He’s every one of my thoughts, which is why I crawl back out of bed—in my ridiculous pajamas with kissing dinosaurs on them and all—and slide behind the wheel of my car and drive straight to his house at ten thirty at night.
I shut my car off, but don’t move to get out. Instead, I stare at the old farmhouse that could use a fresh coat of paint, trying to talk myself into getting out and going to the door.
I don’t exactly know what I’m going to say or do. I just know this is where I want to be, and I can’t sort out why, especially since it’s the last place I should be.
After a while, the porch light flips on, and my heart rate picks up.
He knows I’m here.
A few minutes later, the door slowly opens.
Noah stands in the doorway, his silhouette illuminated by his foyer light. He crosses his arms over his chest, and even from here, I can see the hard set of his lips.
I don’t know how long I sit staring at him before finally pushing out of my car and trudging up to the porch.
I take a deep breath, then ascend the stairs.
I only stop when I’m a foot away.
“Can I come in?”
He moves aside wordlessly, and I walk over the threshold and into his house.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I jump, the sound harsh in the quiet of the night.
He steps up to me, tugging at the jacket draped over my shoulders, and I allow him to take it. He hangs it on the hook beside the door as I go deeper into the house, toward the kitchen. My mouth suddenly feels dry, and I need something to drink. Or really anything to distract me from the fact that I’m at Noah’s house.
I grab a glass from the cabinet, then fill it with lemonade from the fridge. I settle back against the counter and sip on it slowly.
The whole time, Noah watches me carefully, not saying a word.
I get it. I don’t know what to say, either, but I do know two things.
One, I want to be here.
And two, I want to kiss him again. Oragainagain.
“What are you doing here, Odette?” he asks after a while.
I shrug. “I wanted to see you.”
He nods like that’s enough of a reason for him.
He stands in the doorway, his shoulder pressed against it and his hands in his pockets. He has no business looking so damn good in nothing but a gray T-shirt and black sweatpants. The moonlight filters in through the sheer curtains hanging over the kitchen sink, painting shadows over him in all the right places. All it does is make him look even more perfect, even with his dark brown hair a mess, almost as if he’s been running his hands through it all day.
Is he more affected by our kisses than he let on earlier? Is this eating away at him too? Does he ... does he want to kiss me again as badly as I want to kiss him?
A softmeowpulls my attention, and I’m surprised to see Pork trotting into the kitchen as if he’s lived here all his life.
He kept the cat.
Mr. I’m Not Keeping the Cat kept the cat.
It makes me want to kiss him even more.
So I push off the counter and go to him.
He meets me halfway, his hands tangling in my hair, lips finding mine in the dark.
