The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,37

“If you say so, Mom.”

Dad wraps me in a big hug and slips me a $100, which always makes me laugh. I try to give it back to him but he shakes his head, his eyes bright. “You’re still not tenured,” he reminds me.

I roll my eyes and wave goodbye. While Savannah corrals Claire into her car with Mike, I’m ushered into the back seat of Austin’s ride.

“Are you sure you don’t mind us tagging along?” I ask my cousin as he pulls out of the parking lot.

He meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Nah, not tonight. Tonight, there will be loads of the wives and girlfriends and friends. It’s a celebration. I’m glad you’re coming, Indy.”

“Me too,” Noah says, turning around to meet my eyes as he says the words. My cousin flips him a look but Noah ignores it. “What’s your poison tonight?”

I hold up a finger. “I can only have one drink.”

Austin and Noah crack up.

“I’m serious. I have classes all day tomorrow.”

“Yeah and don’t you think the majority of the kids in your classes are going to be hungover?” Austin glances at me in the rearview mirror again.

I roll my eyes. “That’s not a good reason for me to throw out the rule book.”

Austin chuckles. “You need to get out more, Indy.”

“I know,” I agree. My family’s support is sometimes more stressful than encouraging. As if they have unlimited faith in my decisions.

“Any new updates about your student trip?” Noah asks and I don’t miss the glare Austin shoots him.

Leaning back in my seat, I tell them more about the trip to Dhaka. “We’re even going to Grameen Bank. Muhammad Yunus started it in the 1970s and…”

“Wow,” Austin says, impressed. “What’s the purpose of the research aspect?”

“Ideally, to write a paper for publication. It will focus on the role of women in a patriarchal society and how women push the advancement of their families, and thereby society, forward when they have more control over the finances. It will be a great opportunity for my students to dabble in field research and also contribute to a publication. I’m really excited about it, obviously, and want it to all work out. To be honest, I’m a little nauseous just thinking about all the responsibility of things that could go wrong.”

Austin chuckles but Noah’s eyes are warm when they seek me out again. He looks at me with such intensity, such understanding, that for a second, it’s as if he sees all the way to my soul. Past my insecurities and doubts and to the heart of why this is so important to me.

“You’re going to rock it, Indy. You speak about your work with so much passion and enthusiasm, so much optimism, that your students are lucky to have you as a role model.”

His words rock through me, heartfelt and sincere and so encouraging. “Thank you, Noah.”

My cousin’s eyes flick back to mine again and I don’t miss the scowl on his face. But when I look at Noah, I see the truth in his expression. He means what he says and his belief in me, someone who isn’t related to me and obligated to support my decisions, fills me with an extra layer of confidence. I don’t think he even realizes how much he soothes my nerves but he does.

Suddenly, I’m glad I came out tonight.

Taps is raucous.

The energy is pulsing, the crowds are swarming, and the drinks are flowing. When we arrive, fans cheer and stand on barstools, hollering out their congratulations and gratitude. Austin and Noah flank me, and while my cousin always looks out for me, it’s Noah who places his hand in the small of my back and shadows my frame, as if worried for my safety.

Austin and Noah stop several times to sign autographs and I don’t miss the shade thrown my way. Women wearing low-cut shirts and more makeup than Sephora carries look at me with expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hatred. A chill works through my veins at the venom in their eyes and I falter back a step, right into the muscled wall of Noah’s chest.

His hand drops to my hip to steady me but after he hands back the hat he signed, it stays there, familiar. Once Austin resumes pushing through the crowd, Noah grasps my hand in his and pulls me along, not caring one bit about the attention that our hand-holding garners. In fact, he seems oblivious to all the evil looks of women