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The poor guy’s about to lose it. His pants are growing tight.
“You’re right. That did take the edge off,” I tell him.
The edge of his mouth lifts in a small smile, but his heated eyes belie his easygoing manner.
We haven’t been alone on a bed since Monday night at Giuseppe’s house.
My silk pajamas—the ones I put on secretly hoping to torment him—are so delicate and revealing it’s almost diabolical.
Noah eyes every inch of me, starting at my bare feet and traveling up my legs. Goose bumps break out across my skin. His eyes graze my arms, chest, neck, mouth. When his gaze finally captures mine, my stomach squeezes tight with longing.
I want him to kiss me.
I turn my head fully toward him and stare at his mouth, thinking about all the things I want it to do to me. Places I want it to touch and taste. My thoughts are rated XXX.
Please.
I’m begging you.
Put me out of my misery.
Flatten your hand against my chest, press me back against the wall, and seal our fate.
But Noah doesn’t kiss me.
Noah doesn’t lay a single finger on me.
We stay like that until I feel positively drunk with desire.
Eventually, he sighs a heavy breath and turns away, staring at the wall across the room.
I wish I knew what he was thinking. Being here with Noah, just willingly sitting next to each other—for us, it’s intimate. We’re still getting acclimated to it all.
“What would Past Noah and Past Audrey think if they saw us sitting like this right now?” I ask.
He smiles. “They wouldn’t believe it.” He shakes his head and scoots off the bed. “I should probably go check on the kids one more time before bed. Just to make sure everything’s okay.”
I nod. “Right. Yeah. Just to be sure.”
I regret letting him go the second he leaves.
Saturday drags.
8:00 AM: eat breakfast in the dining hall, wish I was on my date with Noah
8:03 AM: sip coffee, wish I was on my date with Noah
8:07 AM: check the time, assuming it’s already past 10—groan in despair
8:10 AM: see Noah, blush like a schoolgirl
8:11 AM: desperately wish I was on my date with Noah
The whole day is a weird fever dream. I think I eat lunch with the kids in the dining hall. I think we take them out for gelato in the afternoon. In reality, my brain is laser-focused on getting to the good part.
I lock myself in my room two hours before I’m supposed to meet Noah at the restaurant he picked. We agreed it’s better to go separately so we can avoid being spotted together. I’m not ready to answer any pesky questions from the kids or other chaperones.
I figure two hours is enough time to get ready and calm my nerves. If I had alcohol, I’d take a shot.
I almost back out of wearing the little red dress.
While I’m getting ready, I lay it down on my bed then proceed to ignore it as I curl my hair, apply my makeup, and decide on what shade of lipstick would best fit the occasion. Falling in Love with Your Enemy - Revlon shade 104.
When I can’t put off getting dressed any longer, I rifle through my closet, trying to find an option that’s a little less bold. I have the black dress I wore on the double date, but it feels wrong to wear it again tonight. I’ve got plenty of sundresses, but none of them are fancy enough. Shorts, t-shirts—no, absolutely not.
When it comes down to it, I really have no choice.
It’s the little red dress or nothing.
I slip it on and do the school dress code test with my fingers. Yikes. I’d definitely be sent home.
I don’t have a full-length mirror in my room, which is for the best. I think if I could see myself, I’d chicken out. When I check my phone and realize I’m a few minutes late, there’s no more time to second-guess myself. I grab a sweater to throw on—just in case I happen to pass a student on my way out—and then I run out the door.
Chapter Twenty
Noah’s sitting at a little table against a wall at the restaurant. He wipes his hands on his jeans then adjusts the collar of his shirt. Peers furtively over his shoulder then takes a long swig of his water.
I realize I’ve never seen him nervous before. Not like this.
The restaurant is tiny and everything is clustered together—the tables and the people. Waiters weave between chairs carrying trays laden with food. Amidst the hustle and bustle, Noah doesn’t spot me until I’m there, standing beside the table.
He pushes himself up to stand immediately, coming around to help me with my chair.
“I was scared for a second you wouldn’t show.”
“I was scared for a second I’d arrive to an empty table.”
