy, framing her features. Her sapphire eyes are outlined in dark makeup, her lashes thick and black, her lips a lush red. She’s absolutely dazzling—like a fucking star—and watching her walk in the lounge is my favorite part of my day. She gives the table a sweeping look, then her “Hey, y’all,” making my lips twitch.

She moves away from Andrew—where his hand was on her lower back.

My blood pressure spikes.

“Hullo, mate!” Sonia calls. “How were the deviants today?”

Nova replies to Sonia. “Caesar is officially dead in the Senate! Stabbed twenty-three times by his best friend and the rest!” She pumps her fist, then grins. “And no one was put in time-out.”

She leans down, brushing her lips over my cheek, then sits next to me, our shoulders touching. “Hello, darling.”

“Hey, babe.”

Andrew sits down next to Melinda and opens his lunch as Sonia reaches over the table to give Nova a fist bump.

“Did Caleb show today?” Sonia asks.

Nova’s face radiates hope as she nods. “I wore him down when I showed up the next day with Blizzards for us and his grandmother. He said it was embarrassing to have my pink Caddy in his driveway when everyone could see it . . .” She takes out her sandwich. “He’s still surly—”

Melinda laughs abruptly, interrupting her. “I’d be surprised if you get anything out of him. I never could.”

“A kid’s personal life can affect their performance at school,” Nova says, frowning at Melinda. “Maybe he just needed someone to show they cared. I lost my dad when I was fourteen; it was the toughest year of my life. My grades were terrible. I’m glad Mrs. Pettigrew put him in my class.”

“You’ve got the A students now. That must be sweet,” Sonia says to Melinda.

Melinda narrows her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Read the subtext, Melinda,” Skeeter grouses. “You picked the good kids.”

Nova pats his hand. “They’re all good, and I love the students I have.” She pauses. “I invited Caleb over for dinner, but he said no, then dashed out my door. Toby is coming, though. It’s his and Sabine’s first ‘date,’ which is me cooking pasta and watching a movie with them. I plan on sitting between them.” She laughs, then sobers. “I’m serious. Is that nuts?”

Sonia smirks. “Maybe.”

“What time are we eating?” I ask, my tone casual, like I was invited. Part of me wishes I had been.

“Six,” she says.

I capture her gaze. “I’ll be there. I need to pick up the Heisman and check in on Vader. What should I bring?”

She takes a bite of her sandwich, frowning, as if she knows I’m serious. “Um, well—”

“Speaking of dinner, who’s coming to the big fundraiser gala?” Melinda says, cutting Nova off. “My dad mailed out over five hundred invitations, and most of them replied they’d be there. At a thousand dollars a person, it’s pretty amazing.” She glances at Sonia’s T-shirt and sniffs. “The attire is dressy, by the way.”

“I want some of those bacon-wrapped mushrooms they had last year,” Skeeter says, then throws a look at Sonia. “You’re going?”

A carrot stick falls from her hands. “Uh . . . why are you asking?”

“Just making conversation,” he mutters. “So? Are you?”

She blinks. “Um, yeah, I guess so.”

Skeeter nods. “Is that accountant guy coming with you?”

“Um . . . he . . . uh . . .” Sonia stops and jumps up and dashes to the trash, where she coughs, then spits out a piece of carrot.

Nova gets up to go check on her, patting her on the back. Sonia nods that she’s okay, and they come back to the table.

“Are you coming, Nova?” Melinda asks, her gaze hard. “Staff gets to come for free, of course.”

Nova smiles at Melinda, her sweet/sly one. “Of course. I’ll be with Ronan.”

“How fun,” Melinda replies as she stabs her broccoli with a fork.

With her elbow on the table, Nova puts her face in her palm as she gazes at me. “I’m trying to decide which jacket you need. The gray one. Oh! The tie . . . hmm . . . maybe the blue, the one with the little checks, or that pretty maroon one for the Bobcats?”

“Whichever one you want me to wear, babe. Should we match? Which dress are you going for? That black one looks great on you.”

She gives me a “You’re so amazing” smile. “Or we can contrast? You wear the maroon tie, and I’ll do a navy or gold dress?”

“Perfect,” I purr.

“It’s a date,” Nova says dreamily. “I can’t wait to dance with you.”

Melinda slams down her glass of tea. “Well! Aren’t you two just . . . perfect!”

“Yes, we are,” I say as I meet Andrew’s stare. Satisfaction ripples through me. That’s right, asshole. She’s mine.

He drops his gaze, but he doesn’t fool me. I recognize the emotion simmering behind his eyes. Want.

Nova reaches over to caress my shoulder, then touch my hair.

“You like my hair, don’t you?” I say, lowering my voice.

“So much,” she purrs. “Messy pretty. I need to try a braid on it, give you a Viking look.”

“Not for the gala, though. Maybe tonight after dinner.” I give her a kiss on her nose.

“I do love Vikings,” Nova says on a soft sigh.

Sonia grins. “Bloody hell, you two are sickening!”

“Sorry, I guess we get carried away,” I murmur. Not sorry.

Nova’s lashes fall to her cheeks. “We’re just”—she bites her lip—“so in love.”

There’s a silence, and my breath hitches as the air in the room seems to disappear. In love? My hands clench under the table, pushing back the fear those words bring.

“Totally,” I manage to say.

Melinda jerks up from her seat and flounces out of the lounge. Andrew chews his food as if it’s nails, a scowl on his face.

“Coach, do you think you could spare some of your players to dress out for the basketball scrimmage this week? Bruno is my best man, and we need him,” he says, his tone sharp.

I shake my head. “I need them on the field. We’re ranked two, and Huddersfield is one. It’s down to the wire.”

Skeeter nods. “True that, Andrew. We’ve got to tighten our game.”

“The analysts are saying Huddersfield has the best defense,” Andrew replies.

“And we have the top offense,” I counter.

He lets it drop, then pulls a small wrapped box out of his satchel. “Hey, Nova. I’ve been meaning to give this to you for a while. My gift. Congrats on becoming a member of the staff.”

Nova unwraps the box and pulls out a maroon coffee mug with BBHS on it. She stares at it with a frown, blinks, and then gives him a blinding smile. “Wow. Thank you! I love it.”

I take my hat off and run a hand through my hair, feeling twitchy. I glance over, and Nova’s eyes are on me, narrowed. She glances at Skeeter, then motions her head to the door. She’s trying to tell me something . . . I lift my shoulders. What?

She rolls her eyes at my lack of understanding, then murmurs, “You ready to head to the field house, darling?”

There’s still fifteen minutes left in lunch, but I nod and pack up my things. Andrew watches us as we toss our trash, then head out the door.

As soon as we’re out in the hall, I glance at her. “What’s up?”

“Let’s get to the storage closet.”