Chapter 6 Chapter 6
Noah's POV
I was pacing back and forth in the lounge, my heart beating at a rapid pace, all because of Emily, which was pathetic, because I don’t pace ever. It's not who I am. I am the guy who leans against walls, sits too far back in chairs, watches the world like it’s a slow-motion replay I’ve already memorized. Pacing was not my thing. except apparently tonight.
The apartment felt too big and too small at the same time, as if the walls were breathing, closing in, and then expanding out. My shoulder throbbed from overtraining because working out until I couldn't breathe was usually my fix for anxiety. But today, it barely made a dent.
Sean lounged on my sofa as if he owned it, one arm thrown over the backrest, a bowl of popcorn in his lap. He’s my teammate, our goalie, and the only person on Earth who treats me like a human instead of a news story, which meant he felt entitled to annoy the hell out of me.
“You know,” he said while crunching loudly, “For someone faking a relationship, you are acting like you’re about to propose.”
I glared at him. “Get out.”
“Can’t,” he said with a mouth full of popcorn. “This is premium entertainment.”
I rubbed my face. “I’m not performing anything romantic.”
“Oh?” He pointed a popcorn kernel at me. “So the candle isn’t romantic?” He raised an eyebrow in question.
I glanced over at the stupid candle I lit without thinking. It gave off the Vanilla, soft, and cozy vibes. It smelled like a home I didn't even have. “That’s not romantic, it’s… neutralizing the smell of turf tape,” I muttered quickly. Who was I even kidding at this moment? It was for her.
Sean barked out a laugh. “Sure, okay, Captain Febreze.” He was now being sarcastic about a household odor eliminator. I rolled my eyes and I threw a hand towel at his face. He dodged it. He eye-scanned me up and down. The clean black hoodie I changed into, the semi-neat hair, the apartment I had spent an hour pretending I always kept tidy. His grin grew even more. “Damn, you care.”
“No,” I snapped.
“You care what she thinks.”
“No,” I repeated, beginning to get annoyed by him.
“Bro, you color-coded the throw pillows.”
“Because she’s staying here,” I snappeed, hating how defensive I sounded. “She doesn’t need to think I’m some feral locker-room troll.” I let out a heavy breath.
Sean whistled low. “So you’re housebreaking yourself for a girl you’ve never even met.”
“It’s PR, not courtship.”
“But you’re nervous.”
“I'm not.” He was pushing my buttons, I was very close to throwing him out my apartment with my own bare hands.
“You are.” He just carried on.
I stopped pacing, my fists were clenching. “Sean.”
He smirked. “Noah.”
I breathed out hard. My heart was loud in my ears, my shoulder ached. My brain had been a storm ever since Coach told me the plan.
Live with the intern.
Fake-date the intern.
Stabilize your image with the intern.
Sean threw another kernel in the air and catched it in his mouth. “So, what’s the plan?” He asked.
“It’s not finalized,” I said, grabbing a water bottle from the counter. I didn't drink from it, just held it. “I will run the PR structure by her once she arrives.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Your plan? She knows there’s a fake relationship plan. But not your plan.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It is,” he sang.
“It’s not.”
“So what is your plan?” He asked.
I hesitated and then I shrugged. “Make it believable enough to keep the school off my ass, but not… real.”
“Define not real.”
“No touching unless necessary. No flirting... No pretending deeper feelings.”
He snorted. “You say that like you’re going to be tempted.”
“I won’t be.”
“Bro,” he laughed, “You haven’t seen her yet.”
I shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “And what? She’s some kind of princess?”
He shrugged. “That’s what I saw on her Instagram. Smart, cute, and pink everything... Basically the opposite of you.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Fantastic.”
“So when she walks through that door-” The doorbell rang. Sean froze, a kernel halfway to his mouth. My heart stopped. Then slammed back to life with brutal force. “Showtime,” Sean whispered.
I wanted to throw him off the balcony. Instead, I wiped my palms on my hoodie and walked towards the door. Each step felt like walking into a game I didn’t prepare for. A championship game. Nighttime stadium lights. Heart pounding against my rib cage like it was trying to escape, except this wasn't a game. Wait...it was one, it wasn't kind I know how to win.
I reached the door. My hand hovered over the handle. I don’t even breathe. I opened it. And there she was. A Pink suitcase, a blinder file held to her chest, she wore a blazer fitted like she actually cared how she looked walking into a stranger’s apartment. Her hair was pulled back. Her eyes were sharp, startled, and measuring me like I was a clinical trial she had been assigned and deeply offended by. And shit, Sean was right. She was pretty in that unshakeable way like she knew who she was and wouldn't apologize for it. Her expression, though? It was pure tension, pure armor, pure don’t mess with me. Everything was pure. She already hated me, or worse, she expected the worst of me.
