Page 48 of Speed Crush

The hallway to the office is narrow. Too narrow for two people to walk without brushing against each other. And we both know it.

The space between us crackles.

I take a step toward the office door.

But his voice stops me cold. "You need his approval?"

My spine straightens. "What?"

"Scott," he says, like the name is a curse. "The decorations. You asked him like you were waiting for a yes."

"It's just our tradition. I was just making sure he’s available," I snap. "He's been helping me decorate my middle school rooms since I became a middle school teacher."

"You smiled like it meant something."

"Itdid. It meant I didn't have to climb on a chair alone, thank you very much."

Noah closes the distance between us. He’s not crowding me, but he’s definitely not backing off. His voice stays calm, but the edge in it scrapes under my skin.

"You listen to him," he says, and there's something almost vulnerable beneath the accusation. Like he's asking why Scott earned that trust so easily when he is fighting for every inch.

"I trust him."

"Do you trust me?" His voice cracks slightly, the question hanging between us, stripped of his usual confidence and charm.

For a moment, I glimpse something beneath his perfect exterior—a vulnerability that mirrors my own, a need just as desperate.

“Do you trust me?” Noah presses again. Lower. Tighter.

I want to. Maybe I already do. And that’s what unsettles me the most.

"I don't trust myself around you." I blurt out, then cringe at my own confession.

"That's not an answer, Songbird."

"Okay!” My voice lifts, edged with frustration.

“I trust that you believe what you said, about us. But intentions and forever are different things. And that’s my most honest answer!" I retort, half upset with him, the other half at myself.

"Test me then. Give me something to prove." Noah challenges, leaning in.

"Time. That's what I need. And that's exactly what you don't have to give." I pause.

He watches me closely.

"Plus, you barely know me," I whisper—but even as the words leave my lips, they feel hollow. Because somehow, in the few electric moments we've shared, he's seen parts of me I've spent years hiding.

"I know what it feels like when I want something I'm not allowed to have." His words land like a physical caress.

Because I hear it—the same truth I’ve been trying to outrun since the moment we met.

I know this isn't casual for him either.

I also know I have been intentionally refusing to see his heart.

“I’ve had women throw themselves at me since I was sixteen,” he continues, voice rough. “Models. Celebrities. Fans. They wanted the image. The status. The story.”

He swallows hard, eyes still locked on mine. “And I don’t blame them. That’s how I lived—fast, easy, no questions.”

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