CHAPTER 9. Noah
By the time we drag ourselves out of the hot tub and make our way back down to the shore for our clothes, I’m so sleepy I can barely think straight. Connor is quiet the whole time, and that alone sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me.
The hot tub had felt too good. Letting myself touch him the way I wanted to, feeling how easily he let me, kissing him and then finding him hard afterward—it was enough to mess with my brain.
Even now, thinking about it makes heat crawl up my neck.
Which is stupid. I know it’s stupid. Getting hard doesn’t have to mean anything.
Bodies react. That’s all. And if Connor’s silence is anything to go by, he’s probably uncomfortable about what happened too.
The walk back to the cottage passes in silence. Connor carries his towel and clothes bunched in one hand, leaving just enough space between us for me to notice it. I want to say something—anything—to break this awful tension, but my brain has apparently left the building.
So we just walk.
Great.
When we reach the cottage, Connor holds the door open for me, his eyes fixed somewhere over my left shoulder.
“Thanks,” I mumble, stepping inside.
The cottage suddenly feels too small, too intimate. Even though we’ve toweled off, water still drips from our bodies onto the hardwood floor. We head upstairs, and the second we step into the bedroom, Connor says, “I should shower—”
“I’ll go shower—” I say at the exact same time.
We both stop.
Connor gives me a small, tight smile and gestures for me to go first.
“You can go if you want,” I say.
He pushes a hand through his damp hair, slicking it back from his forehead. “I think there’s another bathroom downstairs,” he says. “I can use that one. You take this one.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I nod and turn to my bag, dropping my dirty clothes and digging out clean ones like I’m trying to escape something.
Maybe I am. My heart is pounding by the time I make it into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
I strip off my wet boxer briefs and step into the shower, turning the water just shy of too hot.
God, this is awkward.
Did I overdo it with the kissing? Connor didn’t say anything, and he didn’t seem uncomfortable. Hell, he seemed into it. He kissed me back like he meant it. And when I accidentally touched his cock, I’m pretty sure he made a sound. Like, a moan. So why do I feel like I did something wrong?
Maybe it’s because of the panic that flashed across his face when Maya interrupted us and I pulled away. He didn’t look horrified by the kiss. Was he horrified that I touched him? Or horrified that he got hard?
I sigh and rub my shoulders under the spray.
Even with all the awkwardness and regret fighting for space in my chest, there’s also this tiny spark of excitement I really wish I didn’t feel. Excitement over the fact that Connor got hard because I kissed him. Connor O’Reilly. My stupidly attractive neighbor. Turned on by kissing me.
A laugh slips out of me, a little hysterical. I tip my head back and let the water run down my face.
I shouldn’t read too much into it. It doesn’t automatically mean Connor’s gay, or even bi. It doesn’t mean he actually wants me. Bodies are weird. They react to all kinds of things. Maybe it was just the physical sensation of kissing. The heat of the water. The closeness.
But still.
The fact that Connor could react to me like that—to our kiss—makes something warm spread through my chest and then lower.
Arousal.
Shit.
I finish showering and stay under the water for another second, trying to get my head straight. Then I shut it off, dry myself, pull on a clean T-shirt and boxer briefs, and step back into the bedroom.
The cottage is quiet. Connor must still be downstairs.
We still have, like, three hours before Dad’s birthday dinner.
I should probably check my phone. Maybe answer Britney, who sent about a dozen texts while we were in the hot tub.
But the bed looks too good, and after everything today—the talk with Rick in the woods, the chicken fight, the kiss, and then the hot tub with my ex, his girlfriend, and my new crush—I’m exhausted.
I’ll just lie down for a minute, I tell myself. Just to rest my eyes.
The mattress dips under my weight as I slide beneath the soft, warm covers. I roll onto my side, pull the blanket up to my chin, and close my eyes.
Just for a minute…
***
When I open my eyes again, the room is dimmer, evening shadows stretching across the floor.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and squint at the screen.
I’ve been out for nearly two hours, but thank God I didn’t oversleep completely.
Mom told us to be at the Main Cottage for Dad’s birthday dinner in an hour, which still gives me time to properly wake up and get ready.
I roll over, stretching, and freeze when I realize I’m not alone.
Connor is lying beside me, eyes closed, his breathing deep and even. He must have come in while I was asleep and decided to nap too.
