18. Noah
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NOAH
Things about The Kiss ? that I can’t stop replaying in my mind:
If I thought my mind was a Georgie spiral before, post-kiss, the spiral has turned into tunnel vision.
All I can see, hear, feel and think is Georgie.
Not that I mind at all. Now I have a reason to think about her, to think of all the things I want now that she’ll let me have them.
I’m sure she’d let me have anything I wanted if I asked nicely enough.
I knew that if I stayed any longer, I wouldn’t be able to leave.
Every part of me screamed to stay, to see where things were headed, to experience everything all at once just in case she changed her mind.
But then she kissed me, again and again, and I knew she wanted this just as much as I did.
She was the reason it was so easy to take the job at the hobby shop.
The idea to visit the rescue was a way to ask her to spend time with me outside of our work life, and she could decide what that meant.
Date, friendship crafted and grown over a love of rescue pups, I wanted that opportunity to get to know her.
As friends, as more than friends, as whatever she wanted to let me be.
When I got home from her place though, I had to have a cold shower and then a hot shower when I realized that the cold shower was not working.
This woman was going to make me perma-hard without even trying.
I felt like a high schooler with a crush on the senior cheerleader, and with very little effort I rectified the situation the cold shower could not undo.
After, I had a nap, and then woke to a message from Georgie that made me a little too giddy for my own good.
Georgie
How’s reading going? You have until tomorrow morning to read the book after all
I was honest with her then, telling her that I hadn’t started.
She sent me a witty response about how she was going to win, and I just sent back a book emoji with a sorry too busy reading response.
But now it’s three thirty in the morning, Georgie and I start work in less than six hours, I am halfway through this book and damn it, I can’t decide if I want to win or lose.
Realistically, if I win, what would I want?
If I am honest, I am pretty sure I already have it, if the promise of The Kiss? is any indication.
But who is to say that Georgie won't change her mind? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had, but this might be more upsetting than that.
I feel a connection with her, from the moment we met in that elevator.
I can only hope that she feels that too.
If I lose, what would Georgia win? Would she choose something that had to do with what we did in her apartment? Would she choose something totally left field? There’s a part of me that’s more eager to find out than anything.
I feel like Dean, a character from the book currently in my hands.
He is absolutely smitten with the female protagonist Erin, the sexy, dominant, caring businesswoman whom he has just taken an assistant job for.
He is always debating how far he should push and how much he wants to wager to get Erin to notice him in more than an assistant/boss relationship.
He doesn't want to jeopardize the relationship he has, because of course he needs his job, but he also can’t help himself.
He wants to take whatever she will give and will thank her for it.
I can’t help but think about Georgie in that way, that after thinking about her for so long, to finally have a friendship, a relationship of any kind with her, would be a gift.
I never expected to know her; thought she would be the one that got away.
But she’s part of my life now, and I would do anything to protect that.
It makes me question my sanity a little. The temptation of both options is still there no matter how hard I try to pick one. So, officially declaring it undecided, I put down the book and let myself rest up, seeing how far I can get into the book in the morning before seeing her.
But in the morning, when I arrive at the shop, Georgie is nowhere to be seen. Abi is at the front desk cash working on a project, I think crochet of some sort, and she looks up to see me and gives me a shrug.
“You’re stuck with me today, kiddo.”
Instant panic. My throat hurts, it feels like it might close, and then there’s the tremble in my hands. “Is she okay? I just saw her yesterday,”
“She’ll be just fine. Just under the weather is all,” Abi explains it away and pats the desk, “Come, come. We’ll make a crafter of you yet.”
The day passes in a blur of customers asking for assistance with yarn and other hobby materials.
A man asks me if I know anything about the paint in the ‘build-your-own-plane’ kit, and I have to be honest and tell him I don’t but offer to look it up for him.
I learn far more about acrylic paint than I thought I’d ever know.
But the whole time I’m here, pretending to listen to a customer named Lisa tell me about her granddaughter, I’m thinking about Georgie.
How is she? How sick is she? What is wrong? Why won’t she answer my texts? Did I do something? Am I being too much? Am I not doing enough?
