Chapter 14
CHAPTER
Y ou left this with the bartender.” Noah holds up two fingers, a credit card scissored between them. “Willow called me,” he says. “The bartender. I told her I’d try to return it to you.”
I’d completely forgotten that I’d given my Amex to open a tab when I ordered my first drink at the bar last night. We’d left in such a hurry.
I step forward and take the card. “How did you know where I lived?”
“Wasn’t too hard to figure out. You mentioned your mom was sick, so I asked around if anyone knew a local with the last name printed on your credit card.
” He shrugs. “It’s a small town. Second person I asked goes to Saint Matthew’s and knew exactly who I was talking about and where Theresa Davis lived. ”
I blow out a ragged breath. “Well, thank you for bringing it back.”
“You believe in fate, Elizabeth?”
My eyes widen. What is he asking me? I shake my head. “Not really. I believe we all choose our paths in life.”
“Then maybe you chose to leave that card behind, perhaps even subconsciously, so I’d come find you.”
“I think it’s more likely I’m getting forgetful in my old age.”
Noah smiles, flashes those killer, boyish dimples. “Why’d you run out on me last night, darlin’?”
“I just . . . I had a little too much to drink. And when the fresh air hit me, it sobered me up. I realized I needed to quit while I was ahead.”
“I thought we had a good time, had good chemistry.”
“We did. But . . . you’re too young for me.”
“I’m twenty-seven, not seventeen. Besides, most women would put my being a youngblood in the pros column, not the cons.”
Seventeen.
The age I was when . . .
I search Noah’s face for signs that he’s screwing with me. But I don’t find anything sinister lurking. “It just wouldn’t be a good idea to take things any further.”
“Do you have a boyfriend back home?”
“No.” I pause. I should cut off the conversation, go inside. But there’s something about this man, even sober. And knowing who he is now, curiosity gets the best of me. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Not anymore. Broke up two months ago.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t want the same things.”
“What does that mean?”
“She wanted a family . . . kids.”
“And you don’t want that right now?”
“I don’t want that ever.”
“Why not?”
“You ever get married or have any kids?”
I shake my head.
“Feel like telling me why you made that decision?”
I can’t help it, I smile. “Got it.”
Noah looks down, kicks his foot in the dirt in an aww, shucks way. “I like you, Elizabeth. Don’t meet many women like you around here. I’d really like to take you out.”
I pause. Something in the pit of my belly wants to say yes. Instead, I shake my head. “Not a good idea.”
“Maybe. But some of the best times I’ve ever had started from bad ideas.”
I chuckle. He has an answer for everything.
Noah looks up and catches my eyes. “Seriously, though, you seem like a woman who speaks her mind. And I don’t hear you saying you don’t want to go out with me. There’s a difference between not wanting to do something and thinking it’s a bad idea.”
I didn’t notice it last night, because the bar was so dark.
But his eyes are the exact same color as his father’s—deep mossy green with specks of gold.
There’s a lot I can’t remember from twenty years ago, but a person remembers the face of a person they’re about to kill.
The only difference is Noah’s eyes have a light that shines from them, a sparkle that reflects the sun.
Mr. Sawyer’s were cold and flat, even when he was still breathing.
Same as last night, I find myself very drawn to this man.
“How long you in town for?” he asks when I still haven’t responded.
I thumb toward the front door. “I’m not sure anymore. I was planning on leaving today. But then my mom fell. She’s in the hospital now.”
“I heard about her health. The woman who told me where you live mentioned your mom was sick with cancer.”
I nod. “Her prognosis isn’t good.”
He nods. “I know how hard that can be. My mom died not too long ago. Heart disease. It was tough to watch.”
“I’m sorry.” And I am . . . but he’s also just opened a door . . . “Do you still have your dad?”
Noah looks away. “He died when I was just a kid.”
I wait, hoping he’ll say more. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he swings his keys around and tosses them in the air, catching them with a jingle as they come down.
Must be a Southern thing. “Welp, I guess I should be going. I really would love to take you out, but I won’t push, especially when you’re going through so much. ”
I nod. “Thank you again for returning my card.”
“Anytime. And if you ever feel like company—just a friendship, a shoulder to cry on if things with your mom get tough—you call me.” He winks. “I wrote my cell on the signature strip on the back of your credit card.”
I smile. “Thanks, Noah.”
He steps forward and kisses my forehead. It’s sweet and feels innocent enough.
“Take care, Elizabeth. I wish you well.”
I watch him walk away, but as he does, an overwhelming sense of fear that I’m about to lose something I need hits me. “Wait!” I yell as he’s pulling his truck door closed.
