Chapter Sixteen
Amanda sat on her bed, listening to her roommate’s music thump through the walls. Two of her roommates were out, but the third was clearly home. She’d ask her to turn it down, but the beat made her think Penny was probably in there with her girlfriend, and bass was better than sex noises any time.
So, fine. Her roommates had lives, and she was home alone after work as usual. In the past when she’d felt this way, she’d text her friends, hoping someone would be up for happy hour or a movie or a cup of tea or just a funny string of text messages to pass the time.
But her friends were all coupled up now. Even though they still spent time together, it felt different. Like she was interrupting something if she texted just to say hey. And she didn’t want to text them more about Noah.
But left to her own devices, her mind wouldn’t stop reeling.
She’d barely been able to concentrate at work. Luke had asked her at least six times what was up. Not because he thought something was wrong, it turned out.
But because he thought something great had happened.
“You’re, like, super smiley,” he’d said. “Did you win the lottery and you’re not telling me?”
I had a really nice breakfast with your brother, and even if running is still the devil’s work and endorphins are a lie and he was kind of weird and quiet when we left, I still feel surprisingly not awful for someone who set her alarm clock for five this morning.
“I got a good night’s sleep,” she’d lied. “Slept in—that’s why I was late.”
“Okay, first of all, you’re always late?” he’d said, giving her a funny look. “And you never sleep well. You’re always complaining about it. And your usual explanation for being late is—well, no explanation.” He scratched his head. “Also, where’s your coffee?”
“What are you, a police detective?” she’d snapped, already feeling guilty for saying too much, or too little, or lying when she didn’t need to, or not lying enough when she should have covered her tracks. Luke was right. When did she ever come to work without coffee?
Only on days when she’d already had three cups of it that morning, apparently. Because she’d been up for five hours.
But because she’d gone so long already without telling Luke anything, it was too late to open her mouth and come clean. All day, her heart kept doing this off-kilter thumpy thing. It was a familiar feeling: the flutter of a crush beating inside her.
Only today, whenever she’d looked up from her computer, it wasn’t to check out the man sitting in front of her. It was to gaze into the distance and wonder what Noah was doing right then. If he was as distracted as she was from the things they’d said, the way they’d laughed.
How bizarrely, unexpectedly fun it had been.
Luke was supposed to be the fun twin, the one she wanted to be around. The one who made her laugh.
Only now it felt sort of annoying how he kept finding reasons to “bump” into her or try to make some joke. Maybe she didn’t want to be joking. Maybe it had been nice that morning to talk about something real. The way Noah got when she’d asked about running—the look in his eyes, the set of his shoulders. The sense that there was something weighty to the words he’d said. He didn’t toss them off lightly to fill the silence. He didn’t do anything he didn’t mean.
So what did it mean that he wanted to keep spending time with her? Did he like her? Or was he just being nice? When they’d parted after breakfast, he’d given her a quick wave and trotted off to his next appointment. Did you wave at people you’d had sex with?
She sighed and sank into her pillows. Maybe it was a sign. Breakfast was just breakfast. Their run was him doing his job. He’d laughed because that was part of making conversation. She shouldn’t be reading so much into something so run of the mill.
She wanted to text him, but she couldn’t think of what to say that would open the conversation again. Goddammit, she was driving herself crazy. How could she spend this much time thinking about someone who was going to be out of her life so soon?
But this what was she did, wasn’t it? Thought about people, pined for them, until she got so wrapped up, she couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Couldn’t see the person for who they were. Couldn’t see when it was all wrong for her.
Was she just doing the same thing with Noah that she’d done with Luke—concocting a fantasy that would never be? Obsessing over what she couldn’t have?
She thought about Noah’s lips on hers. The spark in his eyes as he laughed over breakfast. The way he’d stayed beside her for every step around the reservoir, urging her on, even when he had no reason to humor her and plenty of people who’d paid for his attention. None of that felt like make-believe.
