Page 77 of Who's Saving You
She raises a brow. “If you’re sleeping with him?—”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” she scoffs.
My stomach sinks as she hits me with a disappointed look, but she doesn’t back off. “Tell me something right now. Is there a story you’re not writing because you’re trying to protect him?”
I want to lie.
But I don’t.
Ican’t.
So, I say nothing.
And that silence? That’s her answer.
“I was prepared to offer you the Editor in Chief position. Remember what I discussed with you before you left for Houston? My partners agreed with me.” Sherrece sits back hard in her chair, crossing her arms and glaring, creating a barrier between us. Outside of this building, we’re friends, but here—especially today—she’s my boss, and by holding this story back, I’m messing with her career. “I assigned this to you because you’re the one who can sort through the bullshit. I didn’t think you’d go soft the second he smiled at you.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then tell me what it’s like.”
I take a breath. My voice is quieter when it comes out. “It’s complicated. And messier than what a short headline can read.”
“Messy is what keeps the lights on. And he’s a twenty-three-year-old standout rookie, the likes of which the NFL hasn’t seen in quite some time. If he’s hiding something, I want it. You’ve got a week. Give me something real or tell me you’re pulling out. And if you pull out? Don’t expect to pitch another feature around here for averylong time.” She turns from me, quickly tapping across her keyboard, dismissing me from the room. “Oh, and that new position? It won’t be yours.”
I get up and walk out, not needing to acknowledge her threat, because it’s not a threat. It’s a promise, and now I have to decide how the fuck to navigate this.
My pulse is pounding as I pass back through the bullpen, nodding to the other reporters. I keep my face calm, unreadable. But inside? I’m unraveling.
I’m not stupid, I know how this looks. I compromised myself, both professionally and emotionally. I could get mysister and move right out of Mistletoe Falls, clear across the country. Or I could just write the damn story and live in fear the rest of my life. I could just walk away, find a new job, anything, before football wrecks my family, my credibility, and my heart. But I already know what I’m going to do. I don’t think there was ever a choice once I met him.
31
Nik
I’m halfway through the parking lot, earbuds in, hoodie up, doing my best to blend in, which is laughable when you're six-two and built like I am. I didn’t want to leave Noelle this morning, but I have to get to training. We talked for another hour before I left, and we came up with a plan. We’re going to go about our days like normal. I’m going to trust that between myself and Stone, we can keep her safe. She’s right. It’s not fair that I keep her locked away. And it will look more suspicious if she did just disappear.
So I went to the gym, she went to the coffee shop with her laptop, and then I met her there afterwards. We made it appear as though we were working on the interview so she could meet with her editor and provide some notes. She promised she wasn’t going to give any context, but she had to turn something in.
We had flirty banter that we thrive on. The push and pull of her wanting to fight with me, yet wanting to drop to her knees, too, is fucking hot. I had to control myself, sit on my hands, and bite my tongue, because all I wanted to do was shout that this woman should be mine. And I've no right to do it. We’ve only slept together a few times, but each time brings us closer to a point where I don’t know if I'm going to be able to let her go.
Noelle presses the record button, her tone smooth. “I’m told you don’t open up easily. Should I be flattered you're talking to me at all?”
I lean forward, eyes locked on hers, my voice low. “You keep showing up in that dress, asking me questions with that mouth of yours, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
She blinks, her pen pausing mid-note, her face flushing instantly. “This is on the record, you know.”
I flash her a smug grin. “Good. Let them hear how you make me lose focus.”
I’m lost in remembering how she squirmed around in her seat, and as I rounded the corner near the entrance to the training room, I don't see the camera until it’s too late. A woman steps in front of me, mic already up, her badge swinging off a lanyard with some third-tier gossip site I’ve never heard of.
“Nik Papas! Quick question for The Drift, any comment on the rumors that Trevor Raines might speak out about what happened during the 2021 ZU Rivalry game?”
I freeze, her words hitting like a punch to the gut.
I blink. “What?”
