“Oh my God,” she says. “You have it bad for him.”
“Shut up,” I blurt, suddenly forgetting she’s not my sister and we barely know each other. “Sorry,” I add quickly, but she just keeps smiling at me.
“Listen,” she says after a beat. “Who cares about Rick? He’s obviously an asshole who’s more worried about what his father thinks than about my brother. And Noah clearly likes you.”
I stare at her.
Maya rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. Why else would he ask you to be his fake boyfriend?”
“Because he was drunk and desperate,” I say, a little too fast.
“Sure,” she says. “And out of all the people in New York he could’ve asked while drunk and desperate, he picked the hot Irish neighbor he’d already mentioned to me at least ten times.”
I blink. “He did?”
“Yup,” Maya says. “Usually while pretending he was just complaining about the noise through the wall.”
That does something stupid to my chest.
“And I don’t even think he realizes how often he did it,” she adds. “Noah is notoriously bad at knowing when he’s obvious.”
That shuts me up for half a second.
I want to believe her. Of course I do. But wanting something badly enough doesn’t make it true. Maybe all the kissing today messed with my head, but tonight has been pretty clear. Noah has been avoiding me all evening, and when he isn’t avoiding me, he’s standing around with his ex.
Thinking he has feelings for me feels dangerously close to wishful thinking.
“I don’t think so,” I say, hating the hopeful little pull in my chest anyway. “Have you seen them tonight? The way he laughs at every stupid thing Rick says?”
Maybe I’m exaggerating. Maybe I’m seeing exactly what I’m afraid of seeing. But there’s no way Noah is over him. Not really.
Maya’s expression shifts, not quite softening, but losing some of its bite. “Well, based on what I learned tonight, Noah spent three years making himself smaller so Rick wouldn’t have to feel uncomfortable. So yeah, of course he knows how to stand next to him and smile when he doesn’t know what else to do.”
I look at her.
“That doesn’t mean he wants him back,” she clarifies, in case I’m too stupid to get there myself.
The words do something uncomfortable to my chest. Not because I suddenly believe them, but because I want to.
Maya punches me lightly in the shoulder. “You won’t know unless you talk to him, dummy. Tell him how you feel.”
I snort. “Right. Because this weekend definitely needs more awkwardness.”
“I didn’t peg you for a chicken, Connor.” She gives me a flat look. “Fine. Talk to him after dinner if you don’t want to make a scene. And if it goes badly, you can leave tomorrow morning before he even wakes up.”
I know she’s probably joking, but the thought of saying something tonight sends a strange rush through me. Fear, mostly. But not only fear.
“I’m serious,” she says, crossing her arms. “Noah is terrible at saying what he feels. That’s basically why you’re both in this mess.”
I nod, but then the full weight of what I’ve just admitted catches up with me. Maya knows. She knows, and she’s Noah’s sister, and if she says one wrong thing to him before I get my head straight, I’m fucked.
“Maya, you can’t tell him,” I say quickly. “Any of this.”
“I won’t,” she says, giving me another stern look. “Because you’re going to tell him yourself.” She turns toward the door.
“Maya—”
She stops with her hand on the knob and looks back at me.
