He obviously has a type, and I’m not it. What if this doesn’t work? What if all I end up doing is making a total fool of myself?
Stop it. He fucking kissed you. Granted, he pulled away, but I haven’t been imagining the connection between us over the last few weeks. I may be young, but naïve I am not.
Besides, guys like him don’t have a goddamn type. They’ll fuck anything with a vagina.
He walks back in carrying a tall glass of water. He hands it to me and I take a sip. His eyes haven’t left mine, and the worry I see in them is making me nervous.
“I’m okay,” I assure him. “I haven’t eaten today, that’s all.”
He nods unconvincingly. “Let me get you that pasta, then.” I smile, breathing only once he’s left the room again. Leaning back on the sofa, I let out a groan. I hope I know what I’m doing. I slide my shoes off and pull my legs up under me. The faint smell of perfume hits my senses, and I pinpoint its location to the charcoal-gray throw blanket lying over the sofa.
“Here you go. You can pull the coffee table closer to you if you want to use it.” I nod, repositioning it in front of me as he sets a heaped plate of pasta in front of me. I hadn’t realized how hungry I actually was until the first forkful hit my taste buds.
“This is good.” I grin, covering my mouth. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be.” He chuckles. “It’s carryout. We eat junk nearly every night. I can never be bothered cooking after work.”
“And Shannon?” I ask.
“Oh, she’s way too busy watching shitty TV shows all day. I can’t expect her to do that and cook or clean,” he says, his voice dry with a hint of sarcasm.
“Ah, and suddenly I feel like I know you that little bit more.” I pause for long enough to take another mouthful. “I actually love to cook. I spent lots of time on my own growing up. Mom would be working and Dad was always away. It was learn to cook or put up with my brother feeding me cold beans on toast.”
“Your brother older or younger?” he asks.
“Older by three years. We’ve always gotten along great, though. I wish I got to see him more often.”
“You said he was in the service?”
“Marines,” I reply. “If I’m lucky, when he’s not deployed, I’ll see him twice a year. But it’s all good. He loves what he does, and I love him for what he does.” I sit back, completely full, even though it looks like I’ve barely made a dent in the food.
Pushing the plate away from me, I fall back into the couch and try to appear more relaxed and satisfied. Making use of the time we have alone is imperative. If I waste it, I’ll only kick myself in the ass later.
“So, tell me something I don’t know about you.” Taking a long drink of water, washing down my dinner, I wait patiently for him to respond.
/> “I was a Boy Scout.”
“Nope, something juicy. I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone before. We need to be on equal ground here. Give me something.” I pause, holding my breath, hoping he gives me something I can work with. Having been a Boy Scout isn’t exactly a piece of information I can use to my benefit.
“Hmmm,” he hums, looking upward, trying to think of something. “Okay,” he says, excited. “Here’s something I’ve never told anyone before. It doesn’t leave this room, agreed?”
“Absolutely,” I respond, my smile reaching high into my cheeks.
“So, when I was a teenager, I had an unhealthy obsession with Britney Spears.” His face turns an adorable shade of pink as he details his childhood crush. “I listened to all of her music and would pretend she was my girlfriend. It was quite pathetic, looking back at it now.”
“Oh my God, you’re so adorable. I could just squeeze you. Tell me, Noah, did you look at pictures of her while you took care of yourself?” Come on, take the bait, you know you want to.
“Yes,” he whispers, refusing to make eye contact with me. The laugh I’ve been trying to suppress escapes my lips and tears fill my eyes.
“That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.” Without warning, I jump from my seat, climb onto the coffee table, and begin my very own rendition of a famous Britney song. Pretending my skirt is of the schoolgirl variety, I only wish I had a few rubber bands to make my hair into pigtails.
“Zara. Enough.” He tries to remain stoic, but the corners of his mouth are turned up slightly.
“I can’t help it.” I truly can’t. It’s been awhile since I’ve had this much fun. I dance around the small table, singing at the top of my lungs. As I’m approaching the chorus, my foot slides across the polished wood. I try to catch my balance, but end up toppling right into Noah’s waiting lap.
Unable to control my laughter, I brace my hands on his shoulders and move to stand, only he stops me. His arms snake around my waist, pulling me closer to his body, and I lose all my senses and the situation is no longer funny. The air’s charged with so much tension, you’d need a sledgehammer to break through it.
“Hey,” I whisper, raising my eyes to meet his.