Chapter 13 Chapter 13
Noah's POV
By the time we got back to the apartment, my neck felt like it had been strangled by silk. I shut the front door behind us and immediately started pulling my tie loose.
“Gosh,” I muttered. “How do people survive wearing these things all night?”
Emily didn't answer right away. She was standing in the lounge like she just walked out of a battlefield. She took her heels off and dropped them beside the sofa with a quiet thud, and then she rubbed the bridge of her nose like she was trying to erase the last four hours from existence. The champagne dress that she wore to the gala still looked elegant under the warm apartment lights, but now it was wrinkled slightly at the waist, like the evening pressed against her too hard. I shrugged out of my tux jacket and tossed it onto a chair.
Emily’s eyes snapped up. “Seriously?”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“You just threw it.” She narrowed her eyes at me.
“It’s a chair.” I shrugged. She was being unnecessary now.
“It’s a tuxedo.”
“It’s a chair wearing a tuxedo now.”
She stared at me like she was reconsidering every life decision that brought her here. I head down the hallway towards my bedroom, already pulling the shirt out of my waistband. “Give me two minutes. If I stay in this outfit any longer I’m going to suffocate.” I said.
“Take five,” she muttered. “You clearly need the oxygen.”
I laughed under my breath as I changed into sweatpants and a worn gray hoodie.
When I came back out, Emily was sitting cross-legged on the sofa with a glass of water, staring at nothing. Her heels were still abandoned on the floor like casualties. “So,” I said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
Her head slowly turned towards me. The expression on her face said one thing very clearly. We were about to fight. “That was a disaster.”
I leaned against the counter. “We didn’t get arrested.”
“That’s not the standard.”
“It’s a pretty good one.”
She groaned and dropped her head back against the sofa cushion. “You were impossible tonight.”
“Correction. I was charming.”
“You mocked donors.” She said.
“They deserved it.”
“You whispered commentary during speeches.”
“They were boring speeches.” I rolled my eyes.
“You rolled your eyes at the vice chancellor.”
“He started a sentence with ‘athletic excellence’ three times.”
Emily shot upright. “This is exactly what I’m talking about!” Her hands started moving as she spoke, sharp gestures cutting through the air. “You cannot behave like that in front of people who fund the entire athletic program.”
“They seemed fine.”
“They were being polite!”
I took a sip of water. “You’re very intense when you’re mad.”
She glared at me. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Emily,” I said calmly, “The gala went fine.”
“It did not.”
“No one exposed the fake relationship.” I tried to reassure her that everything was fine.
“That’s because Coach Bennett had to save us.”
“That was teamwork.”
“That was damage control.”
I grinned. “You’re the PR police.”
Her eyes widened. “The PR police?”
“Yep.”
“I am not the PR police.”
“You’re patrolling my behavior.”
“Because your behavior needs patrolling!”
I laughed. “See? Police.”
She threw a sofa pillow at me. I caught it easily. “Violence. Very unprofessional.” I threw the sofa pillow onto the recliner.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet here I am.”
Emily pushed off the sofa and started pacing. “You don’t take anything seriously,” she said.
“I take lacrosse seriously.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It kind of is.”
“Noah,” she said, turning towards me, “This fake relationship is supposed to repair your public image.”
“My public image is dramatic.”
“Your public image is one scandal away from suspension.”
That landed harder than I had expect. I looked away for a second. Emily noticed. The room went quiet for half a breath before she crossed her arms. “And that’s not even the only issue.”
Uh oh. “What now?”
She gestured dramatically around the apartment. “This.”
I glanced around. “What about it?”
“This place is chaos.”
“It’s an apartment.”
“It’s a disaster.”
I followed her gaze. My sports gear was near the door. A stack of lacrosse sticks were against the wall. Energy drink cans on the counter. “It’s organized chaos,” I said.
“It’s athlete clutter.”
“Same thing.”
She walked to the kitchen. “And your diet.”
“Oh boy.”
She opened the fridge like she was unveiling a crime scene. “You have three types of energy drinks.”
“Variety is important.”
“Two beers.”
“Celebration.”
“And leftover takeout.”
“Nutrition.” I sighed.
She turned slowly. “You are an NCAA athlete.”
“I’m aware.”
“You cannot survive on junk food.”
“I’m thriving.” I said with sarcasm.
“You’re injured!”
“That was a hit.”
“That was preventable.”
I leaned on the counter again. “You labeled the groceries.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“You labeled the broccoli.”
“So?”
“Who labels broccoli?” I asked.
“People who want organized kitchens.”
“You’re a grocery tyrant.” I commented.
“At least I eat vegetables!”
I grinned. “You’re very passionate about vegetables.”
She threw her hands up. “And another thing.”
Here we go again. “Your alarm goes off at six in the morning,” I chimed in.
“Yes.”
“That’s illegal.”
“That’s discipline.” She said proudly.
“That’s torture.”
“That’s rehabilitation.”
“You woke me up three times this week.”
“You’re supposed to wake up.”
“I train better at night.” I said.
“You game at night.”
“Strategic gaming.” I loved my video games.
“You were yelling at someone named ‘DragonSlayer88.’”
“That guy cheated.” I was so disappointed that he cheated.
Emily pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. I literally saw it. “You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You’re smiling.” I repeated.
“I’m frustrated.”
“You’re amused.”
“I’m annoyed.”
“Adorable.” I cooed.
Her eyes widened. “I am not adorable.”
“Very adorable when you’re mad.”
She grabbed another pillow. I raised my hands. “Okay, okay.” But I was the one who was smiling now. The argument was real. But it’s also… fun. When she’s irritated, it becomes incredibly animated.
Her eyes light up, her hands move, her entire personality comes alive. I’ve never seen her this expressive before. Usually she’s controlled and precise. Now she’s just… Emily. And it’s fascinating.
She suddenly stopped pacing. “You’re smiling again.”
“I like this version of you.” I said.
“What version?” She asked.
“The fiery one.”
She sighed dramatically. “You’re impossible.”
“Probably.” I shrugged.
She walked back to the sofa and sat down, rubbing her temples. “I cannot believe I agreed to live here.”
“You will get used to it.”
“You left a protein shaker in the sink for three days.” She said.
“It was marinating.”
“Protein doesn’t marinate!” She said, her face contorting in disgust.
“Debatable.”
Emily stared at me and then something unexpected happened. She laughed a little. It was a soft, tired laugh that escaped before she could stop it. The sound hit somewhere in my chest. And suddenly the tension between us shifted. It was charged.
We were quiet for a moment and then she shook her head. “You’re exhausting.”
“You’re intense.” I replied.
“Someone has to be responsible.”
“You’re very responsible.” I must admit.
She stood up. “I’m going to bed.”
“Probably a good idea.”
She walked towards the hallway. When she was halfway in the hallway she stopped and turned around slightly. “You were nicer with the younger athletes tonight.”
The comment caught me off guard. “What?”
“At the gala,” she said. “You were different.”
I shrugged. “They are dealing with injuries.”
“That’s not what I meant.” But she didn't elaborate. Instead she disappeared into her bedroom. The door closed softly.
I stand there for a moment and then I noticed something. Right before the door shut... Emily smiled. It was a small one, like she was trying not to. And for some reason that tiny smile made me feel strangely victorious.
“PR police,” I muttered as I walked over to the sofa and sat down with a light thud. But I was still smiling.