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My heart stops, jumps, and I can’t breathe. I can hardly feel my own limbs.
What’s happening to me?
A knowing smile graces his lips, but I’m not sure what he’s figured out, because I’m lost.
Finally, he speaks again.
“I can’t kiss you yet,” he rasps, his voice thick with desire, causing my toes to curl in my socks and confusion to swirl in my mind.
Embarrassment swells within me, but before I can shake my head and attempt to backpedal my way out of this, Noah shakes his, having anticipated my reaction.
“I said yet,” he whispers gently, shifting nearer. Want whirls in his eyes, but they’re drawn tight with torment. “Trust me, I want to.”
“Are you sure? ‘Cause I’m getting the opposite vibes right now.”
Noah’s chuckle is instant and adoring, and I bite the inside of my lip at the sound.
“I’m sure.” He smirks, but it slowly smooths out as he pins me with a soft, yet stern expression. “In case you haven’t figure it out yet, there isn’t a thing about you I don’t like. Nothing.”
“...but.”
“But a loss as big as you might be too much for me.” His voice drops to a whisper. “So I can’t do what you’re asking me… not yet.”
“I don’t…” I trail off, swallowing the sting burning up my airway.
I don’t understand, but the longer I stare into Noah’s blue eyes, the clearer it becomes.
The calm understanding of his gaze leads me where he intended, and a sharp pain knocks against my chest.
Chase.
I’m not sure why, but shame falls over me, and as it does, I realize that’s the point.
Not the shame, but the fact that I don’t fully understand where it’s stemming from.
It might be the fact that I realized what his concern was without his saying it aloud.
It might be because I’ll always love Chase.
It could be because the thought of him still hurts, even if it’s nothing like it was before.
It might even be because I can’t remember the last time I thought of him at all…
All I know is it has nothing to do with my desire to kiss the man in front of me.
But that doesn’t make it any less complicated.
I understand what Noah is asking, and it only strengthens his character more.
Noah Riley is a good-ass man.
What if he was my man?
My cheeks heat, and I tear at the inside of my cheek. “You know what I think this sauce can use?” I try to change the subject.
It’s obvious.
His smile widens, stretching over his beautiful face, and I’m blushing again. “What’s that?”
“A kick.”
“A kick?”
I give a curt nod, spinning on my heels.
“A little something called… ” I open the drawer on my right, lifting out two old packets from Mountain Mikes. “Crushed red peppers.” I lift a brow. “Also known as crushed red peppers, in case you didn’t know that,” I joke.
“I had no idea.” He plays along, picking up the bowl of now lukewarm spaghetti, leading us toward my couch. “You might be onto something.”
We’re half a bowl down when he looks over.
“What?” I ask over a mouthful of French bread.
“For the record, that about killed me, and it was a one-time thing that will never replay itself.” His lips pull into a one-sided grin. “So next time you ask, be sure, because I won’t deny you again.”
“Say you swear.”
A laugh flies from him and he nudges my leg with his own, shaking his head as he turns back to his food. “I swear.”
I smile into my bowl and just like that, everything is fine.
As I think that, I realize it already was.
There was no awkwardness that followed, only a moment of mortification on my part that Noah quickly washed away.
It’s always like this with him. Simply, effortless.
Once our bowls are empty, Noah turns his body toward me, so I do the same.
After a moment, he says, “Tell me something.”
I pull in a lungful of air. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
I freeze for a split second, my stomach muscles tightening, and a low laugh leaves me.
“Hm,” I think. “I like comedies.”
“I know.”
“I like pasta.”
He shakes his head. “Already know that too.”
“Okay… I don’t like flowers.” His brows rise. “Or I do, but I think they’re wasteful as gifts. Overpriced just to be tossed in the trash a couple days later.”
“Noted.” He chuckles, an expectant look on his face.
“More?”
His nod is slow.
I laugh again, and with a hint of bashfulness I share something else, something he definitely doesn’t know.
“My uh, my favorite color is blue.”
Noah’s blue eyes sharpen, and he holds mine a long moment, and when the grin that follows is far too charmingly cocky, I toss a pillow at him to erase it.
He chuckles and we settle into the cushions.
We spend the next several hours eating popcorn, chatting about our childhoods and the things we miss.
By the time he goes home, it’s after three in the morning, and before I’ve got the door locked behind him, I’m already looking forward to next time.
