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“You know...” He waves his hand in a circular motion, smiling. “Personable. Outgoing.Fun.”
“I think you’re lots of fun,” I tell him, trailing my fingers across the T-shirt stretched over his chest.
He snorts. “You’re probably the only one.”
“They just don’t get to see the sparkling personality you hide under all those frowns.”
“Right.” He chuffs out a quiet laugh. “My mother would adore you.”
For some reason his casual statement makes my pulse quicken. “You think?”
“Oh, definitely. She’s been badgering me to bring you to dinner for weeks.”
My heart is thundering now, and I can’t say why. “She has?”
He seems to realize what he’s said then, his eyes widening and his lips parting. “I... I mean... Don’t worry. I told her it wasn’t a good idea.”
“Oh.” My heart rate feels almost like it comes to a dead halt. Why am I so disappointed? “Right.”
“I just mean...” He looks flustered, like he doesn’t quite know what to say. “I only meant that I wouldn’t want to put you on thespot or ask you to do something you didn’t agree to when we started all of this.”
Something you didn’t agree to.
It’s like a gut punch, those five words, and I do my best not to let it show. Nothing he’s saying is untrue, or even unwarranted; logically, I know that just because we are wading into new territory, it doesn’t negate how we started out—but the lines that seem to be blurring are so muddled that I can’t figure out what’s what anymore. It leaves me feeling uncertain. Something I hate feeling.
I school my features, waving my hand in front of my face and doing my best to look unbothered. “It’s fine. You’re totally right. It would probably be weird.”
“Right...” His expression is hard to read, but for a second I can almost imagine a flash of disappointment in his eyes, but that doesn’t make sense. It’s gone as quickly as it comes. “Exactly. Especially since we’re in such... uncharted territory right now.”
“It’s fine, Noah,” I tell him with as much assurance as I can muster while my stomach is tying itself up. “Better not to rock the boat before we figure things out between us.”
He looks at me like there’s something he would like to say, but isn’t sure how to voice it. His lips are pressed into a firm line, and there’s a wrinkle between his brows that is deeper than usual, and I can’t decide if he’s worried that he’s offended me, or if he’s worried that I’m hoping for things that I shouldn’t be. The latter alternative is something I have a feeling would gut me even further.
Seriously, what iswrongwith me lately?
“Sure,” he says finally, reaching with his hand to cover my own, still resting against his chest. “Not until we figure things out.”
And maybe part of me hopes that he’ll broach that conversation, the one where wefigure things out, but either Noah is hoping thesame, or he’s just not ready to have it. His thumb slides back and forth over my knuckles, and then he leans to press a kiss to my forehead, clearing his throat before returning his attention to the show.
“Oh, for God’s sake. He’s not even wearing eye protection! What about blood splatter?”
Despite my roiling emotions, I can’t help the tiny chuckle that escapes me. “They wouldn’t be able to see into McDreamy’s eyes if he wore goggles in surgery.”
“Honestly,” Noah mutters grumpily.
He’s still holding my hand, the warm weight of it offering some comfort in face of the errant thoughts flitting through my head. I can’t remember a time when I’ve ever been in a situation where I wanted to talk to a man about what we “might be,” and honestly, with the anxiety it’s giving me, I’m not sure I’d ever wish for it if given the choice. Everything about Noah and me was supposed to be a casual thing that we both benefited from, and as it’s slowly morphed into something decidedlylesscasual—I find myself stuck in limbo without any direction.
This romance bullshit is for the birds.
I snuggle closer into Noah’s side as if the heat of his body will somehow quiet the loud war raging in my head, and his arm immediately circling my shoulders weirdly only makes things worse. Apparently, against my will I now analyze everything Noah does, my brain forcing me to search for the hidden meanings that might not be there.
It’s fine,I tell myself.Stop worrying about things that might not even matter. Just enjoy where you are now.
I take a slow, surreptitious breath just to let it out, hoping that emptying my lungs will somehow empty my head. Not that it works. I close my eyes as I listen to Noah continue to pick apartGrey’sAnatomy, hardly even hearing what he’s saying as I allow the low timbre of his voice to wash over me, basking in his heady, warm scent that calls to my blood and centers me in a way that nothing else ever has.
It’s funny, when I asked Noah to be my fake boyfriend... I never imagined a possibility where I might wish for it to be real.
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