Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
He was frustrated and angry and I read into it when I shouldn’t have. It was such a rookie move to think he wanted what I had wanted for quite some time.
Wait.
Wanted?
My chest stirs, and I have to focus on keeping my breathing steady.
It seems Chase has to, as well. His body is stiff beside me, his shoulder rubbing against mine with his every calculated inhale.
He’s anxious or nervous or something. Or maybe he’s annoyed I ended up in the middle.
Thankfully, we’re turning onto the boys’ street a moment later.
“What the hell?” Cam sits forward. “I thought the party was down the street tonight?”
“It was supposed to be.” Chase kills the engine. “Let’s see what’s up.”
We roll the windows down as Brady and Mason hop over the side.
“Let me ask the door boy what’s going on.” Mason taps the frame and makes his way toward the house.
Cam decides to hop out and join them on the curb, leaving Chase and I in the truck.
My pulse jumps at the silence, knowing neither of us can sit here long without speaking. What sucks is it will be nothing but wasted, random, meaningless words to erase the discomfort. Before, that would have been ok, normal even, to talk about the game or make a comment about the swag in Mason’s walk. Now it’s just… sad. And that’s pitiful.
“BJ, what up, man? Why’s everyone here?” Mason shouts from grass rather than walking all the way up to the door.
“The Blevens’ house is under investigation for pulling some prank on the sorority behind them. Can’t party for thirty days.”
“Damn.”
Chase opens his door and steps out, offering me a hand.
When I don’t move, a grim smile curves his lips. “It’s just a hand, Ari.”
A low, nervous laugh escapes, and I nod, slipping my palm into his.
When my feet hit the ground, his fingers don’t release mine, and we look to each other.
It seems like he has something to say, but I know better.
He won’t say a word.
With a withdrawn smile, I gingerly pull my hand from his, already turning away. “Let’s go see what the others want to do.”
As I glance up, my feet freeze in place.
Noah stands at the top of the porch, staring right at me.
I raise my hand in a small wave, averting my eyes as something that feels a lot like guilt knots inside my stomach, and I’m not sure why.
That might be a lie.
Mason steps up with a groan. “You guys want to go back to your house?”
I glance around, seeing girls and guys filing in from all angles of the street, settling on Cameron.
She crosses her arms, yawning into the air. “Yeah, I don’t want to party.”
A warm hand meets the small of my back, and I look over as Noah slides up beside me.
“Hey.” I wrap my arm around his waist, hugging him, and only after the fact, do I realize this might be the first time I’ve done so.
He’s warm and solid and smells like… Noah.
Like fresh cotton and clean sheets. Like the winter’s breeze and pine, a hint of mint mixed in.
Noah releases me, nodding his chin at the others. “Just find out about the house switch?”
“Yeah, I guess we’re headed back to our place.” Cam shrugs.
Noah’s eyes slide my way, and after moment, move to my brother. “You guys want to come up instead?” He pauses before adding, “All of you.”
“For real?” Brady grins. “You want to bring us lowly fuckers into the captain’s quarters?” He teases.
My brother laughs.
They all seem to agree, but I find myself frowning, and I don’t realize it until Cameron is elbowing me in the side.
She bulges her eyes at me briefly, and I drop mine to the sidewalk.
I don’t think I want to be in Noah’s space with them.
It’s always only the two of us, other than the occasional pop in of one of his teammates, and I like it that way. I want to keep it that way.
The others, they’re involved in every aspect of my life, and while I love that about our group, I don’t want to share the one thing I have outside of them.
I don’t want to share my time with Noah.
With them, we’ll talk shop, drink beer, and watch ESPN or Ninja Warrior. I always loved those night, but I don’ know.
With Noah, it’s just… different.
I’m Arianna Johnson, not Mason Johnson’s little sister.
I like it.
I need it.
I need—
Noah fingers brush along the back of my arm, and I meet his gaze.
“We’ll order in.” He speaks with purpose.
You see it, don’t you?
His thumb glides along my elbow as if in answer.
Noah knows what’s going on in my head. He’s telling me it’ll be fine, that we won’t share our fun. We won’t cook together or chat about nothing and everything. About things that don’t matter and things that do.