Chapter 25 All Panic, No Disco
Noah’s hand squeezing mine under the table brings me back to the moment, his warm smile working hard to placate the worry he must see on my face. He lifts his wine glass as Tom extends a toast I didn’t hear, and the rest of the room echoes with “here, here.”
I freeze, staring numbly at the glass above my plate, wondering how I let myself get this carried away.
It’s all fun and closet blow jobs until we remember there is a very real world outside of us and people counting on our sealing this deal.
Never mind the way this will inevitably implode once we are back in Portland or the way this will taint my future reputation as an entrepreneur.
I am a fool for thinking we could innocently play pretend.
My head throbs and my chest aches under the fading drunken cloud.
I can’t do this. My career aside, the last twenty four hours with Noah have shown me all too clearly how easy it is to let him placate me into a sense of false security.
I know better than anyone what it’s like when that so-called support is ripped out from under you and you’re left to wonder what the hell happened.
My cavalier behavior despite this prickly knowledge pulls waves of guilt. What have I been doing?
The next course is presented and the table falls back into friendly conversation, a wall of noise rising up around me.
“Hey,” Noah says, leaning in and keeping his voice low. Just for the two of us. “Are you okay?”
I shake out of my daze, and sit up, working to force a smile while my chest caves in under the mounting panic. No. I am certainly not okay, but I’ll be damned to hell and back before I let that show here.
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing back from the table and stumbling towards the exit.
I have to get out of here. I need a second to breathe and remember who I am. I don’t do this. I don’t tease the potential for more. I’ve never needed it before and I certainly don’t need it now.
Finally outside, leaned against a large potted plant, my chest heaves under deep breaths that don’t fill my lungs.
The evening air is cool against the heat rising in my sternum, but it doesn’t release the tightening bonds.
My eyes sting with unshed tears and I curl my fingers into the planter to keep from screaming.
“Lottie.”
Noah’s voice filters from the doorway and I turn away from looking at him, choosing instead to step further into the parking lot. But he’s faster than I am in these damn heels, and before I can get away his hand is on my shoulder as he rounds to face me.
I hiccup against another gasp and try to turn again, but he holds firm, his other hand reaching to cradle my face. Eyes burning, I look up and push everything I have into not breaking further.
“What’s happening? Tell me what’s wrong.”
His stormy eyes are pools of concern and I bite the inside of my cheek before answering.
“I’m sorry. I just needed a minute.”
“Don’t you dare apologize. Are you sick?”
I shake my head, my throat too tight and my chest still constricting under invisible pressure. He steps closer now, wrapping one arm around my torso, the other keeping my head pressed to his chest.
“Shhhhh,” he soothes, his hand running up and down my arm.
Though he means it to be comforting, it’s like claws against my skin and I wrestle back, breaking out of his hold.
“No. Stop.”
Leaning down to press my palms to my knees I focus on getting fresh air past the knot in my throat. I will not cry here. Not like this. Breathe.
“Lottie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
“I know,” I snap, the curl of guilt growing tighter. “I just need a minute.”
He steps back and I curse the way I cut him off. But I can’t stand here and listen to him apologize. He didn’t do anything wrong. This is me. I let myself slip past the physical boundaries of our relationship and dance with feelings. I let myself play pretend.
“I’m fine.”
“Take your time. I’m going to go ask for the hostess to call a car and let the Barkers know we need to leave. We’ll get you back and—”
“Stop that.”
I stand up, my panic turning to anger in an instant. His face is broken, his hands raised in surrender.
“Okay. If you don’t want to leave, what do you need? Water? Here, come sit down.”
“I said, stop that.”
“Stop what?”
His voice is still gentle, but I’m desperate to get a different kind of reaction.
He can’t be like this. Not really. We’ve been pretending and I need him to show me who he really is.
I can’t get attached to this version of him, not when I know there is another side.
There always is. Where’s the side of him that will grow cold and callous when he has his fill of me?
Where’s the side who was full of judgment when he saw what I was doing the night we met.
That’s the one I need to see. That’s the side that will confirm my foolishness.
