He isn’t wrong. I’m comfortable with Noah, and we used to drive down this exact road to the lake with the windows down and the music fifteen octaves too high singing. I typically had my hair down and at least one arm out the window, dancing in the car seat as we drove.
“Yeah, in my house. I’ll need about eight more of these to get up there,” I say as the bartender passes us our drinks. “You go. You always sang just as loud as I did.”
I should have known right then that this is going to be the biggest mistake of the night. The corner of his mouth rises into this competitive smirk as if he just won the lottery as he saunters off to the DJ stand. He signs himself up, and I swear he is laughing to himself as he walks back.
Noah is tall and strikingly handsome. The army really did a number on him, in the best way. Then again, what else is there to do in the desert? I’ve kept in touch with Bec over the last few years, even when Noah and I weren’t speaking. She’s my sister and it's not her fault that everything fell apart. I know he was overseas for the majority of the last ten years traveling all across the world with the U.S. Army. I know he was also stationed in Iraq for a few years but don’t know much more than that. His clearance keeps him from talking about work a lot of the time.
But looking at him walking back to our spot at the bar, it’s nearly impossible not to notice how big he is. He has always been super tall, but was considered lanky before boot camp. I guess, after boot camp is the last time I actually saw him in person, and he has bulked up a lot. Before, you could see the starting definitions of his muscles in his arms but nothing like it's now. He’s wearing these dark blue jeans that fit his waist, backside, and thighs perfectly, and what’s probably a white t-shirt underneath a dark hunter green sweater, with brown cowboy boots tucked away under his jeans.
His jawline is perfectly chiseled and his hair a dark brown wavy mess that’s just long enough I could run my fingers through it, and that’s exactly what I want to do. I always loved the idea of wrapping my fingers into the hair of my partner as we kiss up against the wall, but that’s never an option with Noah because he always kept his hair short. This is certainly a pleasant surprise that I will be fantasizing over later after a few gins. Noah is fortunate to have perfect teeth and never once needed braces, which, to this day, I’m still jealous of. Even after two and a half awkward years of metal filling my mouth, my teeth are far from perfect.
“Don’t worry, I only signed myself up…for now,” he says, smirking at me as he finally reaches his barstool.
“You wouldn’t dare” I gasp.
He just shrugs his shoulders in reply. There is something almost electric about being near him again. It’s like we are two magnets with a constant pull near each other.
“Ollie, we should talk about…” he starts to say before I interrupt him.
“No, I don’t want to talk about it. We haven’t seen each other in ten years. Let’s just have fun tonight.”
His face drops as he looks down to me, and I already know he’s unsure of how to respond. He’s just going to apologize for Oklahoma, and the rain, and everything about that trip. I may still be hurt from that weekend but it’s not going to stop me from having a great night, at the bar when I would otherwise be sitting at home staring at the ceiling. We continue chatting, people-watching, and listening to the people sing karaoke until we hear,
“All right, everyone, get ready for Fisher Creek’s very own Noah!”
I cringe hearing this. The DJ knows Noah. He’s done this before. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Noah has never cared what anyone thinks about him and has always loved being the life of the party. Noah gets up to head over to the microphone, and I grab my cell phone to record and ask the bartender for another round.
The music starts, and Noah starts singing, and I’m instantly reminded that Noah, like his mom, can sing. And they’re good. I feel the redness in my cheeks start to fade as a giant smile crosses my face. I find myself quietly singing along to the song hiding behind the camera, swaying to the music when I start to feel eyes on me. Not just one set of eyes, but many. I stop swaying, stop singing, and start to look around. The entire bar has now turned and is watching me, my face starts to heat rapidly and my eyes are getting big. The secondhand embarrassment from before begins raging through my veins again and the rumbles and tumbles in my stomach start turning.
Why are people looking at me?
“He’s singing to her…”I hear the man three barstools down say to his wife. Her face becomes soft, and welcoming as if this is the cutest event she has ever seen. And then I hear it…
My eyes start to well up with tears. I fight back the emotions.
He is singing the Backstreet Boys.
This is not happening. Not here. Not now.
I don’t hear the rest of the song. I don’t hear anything until the song ends and the whole crowd erupts into clapping and hollering. The Backstreet Boys, I’ve always had a soft spot for their music but it’s definitely more about the lyrics.
I fully expect to be transported into that moment years ago standing outside his hotel in the rain. The day we lost it all. I expect to be overwhelmed with emotions both good and bad. But it’s an overwhelming warm feeling like I’ve come home.
I take my phone out to text Mason and Caroline before Noah makes it back to me.
Me: Guys…Noah just sang a karaoke song to me…at a bar in front ofeveryone.
Mason: LOL! PLEASE FORGIVE HIM.
Caroline: OMG!!! THAT IS ADORABLE. Get in his bed. Or I will.
I quickly put my phone away as Noah approaches and I feel the fight of emotions in my brain take place. I struggle to decipher between being angry, after all these years, the first thing he does is sing me a song, and embarrassment, because I absolutely detest being the center of attention and now the entire bar is watching me and my reaction, and giddiness, because there is always some part of me that will be attracted to Noah, that will love him despite wanting to hate him, wanting to be angry about that day ten years ago but there is just something inside me that can’t.
Clearly, the giddiness is winning with the sudden, almost uncontrollable urge to wrap my arms around his neck and hug him. Which is absolutely terrifying, but, honestly, fuck it. I’m only home for a few days and let’s be real, he will probably be heading back to whatever country he is in now for the next ten years. What will one night of fun hurt? Nothing. I’ll go back to my normal life tomorrow and this will all just be a memory.
Seeing as the giddy, happy, missing Noah side of my brain won, I jump off my barstool and directly into his arms, with our first true touch of the night.
He smells like cedar and sandalwood. My favorite scent, how did I not notice it earlier? I feel the surprise in his entire body as it tenses but it only lasts a split second before I also feel one of his hands on the small of my back and the other with a firm grip under my leg hoisting me into the air before he spins in a circle. I squeal and bury my face into his shoulder gripping tighter as a deep laugh escapes my body.