It’s very unnerving to feel this self-conscious; I’m not normally questioning everything like this.
But I send her messages, funny pictures, anything I think will make her happy or make her laugh.
I am met with radio silence. It continues into the night, and there I am again eating ramen and staring at my phone, waiting for the screen to light up with her name in bright, bold letters to tell me that yes, she’s fine, yes, she still wants to kiss me.
But there’s nothing, and it eats away at me.
So, I distract myself with reading. I read about Dean and Erin, their game of cat and mouse, of will they-won't they, their chance encounters, secret rendezvous’ that clearly shouldn’t happen, giving into the desire and lust and eventually feelings until- until the end of the book comes, and I realize I have nothing more to read, nothing more to distract me.
Worst of all, I’ve technically won the bet, and I don’t know what to do with that information.
The next morning, I go in for my shift hoping to see Georgie’s face greet me at the desk, sprawled across the counter with her nose in a book or a crochet project as she listens to a book in her headphones.
But it’s Abi with that same ‘what can ya do’ face, and I know that there is no possible way that I am making it through another day of radio silence, not knowing what’s wrong and if she’s okay or if she’s avoiding me.
“Abi,” I start, just as she says, “I’ve got the store today, kiddo. Go to her.”
I feel an instant flood of relief, my heart thumps hard, and my body goes cold, tension leaving me with only the remnants of fear dissipating and hopefulness returning.
“Thank you,” She must hear the relief and urgency in my voice because she pats my cheek with the fondness of a grandmother.
“Thank you for caring about her.” Abi smiles, “Now get going, tell my girl I’m thinking of her.”
“I will. I’ll keep you posted.” I make to leave but turn back. “Thanks, Abi.”
She flashes me a knowing smile and wink.
Tucking the book under my arm, I am off, a man on a mission.
Her apartment is only a few blocks away, it makes sense how quickly she gets here and why she’s always earlier than me.
I decide to text her that I am on the way, so that she at least has time to stop me if she doesn’t want me there.
When I get to her building, I try her buzzer, but it fails.
I try again, but it also fails and goes to her voicemail.
I hang up, looking for something, anything that can help.
I catch my reflection in the glass pane, skinny jeans and a blue v-neck Georgie said she liked once.
My hair is haphazard, I look like I haven’t slept in a hot minute, and I don’t even care.
I turn back to the buzzer board, hoping for a sign.
The sign is a literal sign that comes to me a minute after perusing the tenant list.
Wanted!
Volunteers for the community BBQ.
Needed:
- grill master
- activity coordinator
- donations of food, drink, etc. for sharing
- anything else you think would be helpful to make the BBQ a hit!
Call Franny - the most super superintendent
The number is dialling out before I can think twice.
“Hello?” The familiar voice is on the other end of the line and I almost panic because I don’t want to feel like I am intruding or overstepping in any way.
“Franny?”
“Yes? Who’s this?”
“Sorry, it’s Noah? I’m Georgie’s—”
“I know who you are. Hi! Um, how did you get my number?”
“It’s on the barbeque volunteer sheet in the building?” I say innocently.
“You live here?” She asks, confused.
I sigh, “No, I’m in the lobby. Sorry, I know that sounds creepy, but I’m really worried and trying to see if Georgie’s okay, she hasn’t been to work in a couple days and she’s not answering her phone and I’m starting to panic.”
“I’ll be right over.” She hangs up before I can say anything else.
True to her word, Franny comes to the lobby from inside the building.
She was likely in her own apartment, judging by her casual outfit of jean shorts and a flowery tank top, her hair piled atop her head in a half blonde-half purple bun.
She’s a similar height and curves like Georgie’s, and her makeup is dolled up to the nth degree, bright pink and blue eyeshadow and matching lipstick.
“You are—” She clicks her tongue and smiles softly at me, “Georgie picked well.”
“Thank you?”
“Oh sorry, I totally sounded like a creep there. It’s been a long day. I’m Franny, but you knew that… So, Georgie hasn’t really spoken to me in a few days either. She was kind of peeved at me for something that is totally not my fault but—”
“Franny, can you take me to her?” I focus her attention on the goal at hand.