Page 3 of Bond Strength

“Yeah. Scorpio hits next week,” I said, annoyed at myself now for engaging. Yet my mouth moved of its own volition. “My date was more interested in talking about astrology than astronomy, which should’ve been sign number one we weren’t compatible.”

“Ah, she didn’t love riveting conversations about black holes?” Noah’s eyes sparkled.

“I hadn’t even gotten into black holes, but anyone who doesn’t think an event horizon like that is fascinating isn’t someone I want to spend a long time with. It’s a good litmus test for individuals.” I took another sip of my beer, the crisp taste sending a burst of calm through me.

“Never change, Declan.” Noah shook his head, smiling, but I couldn’t help the prickle of frustration at his words.

I hadn’t.

He had.

“Yo, Noah, are you going to join us or what?” one of the guys from the bar sauntered over. He gave me a nod, but that was it. And this was the interaction I’d grown used to. When Noah became the high schoolQB, someone always dragged him away. I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t need to be able to read facial expressions because I had ears. They didn’t want him hanging with the weird kid.

Noah chewed on his lower lip and let out a sigh. “I promised these guys drinks. Sorry.”

He stood, and a flicker of annoyance pushed through me again. Ridiculous because I’d tossed it into the garbage where it belonged.

“See you around, Declan.”

I offered a nod.

It wasn’t until he’d left that I realized my shoulders were tensed.

This was the exact reason I avoided Noah at all costs. He left me feeling unruffled like I wore my shoes on the wrong feet.

The server swung back over and dropped off my burger—thankfully, with no lettuce. I took a bite and tried to focus on the burst of savory meat and salty bacon on my tongue. I had my dinner, and I could continue working on the equation I’d been tooling with before Noah interrupted.

As much as I wanted tonight to be the one when I found someone who’d accept me as is, it wasn’t to be.

Not with my date of the week, and not with Noah Langston.

Chapter two

Noah

Today, I was supposed to be chilling at my house and breaking out the most recent Zelda game. The work week had been longer than normal because my boss asked me to take on extra jobs last minute. Which meant two attempts at hookups had gotten canceled, and any other opportunities to relax had gone out the window.

Mom had called about a chip in their outer wall that a recent storm had taken off, and then Olivia showed up in a tizzy because she was figuring out dresses for her bridesmaids for her wedding a year and a half out. She vacillated between big pom-pom yellow dresses that would make her bridesmaids look like Pac-Man and purple floofmonsters that would make them look like Grimace. Either one would guaranteed be mourned over at great length once the pictures got finalized.

Once Emily descended with her latest breakup sob story, I knew I wasn’t getting out of here.

My chance to decompress rotted in a dank corner at this point.

“Rick seemed like such a decent guy.” She tightly clutched a mug of chamomile tea Mom had made her. “He told me I wasn’t like other girls.”

“Oh, no, no, no, girl.” Olivia leaped from her seat. “That’s a huge red flag. What the hell is wrong with other women? Fucking nothing.”

My fingers itched to grab my phone and text Sebastian to see if my brother could substitute for me and I could plan an escape. Emily was nineteen, and she was in her “I can change him” mode, which I hoped would end soon.

I’d been through a slut phase that hadn’t abated, but I sure as hell wasn’t trying to change anyone.

Maybe try to figure out how to crack the code on a certain guy, but that had been a long-term project I wasn’t sure would ever come to fruition.

Emily flung herself back on the couch—thankfully, without the mug of tea—and wailed. “I’m going to die alone and get eaten by cats.”

“If you’re a pussy lover, you could always try batting for the other team,” Olivia teased. She would know. She was marrying her childhood bestie, Lauren, and they couldn’t be happier.

“But he took my favorite yam,” Emily moaned into her forearm, which she’d slung over her face.

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