I’ve thought it was real before.
But it was different this time. She swore it. No matter how silly she felt saying it…it was real.
He’ll only find another way to hurt me.
But she picked up her phone anyway.
Before she could lose her nerve, she texted: I had a nice time this morning, even if it was an ungodly hour. Thanks for the butt-kicking and the eggs.
She closed her eyes and pressed send.
And then she waited.
She thought that might be it. He was probably with Luke, out, or at home doing something. Packing, planning his move. Sleeping. Maybe he was even on a date—a thought that made her stomach flop like a fish.
But her phone vibrated after only a moment.
Amanda’s heart kicked up to see the message—and then fell again. What was she supposed to say to that?
She didn’t have to agonize about it too hard, right? Noah couldn’t break her heart because her heart wasn’t in this. It was just…a thing. A few weeks of occasionally seeing the wrong brother she wasn’t supposed to have made out with in the first place. She could do that.
She bit her lip to keep from smiling too hard in her room.
Her thumb hovered. Should she write it? Was it too much?
She left a whole lot more ellipses, just to torture him.
She almost dropped the phone. Obviously, she knew things had gotten hot and heavy with Noah. But those still felt like accidents. Things that had simply happened, without either of them stepping up and saying, “I want this.”
But Noah checking her out? Noah noticing what she was wearing and commenting on it? Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. But it was.
Now she was laughing.
She pressed her lips together, typed, and then deleted and typed again.
She held her breath, waiting. It seemed like the three dots hovered on her screen forever, showing that he was typing. What the hell kind of novel was he writing?
But when the bubble of text finally appeared, it was classic Noah—short and to the point.
She wondered what he’d started typing and then thought better of it. She had her answer. He wanted this to keep happening.
And her?
She was already sliding under the covers, her legs squeezed tight together, wanting more. Wanting him.
That certainly felt like an answer.
Forget about how hard her heart had been racing—the damn thing suddenly stopped.
So she was terrible at flirting. She’d already known that. In the back of her mind, she almost wondered if she was doing it on purpose. If he rolled his eyes at her and lost interest—wouldn’t it be better to know that now, before she started believing what he was saying? It wasn’t that she wanted to push him away. But maybe some part of her wanted to know if she could.
She stared at the phone for so long, she was suddenly afraid he’d think she was the one who wasn’t interested.
Oh, crap. Had she really just said that?
She’d been trying for jokey, in an effort to regain her footing. But when she saw the words appear under his, she was afraid he’d think she meant it.
His answer came back immediately.
She swallowed. Felt the heat between her legs, the heat building everywhere inside her as her heartbeat revved.
She hardly dared to breathe.
There was a pause. It felt endless.
She pictured him in his bedroom, the one next to Luke’s, the one she’d seen more than a few times when she was over at their place. Neater than Luke’s—far neater than hers—with his bed made, his clothes put away, a laptop the only thing on his desk.
She wondered what he was doing, if he was taking a deep breath before he finally typed:
She didn’t write back right away. Not because she was thinking about her answer, but because she wanted to savor the question.
She finally typed it because she didn’t want to keep him hanging. There were obvious limitations to texting. But she was pretty sure he could read her smile, even if he couldn’t see it.
She knew the answer to that. We could like each other. You could break my heart.
NOAH: Or why I suddenly started a kitten rescue operation out of our apartment, he typed before she could come up with another silly thing to say, a thing to test him, tease him, see whether he was sure he wanted to be doing this.
She burst out laughing, staring at her phone. Noah had a sense of humor? How did she not know that dryness about him wasn’t his soul being sucked out his nose, but an actual sense of humor?
How did she not know he was someone she could actually see herself falling for, wanting more of, laughing with like this? And why hadn’t she figured that out years ago, instead of now, when it was too late?
But what if it’s not too late?
She didn’t have an answer. All she knew was that she couldn’t believe they were making plans—real ones. And that she was dying to see him again.