He’s on his side, facing me, one arm tucked under his pillow. His face is softer in sleep, the usual guard he keeps up gone. A strand of hair has fallen across his forehead, and I have to physically stop myself from reaching out to brush it back.
How did we get here?
Not just in this bed, but in this whole situation. Two days ago, Connor was just my neighbor—the hot Irish guy across the hall, so far out of my league I didn’t even let myself properly fantasize about him. And now…
Now we’ve kissed. Multiple times.
Not that it necessarily means anything, because it was mostly for show. Mostly.
And now he’s here. Breathing quietly beside me, warm under the covers, close enough that if I moved just a little, my knee would brush his.
I’m still staring at him like a total creep when his eyelids flutter. A second later, his eyes open, unfocused at first, then slowly finding mine.
He blinks once. Twice.
Then he smiles, slow and unguarded, and my heart stutters.
“Hey,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.
“Hey,” I whisper back, because speaking any louder might break this fragile moment.
Neither of us moves. We just lie there, facing each other, close enough that I can feel his breath against my face. It should be awkward. It should be weird. But in the fading light of the room, it feels almost intimate.
“Sleep well?” Connor asks, and the domesticity of the question makes my chest ache.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling despite myself. “You?”
He nods, shifting slightly to stretch, but still not pulling away. “Too well.”
For a moment, that’s all there is. His sleepy eyes on mine. The warmth of him under the covers. The strange, impossible ease of being here with him like this.
I should look away before I make it weird.
I don’t. Neither does he.
“Can I ask you something?” Connor says after a long moment, his voice still soft.
“Sure,” I say, my heart picking up for some reason.
Connor watches me for another second. “You don’t have to tell me…but what did Rick say to you? In the woods?”
I blink at him, a little thrown by the question. I knew he’d ask eventually. He wanted to earlier—I could tell—but he didn’t push. Somehow, that makes it harder to answer now. Not because I don’t want to tell him, but because saying it out loud makes it feel even more humiliating.
“It’s nothing,” I say, trying for a shrug. “He invited me to their wedding. Said it would mean a lot to him if I was his best man.”
For a second, Connor just looks at me.
Then his eyebrows shoot up. “Is this guy serious?”
A smile tugs at my mouth. I don’t know what I expected from him, but it wasn’t this immediate, uncomplicated outrage on my behalf. It’s a relief to know he doesn’t look at me and only see some sad guy who got friendzoned by the person he was in love with.
“I know,” I say. “And he seemed weirdly proud of himself for asking.”
Connor shakes his head, his mouth twisting. “What a douchebag.”
A laugh slips out of me. “Yeah,” I say. “He kind of is.”
Connor’s mouth lingers in that almost-smile for another second before his gaze settles on mine again.
“Are you going to go?” he asks after a beat.
I shake my head. “Definitely not. I told him we were planning to go to Ireland.”
Connor’s smirk deepens, realization flickering across his face. “Oh. So that’s where the Ireland lie came from.”
My cheeks heat. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I kind of blurted it out on the spot, and then in the hot tub, I decided to fully commit to the lie.”
He chuckles, low and warm, and the sound does something ridiculous to my insides. I don’t know why it feels so good that he isn’t making me feel weird about it.
“Anyway,” I say, trying to sound casual and probably failing, “who says I was lying?”
Connor’s eyebrows lift.
I hold his gaze, my pulse suddenly very aware of the fact that we’re still lying in bed together. “Who knows? Maybe you will take me to Ireland.”
For a second, he just looks at me.
Then the smirk fades. “Of course I will,” he says, like it’s obvious. “You need to meet my family too, now that I’ve met yours.”
I laugh, but it comes out a little uneven, because he does not sound like he’s joking.
“So you’re serious about me,” I say, unable to hold off a smile.
“Yes,” he says, smiling back. “Very.”
“Good,” I say, which is about as much as my brain can manage.
Because what the actual fuck.
Is he flirting with me? Am I flirting with him? Is this still part of the fake-boyfriend thing, or did Connor just casually imply I’m meeting his family for real?
I genuinely can’t tell anymore.
There’s a pause where neither of us says anything. Then Connor’s face turns more serious. “Are you okay?” he asks. “With Rick and everything. It must hurt, the way he’s acting.”
The shift in his tone catches me off guard.
I shrug, looking down for a second. “It pissed me off when he asked,” I admit, surprising myself with how easily the truth comes out. “But now that I’ve cooled off… I don’t know. I think I realized it doesn’t matter the way it used to.”