AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He nods. “Instant alright?”
“Um, sure,” I say, suppressing a wince. “I’ve never had instant coffee before.”
He gives a short laugh, dimples forming in his cheeks, their daintiness contrasting with his strong bone structure.
“Yea,” he says, “I forget you’re rich.”
I’m not sure how he forgot, given I’m wearing vintage runway Dolce & Gabbana. But then again, I strongly suspect Noah might not even have heard of Dolce & Gabbana.
That’s fine though. This is all part of the experience. It’s not like I came here expecting anything else, after all.
I watch him as he makes the coffee. The tiny spoon in his big hand, heaping brown nuggets into a cup, pouring water from the kettle. I have no intention of drinking whatever disgusting concoction he’s just created. I didn’t come here for coffee, but he isn’t making a move yet, and I’m too nervous to do so myself.
“What happened to your nose?” I ask suddenly, gesturing at his face. “It looks like you broke it.”
“I did,” he says. “I got mugged when I was fifteen.”
“Oh.” My heart sinks a little at the thought. “You did?”
He takes both cups and leads us away from his kitchen and towards the brown couch, talking as we sit down.
“Yea. I was coming home from training and these guys stopped me. They asked for my stuff. I’d been boxing for a couple of years by then, so I thought I could take them. Turns out I couldn’t.” He gives a little rueful smile. “Turns out fighting five guys at the same time isn’t as easy as it looks in the movies. Anyway. They broke my nose and took my stuff.”
“That’s awful.”
I stare at him, wide-eyed, my heart beating a little faster.
My thoughts are a jumble: I want to strangle the guys who beat him up, and I’m impressed he told me this story even though it’s quite embarrassing. I also admire the humbleness with which he admitted he overestimated his ability to fight at fifteen. I want to hold him and comfort him and kiss the bump in his broken nose.
Okay, not just the bump on his nose. I want to kiss the rest of him, too. I really want to kiss his mouth. And if you think about it, isn’t that what I came here to do? Kissing isn’t the actual plan, but it’s plan-adjacent.
And anyway, whyshouldn’tI kiss him? Why isn’t he kissing me? There’s not a lot of distance between us on the couch. I’m within arm’s reach of him. He could just grab me and pull me to him, so why isn’t he doing it?
“It’s only a broken nose,” he’s saying with his customary calm, clearly oblivious to the direction my thoughts have taken. “It’s fine now.”
Silence falls as I gather myself. I lick my lips, peering nervously at him. What would I need to do to get him to make a move? What if he’s too shy to do so? He doesn’t seem to have the sort of confidence Spearcrest boys have with girls, that uncanny ability to claim a girl just because they believe they’re entitled to her.
What if Noah is waiting formeto make a move?
I’m a Spearcrest girl; I’m used to boys approaching me. Being cornered at a party, or having a guy put his hand on my thigh in the back of a limo. I’ve never had to approach a guy before. I’ve never had to ask a guy to make a move. They just did.
Impatience and annoyance simmer through me, making me shift restlessly. I didn’t come here for a spot of poverty safari. I know girls who do that—I’mnotthose girls. I came here with a plan, and I won’t allow yet another plan to go up in flames.
“Well?” I end up bursting out. “Did you not invite me over so we can hook up?”
“Yeah,” he says. He doesn’t even seem surprised by my sudden outburst or annoyed that I’m moving on so swiftly from his sad story. “I thought you might prefer making the first move.”
“What? Why?”
He shrugs. “It was you who approached me first? Asked me to hook up? Sent me that picture?”
When listed like that, it sounds pretty incriminating. “Oh.”
“You seem like a girl who knows what she wants, so I thought you might prefer to be in control.”
The thought of letting me be in control doesn’t seem to faze him at all—and that somehow makes him more intimidating than every power-hungry, domineering man I’ve ever slept with.
“Well, what do you expect me to do?” I glare at him. “Just start making out with you?”
