21
Jett
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the utter misery that is pounding away in my skull. The second is a wet tongue kissing along my forehead.
The hell did I get into last night?
As I fight to get my eyelids to open, I try to remember what happened. Once my eyes finallyopen and focus, my entire body freezes. Because the wet kisses belong to a dog. Noah’s dog, Sadie.
“Crapola,” I mutter with feeling as I try to sink even further into the coziest mattress I have ever slept in.
As soon as my eyes close again, Sadie nuzzles my neck, seeking attention. I am lazily rubbing under her collar when the air in the room shifts ever so slightly. The realization that I’m at Noah’s place instead of my own breaks through the drunk fog in my brain just as the roiling in my stomach has me pushing Sadie away as gently as I can and rushing past Noah to get into the bathroom before emptying the contents of last night’s binge. As I sink closer to the floor and use the ceramic toilet seat as a pillow, the scenes from last night play on repeat.
Joey’s name popping up with a text message on my phone screen.
Realizing it’s been three months since everything fell apart and that I am no closer to putting myself back together.
Wishing McKenna didn’t have to work the weekend so she could help talk me out of bad decisions.
Finishing off two bottles of Stella Rosa.
Calling Joey.
Calling Ella.
This time as I dry heave over someone else’s toilet, a cool washcloth is placed on the back of my neck while large, warm hands rub soothing circles on my lower back. I sit back on my heels, my face burning with embarrassment at this entire situation. Before I can say anything, Noah pulls me into his arms, my back to his chest.
“Noah,” I whine.
He latches his arms tighter and leans his forehead against the crown of mine. “Do you have any idea how worried I was last night when you didn’t show up?”
“I’m sorry,” I reply in the same soft tone he is using.
“I was getting ready to dial your brother when Jace called me.”
“So, so sorry,” I repeat as I give in to the desire to melt into the warmth that is Noah’s body.
One of his hands gently traces some sort of circle design along my arm, and I get lost in the sensation of his touch.
“Then, when I went to rip Jace a new one for not cutting you off sooner, he informed me that you’d been more than tipsy before you even made it to the bar.” The hand on my arm travels up, up, up to move my hair away from my shoulder before Noah presses a kiss on the exposed skin between my neck and shoulder. “Taking care of you and keeping you safe is difficult when I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”
I don’t know what to say to him, because he is right. I keep saying I’m in this and then running at the first sign of “date” talk. All the Sunday snuggles, sleepovers, texts, and calls just add to the proof. I am tired of running from Noah Slater, and that is the most terrifying discovery I made during my drinking escapade.
“I’m scared,” I whisper into the quiet bathroom while steeling myself for his response. I can feel his nod where he rests his head on my shoulder.
“I get that,” he says. “I do, but I am, too.”
Something resembling a snort sneaks out.
He spreads his legs a little, allowing me to settle more firmly into his lap, humor in his voice as he continues. “I’m serious, Jett. You know Maya’s death messed me up. But you had me the second I laid eyes on you. And all these moments we’ve had together over the last few months have me only wanting you more. Give us a chance to thrive before ending us, chaos.”
Goosebumps sprint to the surface of my arms and legs at the nickname that, coming from anyone else, would feel hurtful. But the way he says it, so gentle and commanding. Endearing . Like he loves that I am that way. I love it. And I love—
Nope. No. NO.
I do not.
I cannot.
I am not falling in love with Noah Slater. We are not to that point yet.
Taking in a deep breath while still trying not to upset my stomach and swearing I am still a wee bit drunk, I tilt my chin to try to catch Noah’s eyes.
He helps by shifting ever so slightly.
“One date,” I concede. Excitement dances in his dark-brown eyes, but before he can comment, I continue. “But there will be stipulations.”
He tries to keep a somber expression, but the man is exuding so much happiness right now that I can’t help but huff out a laugh.
“Who knew cuddling a girl who can’t hold her liquor would make you this happy?”
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb slowly running along my jaw. “Sweet girl, I will hold you anytime you need it. Joy, sadness, sickness, drunkenness, or just needing a hug. Don’t even need to ask. My arms are always open for you.”
***
A short while after our heart-to-heart on Noah’s bathroom floor, he moves me to the living room wrapped in blankets. I felt my mood closing in on me and opted to stay here, although I don’t think Noah would have given me the option to go home just yet. Instead, he turned on the replay of the Voltage game that we were supposed to watch last night.
“So, you really called out of work just to stay home with me all day?” I ask, not really believing him when he admits to why he stayed home today.
“I was worried about you. So is McKenna, by the way.”
“You called her?”
“Text. Last night.”
I groan and sink deeper into the mountain of blankets.
“Was I not supposed to? I mean, I didn’t know if it was a regular habit that I just didn’t know about or if something bad had happened that you were trying to drown out or what. She seemed like the best bet without roping in your brother. He’s civil now, but I figured neither of us wanted him hovering.”
He reaches under the bottom of the blankets and gently pulls my legs into his lap, massaging my calves with firm, sure strokes. I bite back a moan as he hits a knot and have to force myself from slipping into a daydream of him massaging other parts of me.
Like my shoulders. Those always have the worst knots. Especially the right one.
I feel a squeeze harder than the ones before it and peep over the blankets at Noah, who is staring intently at me. Heat creeps up my neck as I realize my mind slipped away from the conversation.
“I, um, didn’t hear what you said,” I say, the words stumbling out.
Noah continues his thorough massage and says, “I just asked if you wanted to get a shower before McKenna gets here. If so, you have about forty-five minutes.”
“Honestly, taking a shower seems like a lot of work.”
He looks at me quizzically. “How so?”
“What steps go into taking a shower for you?”
“Get in. Wash hair and body. Get out.”
I nod along with his answers, even though just listening to them make me tired. “You have a neurotypical brain. You do things the ‘normal’ way,” I say while using my fingers to make air quotes. “I have to get the water temperature hot enough, but not too hot, undress in what is probably a cold room with a colder floor, get in the water, wet my hair, which is super thick and long, put in and rinse out shampoo, put in conditioner and leave it for at least a few minutes, wash my body, wash my face, shave, depending on when I did last, rinse my hair while running a brush through it, because otherwise I won’t brush it at all, and then turn the water off.
“Then I have to convince myself to get out of the hot shower and step back onto the cold floor to dry off and get dressed. But I can’t just get dressed. I have to make sure that every part of me is dry first, because socks or pants on slightly damp skin will drive me up the wall in discomfort. And then my hair has to be brushed again and either braided or dried…” I trail off, realizing how much like a tangent this must sound to him, but I am already exhausted just thinking about it.
Noah lifts my legs and slides closer, pulling blankets away until he has me wrapped in his strong arms. “How about this,” he starts, his voice rumbling along the shell of my ear. “What if you let me get the water running, and I will lay towels down on the floor and plug in a space heater in there? Then, when you’re done, I’ll brush and dry your hair for you.”
I stare in awe at the man next to me. “How does someone like you have feelings for someone like me?”
Ignoring my question, he asks, “Would that make a shower more manageable?”
I nod, unable to speak through the emotion clogging my throat. This man. What I would do to be worthy of him.