Page 76 of Before We Break

“Wha—”

His door slams shut before I can get the words out, and he’s at my side, opening my door. My gaze Ping-Pongs between the man and his outstretched hand.

When I take too long to move, he says, “Well? Are you coming or not?”

Not. Definitely not, but give me about three minutes with those fingers…

I clear my throat and slide my palm into his. “Who are you, and what have you done with my asshole landlord?”

“Sorry, princess. No asshole landlord today. You’ll have to settle for doting fiancé.”

My stomach does a somersault for some reason—one I’m not about to examine too closely.

Lexi crouches low, and Auggie hops onto her back, wrapping his arms around her neck. She walks with an extra pep in her step, bouncing him as they head towards one of the tables.

Noah stops us briefly at the back of his truck and picks up the box one-handed, never letting go of mine, then we join Lexi and Auggie.

He sets the box of supplies on the table, and I pull out ten different dye colors, a large box of rubber bands, and the stacks of plain T-shirts, laying everything across the table in neat rows. “Ok. Noah, you’re on rubber band duty with Lexi. Auggie and I will handle the dyes.”

“Bossy,” Noah grumbles.

“I think you like it.”

He leans a little closer and speaks low for only me to hear. “You know I do, baby.”

Baby.

I never in a million years thought a single word could make my stomach flutter, but there’s a kaleidoscope of butterflies taking flight right this very second that would suggest otherwise.

“Since it’s Legally Blonde, do we want to do a bunch of pinks or change it up a bit? We could give the cast one color and crew another?”

Lexi picks up one light pink and one darker and sets them in front of me, then she picks up two shades of blue and sets them in front of Auggie. “Cast in pink, crew in blue, and Quinn can have a mix of both.”

“Perfect. Let’s get started.”

I pull out a couple of art smocks from my box and help Auggie into one.

“You really thought of everything,” Noah says.

“It’s the teacher in me. I’m always prepared for messes.”

As I’m reaching behind me to tie the belt at my back, his rough hands brush against mine.

“Let me,” Noah whispers against the shell of my ear, palming my hips.

My breath catches.

“People are watching. Pretend you actually like me.”

That’s the problem. I do like him. Too much. Now all I’m thinking about are those inked hands and the things he can do with them. This is bad. I thought walking away would put an end to these feelings, but nothing’s changed. In fact, denying myself the one thing I want is only making this incessant attraction exponentially worse.

I always come prepared for messes, but this is one mess I hadn’t anticipated.

NOAH

When Clio walked out of my apartment the other night, I swore I was going to keep my hands off her. We agreed it was a one-time thing, and I hadn’t imagined her panicked expression as she fled into the hallway. Something about what we’d done scared her—I know because it scared me, too. This connection isn’t a fleeting attraction; it could be so much more than that if we let it.

I can’t let it, so I watched her leave.