The door flies open. Noah pulls back at the sound of Tommy’s voice.
“Shit. Sorry.” Spinning on his heel, Tommy darts out of the office as fast as he came in.
I don’t have much time to process the whole situation because in my head, my lips are still plastered to his. But the temperature in the room has drastically dropped. Our warm bubble is gone, and in its place is an awkwardness I’m not fond of.
Noah runs a hand down his face. “Fuck,” he hisses.
Rolling his chair back, he shoves to his feet. Next thing I know, he’s gone, and I’m left sitting in his office, staring at the empty chair he just vacated.
Noah doesn’t come back for several minutes, and when he does it’s only to rip me apart a little bit more. He doesn’t tell me to go home, but the look on his face is all shame and guilt—not something I ever want to see again in relation to me. That’s when it hits me: I shouldn’t have pushed him. He told me he didn’t want any sort of relationship, and I should’ve respected that.
“You can go ahead and go.” Noah’s eyes land on everything in the room except mine. “Tommy’s gonna give me a ride home.”
Slowly, I stand up. “Can we talk about this?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Looking at the floor, Noah shoves his hands in his pockets. “We kissed. It was a mistake.”
His words sting, and I want to throw them back in his face because that kiss wasn’t a mistake. Not in the least. But it’s no use. He believes what he believes, and why should I push him? If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my twenty-four years of life, it’s that you can’t force someone to want you.
Parent, friend, or man.
“What about your ankle?”
“My ankle is fine,” he snaps. “It was a fucking sprain, Lennon. It’s not like I broke the damn thing. I didn’t even need you to drive me here today. I did it so I could spend time with you, which was also a damn mistake.”
Swallowing hard, I do my best to suppress the emotion crawling up my throat.
I will not break in front of him.
I will cry—that is inevitable—but he will not have the satisfaction of seeing my tears. Without so much as a nod, I grab my things and walk away.
Asshole.
Noah didn’t text the rest of the day Monday. I spent all of Tuesday setting up my sewing room at home, working on sketches, and reviewing various designs. I basically spent the rest of the evening waiting for Noah to call or text, but nothing. When Charlotte calls on Wednesday evening wanting to have dinner and a few drinks, and I jump at the chance.
Now we’re occupying a booth at Dirty Dicks, the local bar, as we shove our faces with grease-fueled food. My mother would be appalled, but thankfully my mother isn’t here, and right now I need to feed my feelings because they’re hurt.
Very hurt.
In fact, I’ll probably need chocolate after the grease, and wine after that.
“Men suck.” Charlotte pops a French fry in her mouth. “They just do. And not just the Oh my God, yes, keep doing it kind of suck, but the kind where you want to throat-punch them, kick them in the nuts, and watch them fall to their knees in pain.”
My hand freezes midair as I stare at Charlotte.
“What? Too much?” she asks, shoveling another bite in her mouth.
I shake my head and finish off the last of my burger. “No, not too much,” I mumble before swallowing. “That’s pretty spot on with how I feel. Although I don’t really want to see Noah fall to his knees in pain. Worship, maybe, but not pain.”
“To each her own.” Charlotte shrugs. “So what are you going to do?”
“No clue.” The waitress stops by and picks up my empty plate, so I wait for her to leave before finishing. “I’ve never had a man turn me down. Maybe he’s just not in to me.”
“No.”
Bless Charlotte.
She shakes her head adamantly. “Impossible. Have you seen yourself? You’re gorgeous. I bet any man in this bar would kill for the chance to be with you.”