Chapter 24 Passive Aggressive Fruit Throwing
Twenty-Four
Passive Aggressive Fruit Throwing
Nora
The moment his front door clicks shut behind me, I don’t walk to my car—I flee like an Olympic sprinter. My keys slip from my fingers twice before I finally get the door open. I slide into the driver’s seat, start the engine, and hit the gas. My pulse is still hammering. My lips are still swollen.
“What am I doing?” I whisper into the empty car.
You’re having sex with Miles Kayson and pretending it wasn’t the sweetest thing in the entire world.
A few blocks away, I pull over and slam the SUV into park. My forehead drops against the steering wheel. Once. Twice. Three times. “Get it together, Nora. This isn’t real.”
I exhale a shaky breath. God—the way he felt under my hands. The sounds he made when he lost control. And the look he gave me afterward—half terrified, half reverent. I groan and press my palms to my face.
This is for him. Not for me. So he can build confidence. So he can finally date the woman he actually wants. Not the one with a chaotic life, a studio apartment that desperately needs a deep clean, and a mother she’s terrified of losing. Miles deserves someone like Maggie. Not me.
My grip tightens on the wheel until my knuckles pale.
He wanted the lessons. He asked for the lessons.
My stomach twists. He needs to know where to put his hands.
How to kiss without second-guessing himself.
How to not overthink every moment so he doesn’t blow it with her.
And I’m just… helping. He’s smart. Kind.
Patient. And so far out of my league it’s almost laughable.
“He wants her,” I whisper. Not me. Maggie. The woman he asked me to help him pursue. The woman he thinks he might have a chance with if he just learns the right moves. I swallow hard. “So get it together. Don’t mess this up for him.”
But as I pull away from the curb, the truth claws at the back of my throat.
It wasn’t practice. In fact, it stopped being practice a long time ago, but I’m not the end game.
I’m only the temporary bridge to fix his problem.
And along the way, I gave him the spiciest lesson yet.
And the worst part? I liked it. I liked it way too much.
The next morning, the Porter’s aroma of hops and fresh lemon wafts around me.
It’s the odd in-between state before the crowds arrive.
Sunlight barely reaches past the front windows, catching on the half-polished bar top.
Lach stands nearby, a glass squeaking softly in his towel as he dries it.
A lemon slips out of my grasp and goes flying, smacking Lach in the chest before bouncing to the floor.
He looks down, picks it up, and drops it in the trash. “If you have a problem with me, you can just say it. There’s no need to passive-aggressively throw fruit.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I just… had a long night.”
Rylee turns from the taps, one hand on her hip, eyebrow raised. “Okay. Spill.”
I blink. “Spill what?”
“You’re off,” Lach says. “Like off-off. Not normal Nora-off. More like your body showed up, but your soul wandered off and is hovering anxiously in a corner.”
My hand slips, and I nearly drop another lemon. “What—I—no. My soul is firmly in my body, thanks.”
They exchange a look.
Rylee leans closer. “Did something happen? Is your mom okay?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly. “She’s fine. Nothing happened.” I pause, then add too fast, “Absolutely nothing happened.”
Lach snorts. “People only say ‘absolutely nothing happened’ when something absolutely did happen. Did you and Beck finally hook up? We saw the flirting the second you two locked eyes. It wouldn’t be Porter’s without at least one bar hookup.”
“No. I didn’t hook up with Beck.”
“Okay, then was it Jake?” Rylee whispers. “He’s been… mildly less grumpy than usual. Did you bang the grump out of him?”
I shake my head. “No. But I agree—he has been slightly less grumpy.”
“Then it has to be someone else.” Lach taps his chin. “But who? Who else has been hanging around the bar?”
I groan into my hands. “You two are relentless.”
“We’re your friends,” Rylee says brightly. “Relentless is our love language.”
I cave with a sigh but only crack the door open. “Okay. Fine. Miles… and I… had a thing.”
Rylee perks up instantly. “A thing?”
Lach leans in. “Define ‘thing.’ On a scale from mildly charged eye contact to seeing each other naked.”
I wave my hands frantically. “No! Not like that. Well—yes. But also no. It’s just… practice.”
They both stare at me.
Rylee blinks. “Practicing what?”
My face goes up in flames. “Dating.”
Lach clears his throat. “And…?”
I fake-cough into my hand. “And other… things.”
Rylee grins. “Okay, you know what? Good for him.”
“Good for him?” I repeat indignantly.
She shrugs. “Miles deserves some kisses.”
I stare at the floor, mortified and way too warm. “Anyway,” I mutter, desperate to change the subject, “it’s not like that. I’m just helping him so he doesn’t crash and burn on future dates.”
“Future dates with you?” A wide smile spreads across Lach’s face.
“I hate both of you.” I grab my phone off the bar and open the OneDate admin dashboard. Which I immediately regret. Miles’s profile—the one I helped him polish—is suddenly blowing up with new matches.
Lach peers over my shoulder. “Ooooh. Look who’s Mr. Popular.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “That’s…” I swallow. “Great. That’s great for him.”
Rylee narrows her eyes. “You don’t sound thrilled.”
“I am thrilled.” I’m not thrilled. I’m not even a little thrilled. “He deserves this,” I add, forcing a smile. “This is what he wanted.”
“Isn’t fake dating Miles kind of interfering with that goal?” Lach asks, gentler now.
“No,” I say immediately. “No interference. No problem. We’re just helping each other. It’s fine. It’s—fine.”
Rylee and Lach share a glance. Then Rylee leans her elbows on the bar, her tone softening. “Sweetie… it’s okay to feel weird about it.”
“I don’t feel weird,” I lie.
“Are you jealous?” Lach asks.
I glare at him. “I’m not jealous.”
Rylee lifts a brow.
“I’m not,” I insist—too fast, too loud, and absolutely unconvincing.
Rylee tilts her head. “So if one of these women asks him out, and he says yes, that’s cool with you?”
My breath stutters. “I—” The words jam in my throat. When I finally manage to speak, it comes out stiff. “It’s his life. He can make his own choices.”
Lach snorts. “Nora, you two aren’t practicing anymore.”
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head too fast. “He deserves someone smart. A woman with her life together. Not—me.”
Rylee’s expression softens. “You’re scared.”
“I am not scared.”
She leans in and lowers her voice. “You’re terrified.”
My fingers curl around the edge of the bar. Miles—with someone else. On a date I trained him for. Using the hands I taught him to place on another woman. My jaw clenches. “I just…” I swallow hard. “don’t want him to get hurt.”
Rylee squares her gaze on me, brows raised. “So you want to protect his heart…” she leans in, “or yours?”
Heat creeps up my neck. I don’t answer. I can’t—because answering would mean naming something I’m not ready to face yet.
Instead, my gaze drifts to my phone on the bar, the calendar widget staring back at me.
Four days. The number pulses loud in my head.
Four days until family game night. Four days until I have to show up and pretend I’m not already in over my head.