“Stop pandering to me. Stop caring so much.”
“Lottie, I’m not—”
“You are. You’re being too nice.”
“Too nice?”
My chest is less tight now, the anger in my belly burning through the anxiety.
Good. Anger is productive and gives me an edge.
He watches me, careful, like he doesn’t know what to do.
A lick of satisfaction at finally being the one to set him off balance courses through me and I sniff before straightening my shoulders.
“Yes.”
“You’re upset.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“I’m just trying to understand.”
A thread of confused dejection sweeps through his response and the armor I’m working to rebuild shifts.
Noah doesn’t know about my new and quiet hope for more.
I didn’t share my thoughts on the Barkers or the way watching their relationship started to tempt me towards thinking about security.
As far as he is concerned, we are still in agreement and everything we’ve done is a momentary whirlwind. Nothing more.
This spiral is mine alone.
“I’m fine. I had a momentary lapse after Tom’s speech because I stupidly realized, for the first time, our fooling around might have bigger consequences. For Flourish.”
I include the last bit as an added link in my rapidly reforming armor. I’m not upset about us. That would be ridiculous. There hasn’t been an us to be upset about. Not really. Just this morning we agreed there would be nothing but sex olympics.
“Flourish is fine,” Noah says, his voice guarded. “I had no intention of letting this change that. We haven’t even had a chance to decide what this is.”
“Good.”
He frowns, genuine confusion washing over his features. “Keeping us quiet is meant to protect you as much as it is meant to protect Flourish, more so even. I thought we were on the same page.”
“Yes. Of course we are. I don’t know what happened, I just panicked. Hearing Tom talking about partnerships in the face of our secret—it’s just a lot. But I’m fine now.”
I straighten my dress and clear my throat, ready to return to dinner, but Noah reaches out to grab my wrist as I pass.
“You have to believe me, please. I would never jeopardize your future. This is safe. You’re safe with me.”
My breath hitches, his words pinging and falling flat as I do everything I can to keep myself in check. The rules will keep me safe, but him? I can’t trust that anyone will keep me safe. Apparently not even myself.
“They’re going to miss us if we don’t get back,” I say, tugging on my wrist.
“Do you believe me?”
His voice is broken now and I pinch my eyes shut before turning back.
“This is just sex. Having a little fun while we close a deal, right?”
Noah’s eyes track quickly across my features as if he’s trying to figure out what I want him to say.
“Yes.”
“Then, yes. I believe you.”
The lie slips between us and slithers tight around my throat, a serpentine reminder of my insecurities.
Even in our short time together, I’ve never lied like this, and I’m not sure I like the flavor of it.
But if there is anything I know, it’s that pretending like we have more than a few stolen moments ahead of us is begging for trouble.
The kind of trouble I’m not sure I’ll survive.
“I need another drink.”
“Lottie.”
“Please, don’t.”
The plea is little more than a whisper, weak after everything else. He could fight me on it, push further and demand I give him answers, and I probably would. The wounds throbbing beneath my hardened exterior are desperate to break free and bleed over every bit of my life and everyone in it.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he takes a deep breath and stands up straight before letting his hand find mine. I try to ignore the way it’s like deception against my palm, and lean into the boundary we’ve set in keeping things physical. Just sex, nothing more.
However, as we settle in at the table and I drain my wine glass, and then another, the wall I’m hiding behind is more like a burden than it ever has been before.
Getting back to the Barker’s after dinner is a blur of wine drunk giggles and laughter, at least for three of us.
After my parking lot sideshow, I spent the rest of our meal sipping as much wine as the faceless waiters would bring me, and ignoring the way Noah kept looking in my direction.
Concern continued to ripple off his shoulders with each glass I downed, but by the time I finished off the chocolate cake course, I’d tucked my fears back into their box and fully committed to the boundaries of this weekend.
When we stumble from the car, Noah, who seems infuriatingly sober, makes sure to say goodbye for both of us before our hosts disappear into their front door.
I take a few clumsy stumbles towards the cottage, my ankle rolling as one of the pinprick heels wedges in the space between two uneven pavers.
