He lifted his brows. “Seriously, Randall? You’re not really going to say no, are you? Not after all this time. I know I promised I wouldn’t bring it up, but—” With a raised finger, he pointed up at the stars.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll go on a date with you.” More of that stupid heart pounding. He was going to make the organ wear out before I hit forty.
Noah didn’t say anything, just leaned down, letting his lips brush mine, lingering for the briefest of moments, then turned and walked away.
Chapter Six
HARPER’S GROWLING,more than the incessant banging, ultimately clued me in to someone at the door. I felt hungover, which I wasn’t, but I’d barely had any sleep. It had been a pleasant night, replaying that kiss on a constant loop in my brain. I’d not been able to picture anything more magical than that first kiss so long ago. Though, looking back, there hadn’t been anything overly special. No lake or stars. It was in the basement of the parsonage Noah’s family used every four years during their sabbaticals. There were the nerves of a first kiss. The fear of getting caught by his parents, or mine finding out. Guilt over what we knew was a sin. Everything lined up to make it the most unromantic kiss in the history of kisses. But while I’d had more experienced kisses—okay, lots of them—ones with more heat and sexual passion, there was never a kiss that came close.
And sure, it made sense our second kiss would be romantic—look at where we were. However, we could have been looking over the city dump, and I would feel the same. Noah Carroll. He was the connection. He was the romance. He was the power behind those kisses.
By the time I realized the commotion was someone at the door and not the walls of my sanity crumbling, the knocks were accompanied by my name being yelled. As I recognized the voice, all thoughts of the kiss were swept aside.
With a curse, I slid out of bed and scooped Harper into my arms and onto the floor in a movement that had become second nature. I was halfway to the door before I rushed back to the bedroom and put on my pajama shorts. I glared at the door, trying to keep my voice from sounding as furious as I felt. “Hold on! Gotta get pants.”
The knocking stopped, surprisingly.
I’d be lucky if one of my neighbors hadn’t already called the police with all the pounding and yelling Stewart was doing. The last thing I wanted to do was let him in, but it was better than him continuing to stand out there and scream.
I paused at the door once more, long enough to tie the drawstring of my shorts, then unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.
Stewart didn’t hesitate, just barged in with a flourish. “After the shit you pulled last night, you keep me waiting at your door, making me knock until my hands bleed? Seriously?”
I glanced down at his hands as I shut the door. No blood.
I needed coffee.
“Stewart, I was in bed. I’m exhausted. It took me a bit to realize what the knocking and screeching was.”
His eyes bulged, and he straightened his back so he stood over me. “Screeching? You’re going to add insults now?”
I glanced at Harper for some help. She’d taken refuge behind my legs and stared up at me, her body trembling.
Should’ve gotten an attack dog.
“Stewart.” I started to rub my temples, but then stopped, certain that would make him angry too. “I’m sorry I seem to have upset you. That wasn’t my intention. I don’t understand what happened to you last night.” I managed not to allude to a break in his sanity. That probably wouldn’t go over well either.
He began to pace, whipping his arms around like a Southern Baptist preacher during an altar call. “I don’t understand. You take me as your date to your family’s gala, and then you flirt with another man where everyone can see, right in front of me.”
“I….” What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? “It wasn’t a gala.”
He paused in his pacing to glare.
Okay. Wrong thing. “Stewart, I didn’t flirt with anyone. There wasn’t—”
“I saw the way you were looking at him. He might as well have been naked and jacking off on stage from the way you were staring.”
My temper spiked, and I worried less about his apparent mental instability. “What the fuck, Stewart. I don’t see why you’re upset. We went as friends. You know that. It was what we both agreed to. We’ve known each other for years. We’re friends. Nothing romantic. I don’t get why you’re acting like I broke your heart.”
“So you let all your clients fuck you?” He spit out the words and started pacing once more.
The flash of shame made me angrier. “You know that I play around with other people. Both with who I give massages to and those I don’t.”
“I know you’ve fucked around with guys after you did their photo shoots too.”
“Yeah? So what?”
“So you’re nothing but a slut and a whore.” He halted, as if he expected me to attack.
