"There's burrito bowls in the fridge, I made extra for you when I meal prepped this morning."
Noah looked up from his phone and jerked his head to the fridge. I wish I could say his husky voice didn't affect me, but I'd be lying.
It hurt like fuck, and I only had myself to blame for it. Noah stretched out on the couch, spreading his legs wide and rubbing the inside of his thigh with his palm. Almost like an invitation. But last night our arrangement ended, there would be no more incredible sex between us.
"Yeah, thanks, you didn't have to do that," I said as I shrugged my jacket on. Noah made a noise, half snort, half grunt, and he raked his gaze down my body. My skin prickled under his intense gaze. I'd spent the rest of last night, and most of the day holed up in my room. I didn't know how I was going to face Noah after our arrangement ended. My skin was tight over my bones, still feeling the phantom heat of his touch. He'd left lingering marks on my neck, my collarbone, and I wished they were permanent. In the same breath, I wish I'd never let him touch me in the first place. Because now we were in this uncomfortable limbo.
"You didn't have breakfast, or lunch, right? Besides, if I left you to your own devices, you'd fade away." His tone was teasing. The tip of his lips begged me to play with him.
"I'm good. Heading out to get an early dinner with Zane, but I'll see you at Sandy's later?"
My heart clenched in my chest. I still hadn't recovered from the sight of Noah with Sandy, and how perfect they looked together. He'd left with her and didn't come home last night. Well, what did I expect? I was nothing but a body to Noah, a placeholder for the buxom goddess who interrupted us last night. Noah's knuckles turned white around his phone and his expression soured.
"Zane?" He said the name like a curse, and I stiffened. Last night, seeing him with someone else was like a needle through my heart. I didn't harbor any illusion that Noah would have the same reaction. I shrugged again, hoping I seemed casual. Inside, the contents of my stomach turned acidic.
"I thought we'd go to the party together," Noah's eyebrows jammed together in an adorable frown. I quelled the need to placate him. My throat brimmed with too much stupid, useless hurt.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
Noah tossed his phone to the side and stalked toward me. My heart crashed against my chest as his gaze dropped to my lips. Was he thinking about kissing me? I put my hand up, hating how my fingers trembled. If I let Noah touch me now, I knew I'd never give him up. And it was too heavy a burden to hold all this love for him and have no place to put it.
He would never care for me like I did him.
When we crashed and burned, inevitably, Noah wouldn't be the one churned into pieces. The flames of our ill-fated arrangement would leave my heart blackened. The stupid organ was already scorched, and I had to preserve the rest of it.
"Bran, can we talk about last night?" Noah jammed his hands in his jeans, and for a moment, I considered it. There were lines of contrition on his face, an open hopefulness I wasn't sure I understood.
"What is there to talk about? Did you enjoy your date with Sandy?" My tone was waspish, and I scowled. I had no claim on Noah, no right. I was turning into one of the flings he hated so much. Unable to accept what he'd told me from the beginning, that he didn't do commitment. I wiped my face back to careful blankness. Noah scrubbed his hand down his face.
"Bran."
"Let's just go back to the way we were before."
Noah shuffled closer, his hands clenching at his sides. I opened the door and the hungry, hopeful look on his face shuttered. Because anyone could walk past and if they heard the soft, cajoling tone he was using, they might wonder why he was directing it toward me.
"Bye," I muttered. I hated everything about this. Why was Noah even here? I thought he'd be balls deep in Sandy, leaving me to nurse my foolish heart in peace. I took a few steps, but a strangled noise from Noah made me turn.
"I didn't enjoy it at all, baby," Noah hung off the doorway, his hands gripped the top of the frame, and his shirt rode up to reveal a slither of chiseled skin. He was perfect. He wasn't mine.
I couldn't keep doing this with him. But why did he keep calling me baby? Why did he stare at me so intensely I might catch onto fire by the heat in his gaze? I shook my head, not willing to address the spark of hope in my chest. I turned my back and hurried away.
Escaping the man I loved, who would never feel the same way.
__
Zane tossed his arm around my shoulder, and I tried to lean into the touch. His fingers plucked at my shirt, teasing like the affable grin plastered to his shapely lips.
"What do you think, Bran?" He tipped his drink up and waited.
"What was the question again?" I cleared my throat, the back of my neck flushed with heat. There were a lot of people at Sandy's party, and we perched on her white marble kitchen island. I took another swig of my drink to hide my embarrassment. We'd been here for an hour now and I hadn't heard a word Zane said. It was kind of hard to think with Noah staring bullets into my head.
"Emily said that bar on fourth served great calamari. I wondered if we should try it out next week? Celebrate our damn assignment being finished."
Sweat trickled down my back, my ears buzzed and the alcohol in my gut seared the tight column of my throat. I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. It would be a date. Zane had flirted with me throughout dinner. We shared a decent wood-fired pizza that my stomach was struggling to hold down now. We talked about our favorite tv shows, and the superiority of brunch, especially if it was bottomless. Zane opened up about his family and how his father hadn't quite been able to accept that he was into men and women.
The entire time, all I could think about was Noah. And the sad way he said baby when I'd left earlier.
I could have had a lot of fun with Zane. I could see the possibilities banked in his gaze. But it was like seeing the future through bars. Because my heart was shackled to a beefy jock who didn't give a fuck about me.
"I'm not a fan of seafood," I made up an excuse. Emily waved to a friend and wandered through the crowd. I let myself follow her slow path, giving myself an excuse to look at Noah again. He sat slumped on a leather chesterfield, balancing a beer on his knee. Sandy leaned over him, her hand flat on his chest like a stamp of ownership. But Noah wasn't laughing with the group of popular people surrounding him.
