“Slay?” I ask, throwing the word behind me as I open the door for Noah. There is nothing worse than a parent using popular slang in an awkward way.
“Slay?” he repeats, laughing. “Did we slay our outfits?” He’s in a white dress shirt and tan slacks. Oddly similar to mine.
Leaning his head in the door, he waves at my mom.
“I think we slaughtered them. No originality at all.” I blow my mom a kiss and close the door behind me.
“Couples who stay together for a long time start to look alike.” Noah takes my hand as we walk down the stairs.
“Three weeks, though? What will we look like when we’re old and wrinkled? Twins?” I scrunch my nose at the thought.
Noah pauses on the bottom step. He plants his feet and turns to where I stand on the second step. “Speaking of old and wrinkled”—he snakes his arms around my waist and pulls me flush against him—“my grandmother is coming for dinner tonight.”
“So?” My fingers lightly stroke the back of his neck and trail through his hair. I love touching him like this. It’s intimate. Comfortable. A month ago, I would never, ever have said I’d be in this position at all, let alone with Noah Sutton. “I’m great with old people,” I tell him. It’s true, they love me. I talk with them in the drugstore all the time. Last week a sweet old woman couldn’t find her purse, and I located it next to the condoms. For real. Nestled right there betweenribbed for her pleasureandmagnum-sizeboxes. I couldn’t make up a story like that if I tried.
The apprehension seeps from Noah’s wary eyes. “She’s not a normal, sweet old lady. She’s awful.”
I frown.
“I’m serious, Ember, and I’m afraid I’m tossing you into a shark’s tank. An ancient, ill-tempered, white-haired shark.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m not, and I wouldn’t blame you if you faked an illness to get out of tonight.”
My hands fall away from Noah’s neck, and I cross my arms. It’s awkward, because of how close he’s standing, but I keep them there. “I am not faking an illness, but I am starting to think maybe you don’t want to introduce me because ofmeand nother.”
Noah rolls his eyes. “I couldn’t be prouder of my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” I’m smiling. I’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend before.
Noah unfolds my arms and steps in to kiss me. “Do you have a problem with labels?” he asks against my lips.
I’ve never thought about it before, but now that I think about it… No, I don’t.
“Nope.” I kiss him lightly. He kisses me back, then smiles as he steps away.
I laugh and jump down the two steps, forgetting for a moment that I’m wearing wedges. I land safely and tug Noah’s arm until he follows me to his car.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” He eyes me as he shifts into reverse.
I nod. Bring on the predators.
I’m not scared.
Lions, sharks, and rich families, oh my.
* * *
Well,crap. I was warned.
Noah said shark, but I was picturing one of the more benign sharks. Like the kind I’ve seen on Shark Week. Maybe Sand Tigers, with their ferocious sharp teeth that have never tasted human flesh. Or Whale Sharks, which survive solely on zooplankton. Gentle giants.
The shark in front of me is a well-honed killing machine. Without any type of conscience, I’m certain. Those wrinkles don’t fool me. She’s shrewd enough to know better, wizened enough to feign being senile.The sweet spot.
I was nervous to meet his mother, but I shouldn’t have been. Johanna is nothing compared to his grandmother. Where Johanna is quiet and watchful, Mrs. Rosenthal is outspoken. And racist. And xenophobic. Noah warned me just before we walked into his house. I feel bad for her. What a crappy way for a person to spend her days.
Noah’s dad is the total opposite. Derek is friendly and kind—and carrying the entire dinner conversation.