Noah appears at my side, everything about him supportive and stable.
“Fuck,” I whine, gripping his arm so I can balance on one foot and slip out of the shoes. “I fucking hate these.”
“That’s a shame,” he hums, taking it from my hand. “I quite like them.”
I giggle, slipping out of the other. “You just like the way my ass looks when my body is propped up for show.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I like the way your ass looks all the time.”
My giggle deepens, the words he whispered tracing warmth along the base of my neck and down my spine. This is what I need; dirty compliments that would make my adopted grandma blush.
“But more than that,” he continues, squeezing my arm tighter against him. “Is they give you an excuse to be close.”
I stop, the unexpected jolt putting space between us as he continues forward.
My first thought is to chide him for being too sweet, to remind him of the way this is supposed to be about chasing gold medal orgasms, and nothing more, but what pops out is the result of too much wine and not enough tact.
“Are you real?”
He chuckles and pats his torso with his free hand. “As far as I’m aware.”
I frown, and shove against his chest, my hand catching on the edge of his jacket. “Seriously. You’re like . . .” I search for the right description. “Like the entire essence of every steamy romance novel hero stashed away on Nan’s secret bookshelf.”
“Secret bookshelf?”
“Not the point.”
“Which was?”
I frown, trying to remember. “That you’re too perfect.”
Noah closes the distance between us, his arm slipping around my waist to prompt me towards the house. “I’m not sure if that was meant as a compliment, but I assure you it is far from the truth. Now, let’s get you to bed.”
“Yes. Let’s.”
“To bed, to sleep,” he says, his tone turning soft and careful.
“Oh.” I pout my lip. “That’s no fun.”
I may not be in any shape to engage in much more than collapsing onto the mattress, but hearing Noah’s plans to end the night chastely still prickles.
We’re supposed to be playing a game, finding as many sordid moments together as we possibly can.
But here stands cares-too-much Noah and his careful boundaries and I’m determined to undermine him.
My feelings, real or imagined, are drowned in booze, making this the perfect time to prove I can keep things physical.
Letting him respect me now is too close to the tender spot I’m trying to ignore.
We wobble into the house and into the bedroom, Noah flicking the light on before lowering me onto the waiting mattress. He loosens his tie as he digs through my duffle bag looking for something.
“Hey,” I groan, the room tilting under me. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to pilfer through a lady’s bag?”
“I’m just looking for some pajamas.”
“No need.”
I stand from the bed and keep my eyes trained on him as I slide the zipper of my dress down and slip my arm out of the sleeve.
The emerald fabric pools at my feet leaving me bare except the thin silk thong hugging my hips.
Noah straightens and swallows hard, his gaze running over every naked inch of me.
I loop my thumbs under the thin strips of material at my hips and swish to wriggle out of the garment.
“Lottie.”
Desperate for an orgasm to erase my earlier show of weakness, I cross the space between us and slide my hands up under the lapels of his tux and then across his chest so I can hook my fingers under the line of buttons.
With a quick jerk, I rip the shirt apart, giggling when the buttons ping across the room.
Gayle’s going to be finding those for weeks.
Noah fights a smile and I summon my coyest smirk.
“Are you sure you just wanna sleep?”
The last of my sentence is little more than a hiccup of sound, but I’m already pressing up on my tiptoes to try and wrap myself around him.
His lips whisper against the corners of my mouth and then my nose as he walks us back clumsily towards the bed.
Warmth pools between my legs as my thighs hit the mattress and I sink down, still tugging him with me and ready to give in.
“You are far too drunk to be asking this of me,” he says, scooping my legs up and tucking them under the blankets.
My fingers are still curled around the loose edges of his shirt, but he gently plucks them off and lays my arms across my chest. “And I am far too sober to give into you, however much I may want to. I need you fully here when we’re together again. Anything less is unacceptable.”
I’m frowning now, partly upset at his refusal, but mostly because the room is still spinning and his face is blurring. He speaks again, but I only catch something about water and Tylenol before all I can see is his hazy form slipping out of the room.
My eyes flutter close and I’m left to the dark of an alcohol induced slumber.