22. Noah
22
NOAH
I woke up in a panic, the way you do when you know something’s wrong. Then I lay very still, trying to remember where I was. This wasn’t my room. It was way too clean.
Oh, right. I wasn’t in my room because I was in Molly’s. We’d come here last night after jumping each other on the roof, and then spent the whole night...
Oh my God, we’d been so tangled up with each other that we’d spent the whole night here, pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist. And she’d been here this morning. I remembered her presence. I thought we might have even talked, so I hadn’t been hallucinating it. But where was she now? I looked toward the bathroom, wondering if maybe she was having a shower, but the water wasn’t running and the door was open. She didn’t have a suite like I did, so she wasn’t in the other room working. She wasn’t in the sitting area by the window.
Then I heard the sound of voices. Not just any voices, either. They were shouting questions and comments, people talking over each other like each of them was more important than the last, until it was a complete mash of voices.
I knew that sound. I’d been attacked by that sound far too many times. The press was out there, and they had someone cornered. Someone they found interesting.
“Molly!” someone suddenly shouted. “Didn’t you used to work for this band? Do you know anything about where Noah Michael is right now? Everyone seems to have lost him.”
Shit.
I was out of bed and searching for my clothes before I could think, and then I realized that I had a problem. I’d come here in the same clothes I’d worn to the meeting yesterday, which meant I only had a business suit. Not exactly something most rock stars wore this early in the morning. If anyone had been at that meeting yesterday, they’d know that this was what I was wearing the last time they saw me.
Yesterday.
And they’d see that I was coming out of Molly’s room.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Molly!” someone else shouted, and that made my decision for me. I rushed for the door, pulling my slacks up and trying to button my shirt at the same time. I didn’t care what they thought of me. I needed to get her out of there before she had a panic attack from them shouting at her.
I burst through the door into the hall and looked right and left, trying to find them. Then I saw her. They had her cornered in the elevator banks, about ten of them shooting photos and shouting questions, and I nearly ran in that direction. They were so intent on Molly that they hadn’t seen me come out of her room, and that was something.
I hoped.
Because I was remembering what she’d said that first night, now, about her magazine giving her rules. She was forbidden from messing with anyone she was covering, if I was remembering correctly, and that meant me. And I was supposed to be cleaning up my act, not sleeping with girls who used to be roadies for the band and were now part of the press.
Wait a minute.
Molly was part of the press. Why were they attacking her like this? Weren’t they supposed to protect their own or something? This didn’t make any sense.
Unless she was still too new to be part of that crowd, a voice in my head told me. Maybe she didn’t know the rest of the gaggle well enough to be able to count on them. Or maybe they just saw a story juicy enough that they didn’t care about protecting her.
She was backed into a corner, holding them off with one hand while her eyes flashed to the right and left. She looked completely panicked, like she knew this was all going sideways on her, and I saw, to my horror, that she was still in her pajamas. What had she thought she was doing, going down for coffee or something? Out here in her pajamas, while I was in the suit I’d worn yesterday...
God, this just kept getting worse.
I plowed right through the reporters, knocking them out of my way to get to her, and found her nearly in tears on the other side of them.
“Noah,” she gasped.
“Just like old times, eh?” I asked. “And you didn’t think I was heroic enough.”
“Noah, what are you doing here?” a reporter suddenly asked. “Are you with her? Molly, are you and Noah an item?”
That started another avalanche of questions, and I could see that this was only going to get worse if we didn’t give them something else to chew on.
“Yes, we’re together. That’s why I’m in a suit and she’s in her pajamas. God, Jimmy, get a grip,” I said, shooting for sarcasm. My voice was strained, though, and if they knew me as well as I worried they did, they’d hear that I was lying.
“The suit you were wearing yesterday, if I’m not mistaken,” Jimmy answered, his mouth curved in a cruel smile. “Is that because you didn’t sleep in your own room? Maybe you slept in Molly’s?”
I wanted to grab his pen and shove it right up his ass, but I didn’t. That would probably just make things worse. Instead, I made a face at him. “If I did, it wouldn’t be the first time. She’s my best friend and has been since I was ten. If I need a safe place to land, Jimmy, Molly’s it.”
His face went even craftier, and I realized that I’d just said the worst thing possible. Maybe none of these assholes had known that Molly was my best friend. Judging by the looks on their faces, they definitely hadn’t known that I regularly slept in her room, particularly if there was thunder or lightning. They didn’t understand that we’d grown up together and had a bond tighter than siblings.
And I’d just told them that I slept in her room all the time. It wouldn’t take them much to jump to the conclusion that I’d slept there last night and that we’d done more than just sleeping, with Molly out here marching around in her pajamas and me in yesterday’s clothes.
God.
I grabbed her without saying anything else–I’d already done enough damage–and ran in the other direction, shooting down the hall with her trailing along behind me. We made a left and then a right, then another left, and found a hallway at least a little bit deserted. I could hear the press coming after us, though, and knew we needed a place to actually hide.
A closet appeared in front of us as if by magic, and I yanked open the door and shoved her in, following closely on her heels. We came to an abrupt stop against the back wall of the closet, her back against my chest and zero space between us, and I froze.
God, this felt familiar.
“Just like old times, eh?” I asked, trying desperately to turn this into a joke. My cock was already lengthening at how close her tight little ass was, memories of last night flooding through me. I’d never even thought of her as anything more than a friend but the last two days had been one non-stop temptation. And now she was underneath me again, hot and breathing heavily, and my body had forgotten all about the trouble my mind knew we were in.
I wanted her again.
Now.
She pushed back against me like she was thinking the same thing, rubbing her ass up and down on my cock, and then suddenly stiffened and turned, shoving at me to get me to back off. “Get away from me, Noah!” she hissed.
I stumbled back, surprised and confused. “What the fuck?”
“I said get away from me!”
“What? Why? I just saved you from the press out there!”
“You told them we slept in the same room!” she whisper shouted. “You told them we did it all the time! And then you shoved me in a closet again, like you were ashamed of it! What do you mean, why? Which is it? Am I your best friend who you just slept with or some girl you want to hide?”
I opened my mouth, but didn’t have any words. Which was the right answer? Were either of them? I was thinking that hiding her was probably the wrong one, but having been there and seen her face when I told the press that we were best friends and slept in the same room all the time, I didn’t think that was right either.
Shit, what was I supposed to say? What could I say to wipe that anger off her face? I wanted the sweet version of Molly back. Not this pissed off, confusing girl who was way too strong for me and way too angry to deal with.
“I was trying to get them off our backs,” I started.
She narrowed her eyes, made a face at me, and then shoved past me and left the closet. And I stood there like some dumbass, completely confused about what I’d done or how I’d done it.
Evidently I’d chosen the wrong answer, after all.
And I didn’t have a damn clue what the right one was.