Page 32 of This

“I don’t see why he needs to know,” he finally says. “I’ll send you your ticket info and pick you up on Friday—oh, and if you miss the flight, I swear to God, Bennett—”

I hang up on him. In all the time we’ve known each other, he’s never finished the threat, and today won’t be the day.

Aria has her manic smile plastered on when I head back into the living room. “Noah will meet you for drinks on Tuesday.”

Steve glances up from the TV, ready for me to shut her down.I’mready for me to shut her down. So, it surprises the hell out of all of us when I shrug. “Have him text me.”

Maybe it will make the other texts—six so far—easier to ignore. One day, I’ll find myself in a room with Dane Masters. It will happen, but until then, I’ll do something I’m incredibly talented at. Avoid, avoid, avoid.

Noah’s sweet. A little nerdy,but he has an edge that sucks me in. Our drinks turn into a late dinner that leads us to a rooftop bar for more drinks. I only plan on staying for one. I have work in the morning. After three, I take up residence on the ledge of the fountain in the middle of the roof and send him off for another round. I just wander around, pointing at shit all day anyway.

Noah grins on his way back to me, a colorful drink in one hand and a beer in the other.

I squint at him as he hands me the alcoholic rainbow. “What?”

“Everyone said if I let Aria set me up, I’d end up wanting to jump off a roof.”

“And do you?”

He tucks his black hair behind his ear. “Only if you tell me to.”

When I purse my lips and pretend to think about it, he starts for the edge.

“Stop!” I tell him, pulling him back by the hand. “You’re my ride.”

He chuckles and settles in next to me. His glasses remind me of Liam’s. Behind them, black lashes frame amber eyes. They almost distract me from what I wanted to do before his jumping-off-the-roof nonsense.

“Oh no.” He groans when I pull out my phone. “You’re going to hold a photo session with your drink, aren’t you?”

“Shh. I need to focus.” I set my drink on the stone between us. With my hand on the base, the light glints off my bracelet. All pretty and shit.

“So, I shouldn’t do this?” Noah slides his fingers into my shot at the last second.

I press my lips together to hide a smile, pretending to ignore him, and so they creep farther, past the drink and onto my leg.

“You’re cold,” he says.

The truth provides him the perfect excuse to rub his hand over my thigh. It proves very distracting while I complete my obligatory drunk-girl post.

Once I’ve filtered a worthy picture and tapped out my less than witty caption—taste my rainbow, bitch—I look up. The nerd has all but disappeared, the tan skin and sharp edges taking over and ready to pounce.

I drain my drink. The colors numb my tongue, and I dangle the glass in front of him.

“So, take me home.”

Not taking his eyes off me, Noah tips back his beer bottle until it empties.

Between leaving the bar andNoah backing me into his apartment, I decide the point of my little date exercise is to prove Dane’s not special. I can date. Form an attachment to someone, anyone.

While tiptoeing out the door a few hours later, careful not to wake him, I decideanyonemight stretch it. I don’t want to attach myself to a guy who drives a Tesla. It sounds like a lot of work, always finding charging stations.

The Uber driver cranks nineties hip-hop, earning her tip for not trying to engage with me. She bumps, and I scroll through my phone. I notice Marco commented on my photo from earlier. I check to see what insult he came up with because he always has one. He doesn’t disappoint.You need your nails done.

Nothing but true. I chewed the shit out of them the other day. As I read the next part of his comment, I choke on the new-car smell permeating from the air-freshener hanging on the rearview mirror.

And who. Is. The. Man? You can’t leave forearm porn to drool over and not show a face.

That’s when I realize what a drunk-on-a-rooftop Bennett failed to. I posted the wrong fucking picture. The one I put up shows not only my hand on the bottom of the glass, but also Noah’s arm reaching over, his hand stroking my upper thigh.

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