interfere with that? Or that his agent had said that we needed to stay apart again because the press suspected something? Since the football season had ended, we’d had more freedom, since reporters weren’t so interested in the personal lives of members of a team that hadn’t made it to the big game.
“You and me, Em. I need . . .” Noah raked his hand through his hair, and I realized he was nervous. “We’ve been dancing around this long enough. Or maybe it’s just me doing the dancing, and you’re not even interested. I don’t know. That’s what’s killing me—not fucking knowing. I could wait longer—I could wait forever, if I knew—”
“Noah.” I scooted over closer to him and laid a hand on his arm. “Slow down, please. What are you talking about? You lost me somewhere around the dancing.”
“I’m sorry.” He rested his back against the trunk of the oak. “I’ve been working up to this for a while. I tell myself I’m going to man up and talk to you every time I drive over here—I fucking practice what I’m going to say to you on the way over. But I swore that I wouldn’t leave today without knowing.”
Heat began to stir deep within me. “Okay, again, you need to be a little more specific. What do you need to tell me?”
Noah shifted abruptly, catching hold of the hand that I’d placed on his arm. “Emma, there’s probably a lot prettier way to say this. Hell, I’ve come up with all the romantic shit and flowers and all of it—because you deserve that and more—but I can’t remember a damn word of anything right now, so I’m just going to say it plainly.”
I nodded slowly. “I think that would be a good idea, because I’m a little worried that I’ve worked you too hard today, and you have heat stroke.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “No, this isn’t heat stroke, babe. This is desperation and need and—I don’t know what the hell else.” He wove our fingers together and then lifted our joined hands to his lips. “Emma, for a long time, I’ve wanted more than friendship for us. I’ve known how I feel about you—but I was afraid it was too soon. I thought maybe you didn’t have the same—feelings. Shit, I sound like one of those sappy romance movies you make us watch.” He bumped his head against the rough bark and cast his eyes upward. “Why is this so hard?”
“I don’t know, but maybe it’ll be easier if you remember this is me, Noah. Emma. We never beat around the bush, right? We’re straight with each other. We always have been. So tell me. You want more than friendship. Start there.”
“Yeah, I do.” Slowly he lowered his eyes to mine again. “I’ve been wracking my brain for what to call what I want. There isn’t a good word for it. I want to keep being your friend, Em, but I want . . . more.”
“Okay.” I nibbled at my lower lip. “What does more look like?”
“It looks like . . . me kissing you as soon as I see you. Actually, let me amend that—it looks like me kissing you whenever I want, and you doing the same, and God, I hope you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you. It looks like us holding hands when we’re driving or walking around your land or sitting at the table talking. It looks like you laying on my lap while we watch movies on your couch. It looks like us going on dates out in public, and eventually, me telling people that I’m in a relationship with you. That you’re my girlfriend.”
Holy Moses. That was a lot of detail. But then again, I’d asked for it. And it seemed he wasn’t finished yet.
“And I’m not pushing you, I’m really not, but eventually, I hope it looks like you waking up in my arms every morning, or at least as many mornings as possible. And us going to sleep together at night, after I’ve made love to you and showed you just how much I—uh, how much I care for you.”
“Noah.” A million possibilities and thoughts were spinning through my mind, each competing for attention. I needed to say something here, but before I did, I had to be sure the answer I gave him was what I really wanted. I had to buy some time, and while I was doing