Page 46 of Just My Type
He laughs, digging into his pocket for something. When he opens his hand, I see two very familiar looking silver bands sitting in his palm, and my stomach drops.
“Why are you holding our wedding rings in your hand?” I demand. “How do you even have mine?”
He shrugs. “It was sitting on your coffee table. I grabbed it when you were getting changed. Come to think of it, why was your ring on your coffee table?”
I press my lips together, mildly afraid that the real reason will come tumbling out. The real reason being I put it on a couple times when I was alone in my apartment this week, just to see how it felt to wear it and if maybe it would help me write. I’m not proud. “I just never put it away,” I say casually.
Noah chuckles, like he’s not buying one single bit of my bullshit. “Okay, we’ll go with that. I think we should wear them tonight. Hear me out,” he says, cutting off my protest. “We’re an hour away from home. No one knows us here. It’ll be fun. A little role playing. Husband and wife out on a date.”
“What’s the point of this, exactly?”
He shrugs. “Because we can? Because it’s a little adventure?Because it’s good fodder for your books and it’ll get your creative juices flowing?”
I make a face. “Please don’t ever say creative juices. It’s so gross.”
Noah takes my left hand and holds it up. “I solemnly swear to never use that horrid phrase ever again. Now, what do you say, Han? Will you do me the great honor of pretending to be my wife for the night?”
I roll my eyes, even though I’m biting back a smile. “I don’t have to pretend to be your wife. I actually, literally, am your wife.”
His eyes light up. “Fuck, it’s so sexy when you say that. So, is that a yes?”
I consider my theory that the only time I can write words is after I spend time with him doing whatever insane thing strikes his fancy, and I can’t come up with a single reason not to follow him down this road. “Ugh, fine, whatever.”
He grins and slides the ring on my finger. I suck in a breath at the little buzz of electricity, at the hint of a memory that flashes through my brain when he fits the ring in place. My eyes snap up to his, and he’s looking at me, a knowing gleam in his eyes like he felt that too.
“Here.” Noah opens my hand and drops his ring into my palm. “Put it on me.”
“You can’t put your own ring on?”
“It’s not authentic if you don’t do it.”
I heave a sigh, as if putting a ring on his finger is horribly inconvenient. “Fine.”
Taking his hand, I slide the ring on his finger, getting the weirdest sense of déjà vu.
Fuck yes, Gorgeous. I’m so excited to be married to you.
I blink at the words that come not from Noah now, but from Noah then. A gaudy chapel. A red boutonniere pinned to Noah’s shirt. His lopsided grin and his hair falling across his forehead as he watched me put the ring on his finger. My matching grin,warmth in my chest at the way he looked at me like I was his. The way I liked the thought of belonging to him.
“You okay, Han?”
I shake my head to clear it, bringing myself back to the present. “I’m good. Just weird memories.”
Noah gives me an understanding smile. “They’ve been happening to me, too. Little flashes from that night. We should compare notes. Maybe we’ll be able to piece the whole thing together.”
I shrug. “Maybe. It doesn’t really matter though, does it? I mean, we’re going to get the whole thing annulled anyway.”
Something flashes across Noah’s face that looks almost like…disappointment maybe? But it’s gone too quickly for me to be sure, replaced by a grin and a wink. “Let’s not talk about that tonight. Tonight, we’re Hannah and Noah, newlyweds, and this summer night is ours. So where to first?”
I slide an arm around his waist because even a hint of disappointment in this beautiful man’s eyes is all kinds of wrong. “I’ve always been a Ferris wheel kind of girl.”
Noah wraps an arm around my shoulders and bends, pressing a kiss to my temple like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Then the Ferris wheel it is.”
Ten minutes later, we’re sliding into a red gondola. The seat is big enough for each of us to have plenty of room, but Noah gets in second, crowding my space so we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder as the ride attendant closes the door behind us.
“You know there’s a whole entire seat. You don’t need to sit, like, right next to me.”
Noah answers me by sliding even closer, pressing the side of his body to mine as the ride starts, our gondola rising up in the air. “But I like being right next to you.”
