Noah.
I look down the hall to make sure nobody is coming or paying any attention, but I really don’t need to. It’s dark down here. We’re safely hidden.
“Hey, Odie.” His voice is thick and quiet, and I swear it goes right between my legs, right to that spot he was pressed up against last night.
“Noah. What are you ...” I swallow around the lump that’s sitting in my throat. “What are you doing back here?”
“We need to talk.”
It’s the last thing I want to do with Izzy sitting in the taproom. She could walk back here and find us, and I really don’t have it in me to try to explain to her what happened between me and Noah last night.
I shake my head. “No, we don’t.”
He scoffs. “The fuck we don’t.”
He shoves off the wall, stalking toward me.
If I were smart, I would flee. I could push right back through the bathroom doors and hide from him.
But I don’t.
Instead, I stand frozen as he inches so close that all I can smell is pine and apple, and it’s overwhelming, yet not enough.
“We kissed, Odette,” he says like I wasn’t there too. Like my lips don’t feel permanently branded. “We fucking kissed, and you ran. What happened?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Nothing happened. I just ...”
What am I supposed to tell him? That kissing him was a literal dream come true and also my worst nightmare, because how am I supposed to go back after that? Should I tell him that I’ve been crushing on him for years, and just when I felt I finally got him out of my system, he notices me? That I’m so damn scared to let anyone in, and it’s all because of my family’s drama that goes back decades?
I can’t tell him any of that, so I don’t.
“It was nothing, Noah.”
He looks completely stricken, like I’ve just slapped him across the face.
He shakes his head. “No. No. That wasn’t nothing, Odette. That was something. I was there. I know.”
Then Noah Stevens kisses me.Again.
And I let him.Again.
He runs his tongue along my lips, and I open for him, loving the way he takes complete charge. He slips his hand into my hair, tugging me closer, and I go willingly. As if I could resist him at this point anyway.
“Fuck, Odette,” he mutters against my lips. “You taste so good.”
Itaste good? He tastes good. Like cider and toothpaste, and I don’t even know what else, but damn, it’s addicting.
Then his lips are on me again, and his tongue is in my mouth, and I’m lost. So damn lost that all worries of us getting caught slip from my mind, and I allow myself to enjoy this. I allow myself to enjoyhim.
Noah’s other hand curls around my waist, and I love how it fits there like it’s right where it belongs. His scuff scratches against my face, and I don’t care that it’ll likely leave a red mark. It’s worth it for this feeling.
This wonderful, incredible, amazing feeling.
With one throat clear, it’s shattered.
We spring apart like we’ve been doing something wrong, and we were. Something very, very wrong that felt so, so right.
I wipe my mouth—as if doing so will somehow erase what just happened—and find Ezra standing a few feet away.
