Page 88 of Just My Type
Noah squeezes my ankle. “I think it’s been well and truly established that I am the true king of romance. I’ve been romancing you, haven’t I?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t change the subject. The books Noah. You obviously read romance. I want to know about that.”
A light flush blooms on his cheeks, and it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. “What, a guy can’t read romance?”
I shake my head. “Oh, they can, and I think society would be far better off if more of them would. But I’m talking specifically about you. You’ve said enough that I know for sure you’ve read at least some of mine, and the most popular release of the month is right there on your Kindle.”
“All of yours,” he mumbles, gaze darting around the room like he’s nervous.
“What?” I ask, wanting to make sure I heard him right.
He finally brings his eyes to mine. “All of yours. I’ve read all of yours. And listened to all the audios too. Which I guess means I’ve read all of yours twice.”
I grin in victory, the feeling of knowing he read my words thrilling and not at all unwelcome. “I knew it. Tell me everything.”
Noah blows out a breath, setting his empty plate on the table and turning on the couch so he’s fully facing me. “Three years ago, in the bar, I was standing by the back hallway when Brett was being king of the assholes, and I heard him mention yourlittle romance book writing hobby.”
I make a face, letting out an irritated noise at Brett’s favorite insult.
Noah takes one of my hands in his. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s okay, really.” And surprisingly, it is. I’m not sure when it happened, but over the past month or so, the more time I spend with Noah, writing my words, settling deeper into the city that feels more like home every day, Brett and all of his ridicule is slowly losing its potency, even though his incessant texting hasn’t stopped. I don’t know how to explain it, but Noah seems to understand because he gives me a soft smile and keeps talking.
“I told you that, when I saw you that night, I thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. What I didn’t tell youwas that I couldn’t get you out of my head. Not that night, and not for any of the nights after. I never forgot about you.” His eyes go dark, his penetrating gaze searching mine. “Ever, Hannah. We lived in different cities, and you had a boyfriend, and until Jo and Jordan, our worlds never really crossed, but because of what Brett said, I knew you wrote books, so I read them. Every single one, the day it was released. It was almost like I was getting to know you through your words, and I think maybe I was hoping that one day, I would get to know you for real. I loved everything you wrote, and I realized I also just really loved reading romance, so in between your releases, I read everyone else’s releases.” He chuckles a little. “I think maybe I’ve read all the romances at this point.”
I swallow hard, trying to absorb the enormity of Noah’s words. The fact that he thought of me all this time. That he read my books because it was a connection to me. A person he only met once, and not at all at my finest moment. I glance down at our joined hands, the matching rings on our fingers, and my heart thuds against my ribs, because god, this man. This sweet, incredible, thoughtful, sunshine boy. He could have any girl in the entire world, and he wants me. In this moment, it feels like a kind of miracle. When I look up, he’s watching me, the emotion swirling in his eyes making my stomach swoop.
“Just for that I’m giving you a full set of special editions.” I wince internally because honestly, special editions? The man pours his heart out and all I can think to say isI’m giving you a full set of special editions? Someone should take my romance author membership card away, but Noah doesn’t seem to mind my cringeworthy response because he just chuckles and stands from the couch, bringing me with him.
“I don’t think that will be necessary.”
With my hand in his, he tugs me down the hall to the spare bedroom I’ve never been inside before. He pushes open the door and pulls me into the room with him, and I freeze in my tracks as I take in the most beautiful home library I’ve everseen. Three of the four walls are covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves painted dark green, and every shelf is full of books. A lot of romance, from what I can see. Spy thrillers. Mysteries. Memoirs. A book lovers paradise, right here in front of me.
“Holy shit, Noah—this is amazing!” I breathe, my eyes taking in every inch of the space.
He smiles at me, and it lights up the room. “I know, and come see the best part.”
He pulls me over to the far wall, and I suck in a breath because I’m suddenly standing face to face with…my entire writing career. Every book I’ve written, in every cover I’ve ever released. Special edition covers. Limited edition book box covers. The random hardcover I printed fifty of and gave away on my social media for the one-year anniversary of my debut. Stickers. Character art prints. Swag. Everything displayed so perfectly, and exactly how I would have done it myself.
I have no words. My eyes are glued to the shelf, seeing my career through different eyes. His eyes. And it’s so beautiful. My brain goes straight to my publishing deal. The one I still haven’t accepted. It’s these shelves, right here, that make the decision for me. And the next words of the man standing behind me.
“I’m so proud of you, Hannah,” Noah says quietly, standing behind me and wrapping his arms around my shoulders, pressing a kiss to my head. “I love your books. Every single one of them. Reading them over the past few years has been so much fun and such a joy. What you have accomplished has been amazing, and I can’t wait to see what you do next.”
My throat works as I try and swallow, my hands coming up to grip Noah’s arms, tears burning in my eyes at his words. At the way he has been thinking about me, celebrating me, all this time. And now he’s right here, and so am I.
I love you, I think.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
The words are right there. I can feel the truth of them. I justcan’t say them. Not yet. I’m not ready. So, I say other words instead.
“I want you to read some of my book,” I blurt out, before I’m hit with the sudden urge to reach out and grab the words, shove them back in. No one ever reads my books until they’re finished. Words in progress are mine and mine alone. Especially words in progress that have been so hard won. I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “The new book. The one I’m writing now.”
“Reallllllly,” Noah drawls, unwrapping his arms and turning me to face him.
I nod. “Yes. Not all of it. Just some of it. A chapter, maybe.”
Noah grins, as if he knows I need to lighten the mood, just a little. “A spicy chapter? You mentioned you wrote a spicy chapter the other night when you were a little drunk on Cece’s couch.”