“Hi, I'm Emily,” she said, her voice was steady but taut.
“I figured,” I replied.
Her jaw twitched. “Can I come in?” she asked.
“Do I have a choice?”
“No,” she said, already stepping inside.
Fuck. She was bold and terrified. But pretending she was neither. Good. We are matching energies.
Sean popped up like an idiot jack-in-the-box. “Hi! You must be the fake girlfriend!”
Emily froze. She had a deadpan and mortified expression on her face. “I-no-well-technically-” she sputtered.
“Oh my gosh,” I muttereed. “Sean, leave.”
“Absolutely not.”
Emily took in the apartment. The counters were clean, a candle was lit, my shoes were organized and she raised one eyebrow. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Don’t say anything.”
She held up her hands. “I wasn’t going to.”
“He scrubbed the grout with a toothbrush.” Sean chimed in.
“SEAN.” I gave him a death glare, I couldn't believe that he would do this to me. Now this was embarrassing.
Emily’s lips curved slightly as if she was trying like hell not to smile. She barely failed and then her face snapped back into professional mode. She opened her binder and placed it on the opened plan kitchen counter. “Before anything,” she said sharply, “Ground rules.” She was coming off as strict teacher in class.
Sean squealed. “I love her.”
Emily ignored him. “This arrangement is professional. I’m here for my internship, my evaluation, and my recommendation. The PR part is secondary.”
I lifted a brow. “Secondary? It’s half the job.”
“My job is your shoulder,” she said, her expression didn't flinch. “Your PR is your fault.” Fuck. Me.
Sean coughed. “Damn.”
I almost smiled. She continued. “I don’t play games. I don’t do drama. I don’t flirt. And I don’t do excuses disguised as trauma.”
My chest tightened. “That last part was uncalled for.”
“It was honest.”
I gritted my teeth. “Fine. Honesty’s your thing? Here’s mine. I’m not thrilled about this either.”
“I know. You made that clear in your file.”
Great. They gave her the full horror show.
She let a breath out. “I knew we had to fake-date for PR. I didn’t expect you to have… additional structure.”
Sean looked at me knowingly. “Here it comes.”
Emily crossed her arms below her breasts. “So go on, Noah. Explain your plan.”
I swallowed. This was the part I hated. The vulnerability, the exposure and the need. “Fine,” I sighed. “My plan is simple. We act like a campus couple, but only at scheduled appearances. No random affection. No ‘caught kissing in the hallway.’ No social media heart-eye posts.”
She nodded. “Good. That aligns with my plan too.”
“We present stable, not romantic.” I added.
“Agreed.”
“We don’t pretend to be in love.”
Her eyes flashed. “Obviously.”
“And we don’t blur lines. Ever.”
She studied me, like really studied me, like she was trying to read the bruise beneath my ribs. “Okay,” she said softly. “No blurred lines.” Something in my chest shifted like pressure changing before a storm.
Sean finally stood up. “That’s… surprisingly mature.”
“Shut up,” I said automatically.
Emily page through her binder. “Then we will operate under two categories, that is public interactions and private boundaries." That landed heavier than she probably intended.
Private boundaries. Boundaries I’ve never been good at. Boundaries I desperately needed. “Fine. But there’s something else.”
She went still. “What?”
I hesitated. This part was hard to say. Harder than fights. Harder than interviews. Harder than any physical pain. “People don’t believe anything about me unless they see it. They don’t believe I’m stable unless I perform stability. They don’t believe I’m trying unless I look like I am.”
Her expression softened a fraction. Enough to sting.
I continued, voice was lower this time. “So this has to look real. Not romantic, but… aligned, controlled and predictable.”
She nodded slowly. “Like teammates.”
My breath caught. Teammates. I’ve never had one look at me the way she did now, like I wasn't a grenade, or a disappointment waiting to erupt.
“Yeah, like teammates.” I said quietly.
Sean grinned. “So basically a fake marriage.”
Emily threw him a look that could incinerate steel. “Please leave.”
“Gladly,” he said, swaggering towards the door. “But just know, if you two actually fall in love-”
“OUT!” Emily and I both said in unison.
He laughed as the door shut behind him.
Silence dropped over the apartment. It was heavy and charged with something that was unavoidable. I just couldn't say what it was or meant.
She lifted her suitcase. “I’ll unpack.”
I nodded. She stepped towards the hallway, but paused and turned back to look at me, our eyes locked. I swallowed. I felt exposed as if she saw right through me.
“We’re stuck doing this, but we will do it right.” she said quietly. Something twisted inside my chest. I managed a nod before she disappeared into the guest room. And for the first time since this fake relationship was forced on me, I was terrified for reasons that had nothing to do with PR…and everything to do with her.