Chapter 9Noah
Noah
Rachel is gathering the last of her things before we head home for the night. The salon is a mess; today was total chaos, and I want nothing more than a wine glass full to the brim and a book so spicy that would make even Lucifer himself blush.
“Pizza?” She asks as we are walking toward the door. I am thinking about our choices when my phone rings.
“Hold that thought,” I say as I stay behind to take the call. I see Leo’s name on the screen. Both confusion and excitement fill me as I take a deep breath before I respond.
“Hello?” I say with hesitation, because why would this man call me especially at this hour? Doesn’t he have a bar to run?
“Noah?” Seriously? Who else could it be?
“No, it’s the Pope.” I say with my most serious but sarcastic tone because if he is going to be ridiculous, I can be too.
“I am sorry. I shouldn’t bother you...” He lets the last word linger. I hear his breathing deepen, as if he is praying for me to say something, anything, to keep the conversation going.
“Are you okay, Leo?” He is not, though I don’t even need his answer to know he isn’t.
His voice breaks with every word he speaks.
His breathing is like that of a person who’s been crying, and as much as I think it’s too far-fetched to believe he is, I also think this man is a total mess mentally.
I wonder what got him to this state, but I don’t ask.
It’s not my place to ask. I don’t even know why he’s calling.
“I wouldn’t say I am.” He tells me finally, after a silence dragged on too long.
“It’s okay.” I am not sure why I think this is the right answer in this moment, but something in him seems to relax, and his next words sound more confident.
“I know you don’t really know me, and we are not friends...
” The last word is almost a whisper, as if he is afraid it will become reality if he speaks it out loud.
I wonder if being my friend sounds so ridiculous to him...
He already said he doesn’t do romance; a friendship, one would think, would be the next logical step.
I guess whatever this is that is happening right now seems more logical in Leo’s head.
“How can I help?” I cover the microphone of my phone with my hand and whisper to Rachel, who’s standing right in front of me, even though this feels too personal for her to eavesdrop. “Go. I need to do something.”
She wiggles her eyebrows in a teasing way and whispers back to me.
“Have fun at your date.” She couldn’t be more wrong.
This is far from a date. This is a man who’s breaking apart and somehow decided to reach out to the last person he should have.
Lucky for him, I am also someone who can’t let anyone around me suffer in my knowledge and not help them.
Leo is staying silent on the other end. I choose to press because this big idiot is fighting with his ego, and it’s clear even from a phone call. “Tell me where you are.”
“Do you know the cinema next to the coffee shop we were yesterday?” I know exactly the one.
In fact, it’s one of my favorite places, other than that coffee shop.
But I don’t say that. I don’t say anything more than what seems important right now.
The fact that I am going to be there for him.
That’s the only thing that matters. He needs support.
“I’ll be there in ten. The salon isn’t too far.
” I say and start walking. I hate driving.
Usually, Rachel picks me up, or I walk to her house, and she drives us to work.
If I actually need to go somewhere, I usually either walk or call a car.
If I use my car, it isn’t by choice; usually, it’s just parked in the garage of my apartment building, and, if I am being honest, I am paying way too much for this piece of junk I call a car just to gather rust. Yet if I can avoid driving it, I will.
I put on my head phones that I usually have sitting around my neck when I’m on the road with Rachel.
Ready to provide a distraction. I hit play on my audiobook on my phone, and as I walk, the voice of my favorite narrator whispering filthy words fills my ears.
It’s a marvelous thing to be a reader. You fall in love a million times and live through worlds you would never have the opportunity otherwise.
Each romance book is a new experience. It’s almost as if it’s a love letter, written just for you... the reader.