He unfolds from the driver’s seat and gives me his full attention.
“Why don’t you come inside for a little while?”
“Is this you?” Noah picks up a framed photo and turns it to me. I’m in my communion dress, hands steepled like the good Christian my mother always wanted.
“It is.”
“Are you religious?”
“No.”
He looks at me expectantly. After a minute, he grins. “Aren’t you going to ask if I am?”
“Nope. That’s your business.”
He smiles and sets down the photo. “You see, that’s what makes you different from the ladies around here. You think it’s okay to keep some things private.”
“Of course it is.”
He shakes his head. “The women I’ve dated want to know every thought going through my head.”
“Sounds like they’re insecure.”
Noah shrugs. “Maybe.” He looks around the room. “So is this where you grew up? This house?”
“It is.”
“It’s nice.”
“It’s a shithole.”
He laughs. “See? There you go again. No bullshit. You just tell it like it is.”
“Would you rather I bullshit you?”
“Not at all. I appreciate a woman who is straight with me.”
I tilt my head. “So does that mean you’re being straight with me, Noah?”
His brows draw together. “About what?”
“Everything. Anything.”
His eyes jump back and forth between mine. “I haven’t told you one lie since we met.”
Again, he looks sincere. But did he select his words carefully? He hasn’t told me a lie —but are there things he’s failed to tell me? Omissions? Like he knows who I am? That he sat down next to me on purpose? That he is a student of mine . . .
I make use of the attention he’s giving me, keeping our gazes locked. “What made you approach me last night?”
“You were the prettiest girl in the room.”
“ Woman , not girl , Noah.”
His eyes do a quick sweep over my body, and he grins. “Right. All woman. That’s for shit-sure.” He steps closer. My heart races, but I stand my ground. Noah brushes hair from my shoulder. “You’re really beautiful.”
Something about his voice, the Southern drawl I haven’t heard in ages, makes butterflies flutter in my belly—some a little lower, too. “Thank you.”
He leans in and takes a deep inhale. “Smell damn good, too.”
“It must be the hospital.”
He grins, undeterred, and brushes his nose along the pulse line in my neck. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you last night when I got home.” He groans. “What happened in that bathroom was something else.”
My eyes shut, my head lolls back, giving him better access. Hot breath tickles my skin. Noah’s mouth moves to my ear. “Can I kiss you again, Elizabeth? Touch you again?”
I want to say no, but I also want to forget—forget my mom is dying, forget about Hannah Greer, forget about Louisiana.
Plus, I really want to feel his body press up against mine again.
Though, with my life spinning so out of control lately, I need to be the one to take the lead.
Without saying anything, I put my palm to his chest, nudge him back not-too-gently.
He takes one, two, three steps backward.
When the backs of his knees hit the couch, I give him a good push, and he falls down onto it.
Then I climb on his lap, straddle his hips, and seal my mouth over his.
I’m momentarily thrown by how soft his lips are now.
But then Noah’s tongue dips inside, his fingers dig into my hair, and he winds a clump of it around his fist and holds me tight once again.
Soft goes out the window after that. I started this, and I’m on top, but somehow it feels like he’s kissing me and not the other way around, like he’s topping from the bottom.
And . . . I like it. I like how aggressive he is, how tight his grip is.
My eyes roll into the back of my head when he pushes up and grinds a steely erection against me through his jeans.
One of his big hands grips my hip and starts to move me back and forth.
It feels so damn good, the friction hitting the perfect spot .
. . But then a cell phone rings. I try to ignore it, dive further into the kiss to block it out—but Noah pulls back.
“Should you get that? It could be the hospital.”
I blink a few times. Shit. He’s right. And what the hell am I doing anyway? I climb off him and look around for where the sound is coming from. The kitchen. My purse.
“Hello?”
“Is this Elizabeth Davis?”
“Yes?”
“This is Kate Stern. I’m a nurse at Memorial Hospital.”
“What happened?”
“Your mother’s stats have dropped. We might need to intubate. The notes show you weren’t sure if your mother had a living will or an advance directive.”
I shake my head. “I was going to look for one when I got home. But I didn’t get a chance yet.”
“Can you do that now and call me back?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
I swipe the phone and head to my mother’s bedroom—to the file cabinet she used to keep in her closet. I don’t even know if it’s there anymore. A man’s voice startles me—I’d completely forgotten Noah was even here.
“What happened?” He stands. “Is everything okay?”
I keep walking without stopping. “No. I’m sorry. You should go. I need to get back to the hospital.”