I’m charging full steam ahead into the building when I get caught up in swinging glass doors and the exact arm and pair of blue eyes that’ve frozen me in a similar position before.
Those lying eyes proclaimed us inevitable, only to then blink me out of existence.
Well, his mouth did the actual talking, but I’m not looking there at the moment.
Stupid lying mouth.
I definitely don’t want him to press it to the base of my throat.
Noah’s gaze narrows there, as if I’ve spoken the errant thought aloud, and my pulse thunders in response. Sand pours through me like an hourglass about out of time, coating my tongue and rendering me incapable of speech.
I refuse to curl myself smaller or succumb to the urge to hide the magnificent pink feathers on the toes of my shoes. Forever in motion, the heels are fabulous and I love them. Eniola refused my offer to pay for them, insisting they’d belonged to me the second I put them on, like a NSFW version of Cinderella, where she performs burlesque rather than attends a ball.
“You look different,” Noah says, his voice cautiously monotone as he appraises the bolder makeup and hairdo.
“I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment.” I might also be projecting my insecurities into the furrow of his brow and disappearing press of his lips. It’d be nice if my kickass-babe vibes could carry on longer, but loving myself is such an active, intensive practice that the second I stop, I slip up.
“It’s more of a statement.” No change of expression or clues to be found, but at the roll of my eyes, he chuckles and adds, “You always look good.”
My knees go soft, untrustworthy beneath me. “Really? I thought I dressed like a granny.”
In my peripheral his arm bends, biceps bunching as he uses his leverage on the doorframe to lower his body a few inches from mine. “Yeah, that’s what I’m into.”
My jaw drops and hangs open, a fish without water, but like one of those colorful bettas with the flowy fins that enjoys a good brawl.
Noah laughs, a rich rumble that vibrates across my skin, andflutteris the wrong word for what happens to my heart and other internal organs when he reaches out and tugs a curl. “I like the hair. Makes you look less buttoned up.”
“Well, make no mistake…” Breathy and dizzy, I’m struggling but determined to maintain my poker face. “I’m still wound as tight as a cat in a bathtub.”
“Yeah,” he says, and why am I experiencing butterflies over this infuriating dude again? “But it’s kinda growing on me.”
Oh right, that’s why. “Big talk from Mr. Grumpy Grandson himself. Were you born a grouch, or did it happen in your thirties?”
The tiniest twitch at the corners of his mouth implies I’ve struck a nerve. “I’m twenty-nine.”
“So your twenties, then.” I suck my breath in through my teeth. “Yeesh, that’s rough. You’ll be insufferable by forty, for sure.”
He grins.Grins!
Despite not leaving me much room, I manage to cross my arms. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“What? I’m allowed toworkon the grounds, but not play?”
“Of course you can play.” I just wish it didn’t have to be on the night I’m attempting to shed my inhibitions.
Wait. Does that mean he’s not leaving?
A quick assessment confirms he’s coming, not going. I double down, signaling him to go ahead of me with a sweep of my arm, and give reverse psychology a stab. “Better hurry or they’ll start bingo without us.”
He doesn’t move for what seems like five minutes but is probably closer to five seconds. I follow the protruding veins in his arms as he readjusts his grip on the door and holds it open for me, same as the day we met. “After you.”
My breasts graze his chest as I squeeze past, the brush of lace and hardening nipples causing my nervous system to go haywire. Warning lights flash, blaring about clogged pipes and misfiring spark plugs, needing coolant, oil, and a tune-up.
Any second, I think as we walk down the hallway toward the Gymnasium of Plot Twists and Petulance,he’s going to lose this game of Chicken.
Game on, buddy.
Thanks to the past couple of months, I’m not only used to the zany antics of our grandmothers, it’s why I came tonight. All I want to do is get a little tipsy and play a raucous game of bingo with a bunch of overly competitive grandparents.
