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Trust me how? And wanna bet it was one woman who ruined it for all of us? How original. And not at all silly.
Noah tosses his tool, and I see the black all over his fingers. “Hand me that wrench with the yellow tape on it, would you?”
I head over to his worktable and grab the long silver tool with a black handle and yellow tape. Walking over to him, I drop down and slide under the bike with him.
“And you?” I ask, handing him the wrench. “Do you trust me?”
He uses the tool, tightening or loosening something, not making eye contact. I’m still not sure what that means, though. Trust me to have their backs? Not hurt them? Be faithful? Never abandon them?
He’s silent for a few more moments, and the seconds start to stretch as the dread inside me churns.
“I heard you last night,” he says in almost a whisper.
Heard me…
His tight lips purse as he tightens the bolt. “Daddy didn’t love you, so you let mine fuck you so he will.”
I stare hard at him as he works, and even though his anger rocks me, because this is Noah and Noah is always my friend, his words don’t necessarily hurt. He needs to say something.
He goes on. “Maybe you’ve done without for so long, you’re confused that sex means love.”
He hands me the wrench, and I take it.
“Maybe you’ll do anything to make sure he never forgets you exist,” he nearly whispers. “Even if it means spreading your pretty legs.”
The jaw of his smooth, tanned face flexes, and he still won’t meet my eyes, but even though his sharp words try to cut, I’m not mad.
He frowns, and I can tell the wheels are turning in his head.
“Or maybe…” he says. “Maybe you’re like me, and you’ll do anything to feel good.” He finally turns his eyes to look at me. “Even if it means never remembering their last names.”
I hold his gaze, both of us lying on our backs and Jake and Kaleb somewhere in the house.
The flecks of green in his blue eyes darken, and I’m almost at ease until I see his stare harden on me.
“I wanted to be in there with you,” he whispers.
The dark space under the bike hides us from the door, and I don’t run away, because I’m not scared of Noah.
And I am scared of him. I like that he talks to me.
But sometimes I’m afraid of it, too.
“They don’t talk to me, either,” he murmurs. “I was going to make love to you, you know?”
My gaze falters. He says it like he’s never done it before.
“I was going to make love to you,” he repeats.
And I finally get it.
Not screw. Not fuck.
He was going to make it matter.
His chest rises and falls, and even though I know I have a warm bed inside filled with a man who holds me so tight and will never not care for me, I…
I want to see Noah.
