Chapter Seven
Noah
"Ihave something for you," Elsie says, grinning at me as soon as I open the front door to find her standing on my porch, dressed and ready for the day in a pencil skirt and an emerald-colored blouse that I'd really like to tear from her body.
Fucking hell.
Living across from her is like living in purgatory.
Every day, I find a new reason to fall for her. Two nights ago, I damn near said fuck it and kissed her, so that she'd finally know that I'm wild about her. And then my goddamn phone rang, ruining the moment.
I haven't seen her since. I haven't been home to see her.
It's been driving me out of my fucking mind.
Did she want me to kiss her? Did she want me to fuck off?
I don't know, and I'm afraid to ask. Sometimes, like the other night, she looks at me like she's dying for a taste. But then, other times, she tells me that I'm a great friend, and I have no fucking clue what she wants.
I'm ready to make a move, but I'm worried as fuck that if I do, I'll ruin this thing we've got going on, and the only time I'll be allowed to spend with her will be the time I spend watching her through her window.
Fuck the friendzone. I want forever.
So much so that it's turning me into a goddamn madman.
"Shouldn't you be on the way to work already?" I ask, cringing when the question comes out far more abrupt and gruff than intended.
She notices and blinks at me.
I should apologize. I fucking know I should. But she's standing in front of me, looking like a goddess, and I'm slowly losing my mind. I haven't slept since the day before yesterday. She's perfect. My dick hurts. And I'm just…irritable as hell.
I don't want to apologize. I want to drag her into my arms, yank her skirt up, and plow into her until she's screaming my name so loud the entire fucking neighborhood hears her.
"You can't keep showing up late when they're depending on you to be there. What kind of example are you setting for the kids if you're late all the time?"
She flinches, and I feel like the biggest asshole because that isn't what I wanted to say.
It isn't even what I mean. She's an amazing role model, and I fucking know she is.
She's not even late that often. And it's not her fault that she hasn't figured out how to navigate traffic yet.
She's from the middle of nowhere, for fuck's sake.
I'm sure the only traffic her town ever had was a funeral procession.
"Right," she says, reaching into her bag. "I just wanted to give you this while you were home since I wasn't sure when I'd see you again."
"We've been working the case."
When aren't we working a fucking case? Crime never sleeps in a city this size. Our call this time was another homicide—some nineteen-year-old kid shot and killed his eighteen-year-old girlfriend's father after he beat on her again.
I don't even fucking blame him for doing it. The man had been beating her for years. But now, the kid is probably going to prison for murder because he chose to drive to his house and shoot him instead of calling for help.
It's just fucking senseless.
Elsie doesn't say anything. She doesn't really look at me, either. Her feelings are clearly hurt.
I'm honestly expecting her to pull something ridiculous out of her bag, like another pack of rolling papers. Last week, she gave me some she'd confiscated from a student.
The last thing I expect her to pull out of her bag is a challenge coin.
"It's one your brother's team commissioned the year he was drafted to honor the police department," she says quietly. "I didn't see it in your collection and thought you might like it."
I take it from her, turning it over in my palm. My heart pounds against my ribcage as I stare at it, and I know without a doubt that I'll never be good enough for her. But goddamn, I want to be.
"That's—"
"See you later," she says, turning on her heel and practically rushing down the steps before I can thank her or apologize.
"Elsie!" I call after her, feeling like the biggest dick on the planet.
She actually searched out a challenge coin from the year my brother was drafted, bought it, and brought it to me just because she thought I might like to have it in my collection.
She deserves to be worshipped. Instead, I was rude to her.
"I gotta go before I set a bad example!" she shouts over her shoulder, running like she'd rather be anywhere other than standing on my porch with me right now.
"Fuck," I growl, bouncing my head against the door. I'm such a fucking asshole.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jackson asks half an hour later, his voice a deep growl of annoyance. "You're in your feelings, so you take it out on her?"
"I fucked up."
"No shit," he grunts. "I hope she tells you to get fucked and stay fucked when you show up at her door with your tail between your legs to beg for her forgiveness, you asshole."
I sigh heavily, flopping onto my back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling. "You think she will?"
"Probably."
"Fuck."
"It's what I'd do."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to panic at the thought of her telling me to get fucked. He's right, though. It is what I deserve.
"You know what your problem is?" he asks. "You're a pussy."
"What the fuck?" I drop my hand hard enough to smack myself in the chest. "How did we get from 'I fucked up' to 'I'm a pussy'?"
"You pissed me off, so now I get to insult you."
"I didn't even say anything rude to you," I remind him.
"Yeah, well, we both know Elsie is too nice to tell you to go fuck yourself with a rusty pole, so I'm doing it on her behalf," he retorts, a smirk in his voice.
Why did I ever think telling him about her was a good idea? He hasn't stopped giving me shit since he brought my key over when I locked myself out a few weeks ago.
"You're starting to piss me off," I growl. "Worry about your girl and fuck off about mine."
"You jealous asshole," he says, a sharp bark of laughter rolling down the line. "I'm only worrying about your girl because you're going to fuck it up if someone doesn't worry about it for you."
"I'm not going to fuck it up."
"Oh, yeah? So you didn't tell her that she was a bad example for her students this morning?"
I grit my teeth, more pissed at myself than him.
"That's what I thought," he says, smug. "You wouldn't be chewing your own goddamn foot off to escape the friendzone you put yourself into if you'd just man up and ask her out already.
But no, you gotta do shit the hard way and torture yourself with this just friends bullshit first. That's why you're a pussy, by the way. "
"I'm hanging up now."
"Because you know I'm right."
I grunt, disconnecting on him instead of acknowledging his point.
He isn't wrong, though. I was a dick to Elsie this morning because I'm losing my mind, and it's my own fault.
She thinks we're friends because that's what I let her think.
Because I don't want to push too hard and push her right back out of my life when it's so much better with her in it.
I'd rather have any piece of her than none at all. But…I don't get to take it out on her like I did this morning. That's just a dick move, and she deserves better, especially from me.
I scroll to her number, hesitating.
She deserves more than an apology over text, but if I show up at her school, she might actually kill me.
Me: I'm sorry I was an asshole this morning. You didn't deserve it, and you're a fucking amazing teacher. Your students are lucky to have you. Can we do dinner tonight, Dimples? I'd like to make up for what I said.
I see the message flip from 'delivered' to 'read' and wait for a response. Twenty minutes later, I realize that I'm not getting one. Not today.
"Fuck," I groan, pulling the pillow over my eyes. There's no way I'm sleeping now, though.