Those two words have been lodged in my head for the past six hours, ruining everything about what should have been a perfect day.
Noah’s knee bumps mine as he reaches for another marshmallow, and I force myself to smile when he glances my way. I’m pretty sure it looks more like a grimace.
“Here,” he says, sliding a perfectly toasted marshmallow onto a graham cracker and handing it to me. “You haven’t eaten a single s’more yet.”
I take it from him, our fingers brushing. “Thanks.”
Noah watches me carefully, his warm brown eyes searching my face like he’s trying to figure out what he missed. He’s been doing that all evening—glancing over, touching my arm, pressing a little closer, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still here.
And I am. Physically, at least.
Mentally, I’m stuck on those two words and what they might mean.
Across the fire, Rick sits with his arm draped around Cassidy’s shoulders. He’s laughing at something Brad said, but his eyes keep drifting to Noah. To us. I’ve been counting. This is the seventh time in twenty minutes I’ve caught him staring.
My jaw clenches so hard I can feel a headache starting at my temples.
I should have kept my eyes off that fucking phone. But when I saw Noah’s face change as he read the messages—that little flinch, that flash of confusion—I couldn’t help myself. I leaned over, just enough to see the screen.
I need to talk to you.
Please, baby.
Those words. Those fucking words managed to derail everything I’d been working up the courage to say.
We’d been having the perfect afternoon. Talking. Eating. Making out. I’d been seconds away from telling Noah how I really felt. Telling him this wasn’t just physical for me. That somewhere between that first fake kiss and now, I’d fallen for him.
Hard.
In a way that scares the shit out of me.
And then Rick’s text arrived and ruined everything.
“Are you going to answer him?” I’d asked, trying to keep my voice neutral and failing spectacularly.
Noah had stared at the phone for a long moment, his face unreadable. “I don’t know,” he’d said finally. “Maybe later tonight. Just to see what he wants.”
Just to see what he wants.
As if it isn’t obvious.
Rick has spent the entire weekend watching Noah, looking at him with those regretful eyes, finding excuses to talk to him alone. And now, after hearing us together last night—God, the walls in this place are so thin, just like the ones in our fucking apartment building—after seeing us together all weekend, he’s making his move.
Trying to get Noah back.
And Noah is going to let him.
Because that was sort of our plan, wasn’t it? The whole boyfriend charade was supposed to make Rick jealous. And we’ve done a good job.
So why do I feel like shit?
“Connor?” Noah’s voice pulls me back. “You’re miles away.”
I blink at him, realizing I’ve been staring into the fire without saying a word for God knows how long. The s’more he made me is still in my hand, untouched and starting to melt on my fingers.
“Sorry,” I mumble, forcing myself to take a bite. It’s cloyingly sweet and sticks to the roof of my mouth. “Just tired, I guess.”
Noah frowns slightly but doesn’t push. Instead, he shifts closer on the blanket, his side pressing warm against mine. His hand finds my knee, a casual, possessive touch that would thrill me under any other circumstances.
