Page 99 of The Kissing Booth
I stopped in my tracks at the top of the stairs.
‘...want to speak to her.’
‘She doesn’t want to speak to you. I think you’d better leave now.’
‘Not until I speak to her.’
‘No. Now get the hell off my porch before I call the police.’
Noah pushed his way in anyway, and as my dad started shoving him back out, I let out a strange noise – it wasn’t even a word, just a weird squeak that made them both pause and look up at me.
‘What are you doing here?’ I hissed at Noah, scurrying down the stairs while gripping the banister so I didn’t trip in my tiny heels. ‘Noah, what the hell are you doing here?’
‘He’s leaving...’ It was said with all the threat of an angry father. It actually made Noah shift from one foot to the other; he was intimidated or, at the very least, uncomfortable.
I just looked at Noah, waiting for him to answer. Then Ireallylooked at him.
He was wearing a white dress shirt and a slim green tie that was a little haphazardly slung around his neck. He had a black tux, but had paired it with his trademark black boots which he somehow managed to pull off as sexy. His dark hair almost fell into his eyes and looked a little windswept and disheveled.
He scratched the back of his neck nervously. ‘I came to talk to you.’
I sighed and half turned to Dad. ‘Can you give us a minute?’
‘Fine,’ he said after a long pause. He pointed a finger threateningly at Noah. ‘But you lay one finger on her, and I swear—’
‘Dad!’ I hissed pointedly, jerking my head at the kitchen. He glared at Noah again and then walked into the kitchen. I could hear Brad’s music still playing; he was totally oblivious to what was going on down here.
I looked over at Noah, who was stepping out of the front door. ‘What are you doing? I thought you wanted to talk.’
‘I told you, Elle. I’m going to do this right.’
And with that, he pulled the front door shut behind him. I stared at it in confusion for almost a full minute, feeling beyond lost, and then the doorbell rang.
Still baffled, I opened it.
And there was Noah, of course. Holding a white calla lily corsage. On one knee.
‘What are you doing?’ I said, laughing nervously.
‘Elle Evans, will you be my date to the Summer Dance?’
I couldn’t help it – I honestly couldn’t. I burst out laughing. I saw him scowling at me, so I sobered up and bit my lip hard.
Seriously? Who’d have ever imagined Noah Flynn, of all people, the bad-ass (supposed) player and violence junkie, bending down on one knee on a girl’s porch to ask her to the dance? It was just so surreal, it was hilarious.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yeah. So are you going to be my date?’
I wavered. I wanted to say yes, and it was such a sweet gesture too. But I knew I shouldn’t. It would be such a terrible decision to say yes. I’d hate myself for it. And I’d hate myself for saying no...
He stood up then, and looked at me with a little smile, one of those wonderfully rare, infectious smiles that showed his dimple in his left cheek.
‘Come on, Shelly, cut me some slack here. I’m trying, aren’t I? I know I was a complete jerk and I hurt you, and I’ve done and said a lot of things that I regret, and... I’m trying to make up for that here. Please come with me to the dance?’
He held out the corsage to me, and I looked down at the gorgeous, sweet-scented flower and back up to his face. He still had that smile, and a hopeful spark in his blue eyes. I couldn’t say no to that face, could I?
‘I... I don’t know...’ It came out as a whisper. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’
