Say You Swear

Finally home, I strip out of my clothes and head for the shower.

The second the warm water soaks into my scalp, Cameron’s voice reaches me from the hall.

“Hey!” She knocks twice and opens the door to slip inside. “How was the workout with Brady?”

“About as successful as you’d expect.”

“How many times have they told you to stick to jogging?”

“Too many to count.” I smile, massaging shampoo into my scalp. “How’d your test go?”

“Good until I got to the stupid essay question, but I don’t think it’ll hurt me too much. I basically made up a bunch of shit and worded it like a mastermind, so I’m hoping he just gets confused and gives me the points anyway.”

“Sounds like a solid plan.”

“I thought so,” she jokes. “Hey, so, I’m going to dinner with some of the girls from the first floor. I can wait for you to get ready if you want to come?”

“No, I’m going to stand here with my eyes closed for a solid ten minutes, and then it’s spanx game strong.”

“Sounds like a blast.” Cameron chuckles. “I’m going to change and head out. I’ll be in late; I think Trey’s picking me up from the restaurant after for a movie or something.”

“K. Love you.”

“Love you.”

Cam takes off and I soak in the shower until the water runs cool. Slipping into a pair of spandex shorts and an old varsity T-shirt Mason tried to toss out, I make my way to the kitchen.

My stash of meals isn’t exactly low, but I’m in the mood for something fresh, so I drop onto the couch, deciding to text Noah.

Me: my freezer sucks right now.

I set my phone on my chest and begin scrolling through the new movies on Prime. A couple trailers in, my phone beeps.

Romeo: Running low, are you, Juliet?

Me: I’m running on empty…

Romeo: Taking it back?

Me: That’s the great thing about music, Romeo. It’s timeless.

Romeo: Kind of like Shakespeare?

I can’t help but laugh.

Me: Yeah, Noah. Just like Shakespeare.

I wonder if he knows how twisted the real story of Romeo and Juliet is?

Me: I happen to have the necessities to make college girl spaghetti. Meaning I have a can of cheap sauce, meat, and noodles. Want to come over and make sure I don’t burn the place down?

I bite at my lip. He could have plans and that’s totally fine.

Maybe I should have asked what he was doing before I invited him over?

Maybe he’s with a girl.

Maybe… he’s with Paige.

I frown but shake it off when my phone beeps again. I squeeze it, but now I’m too nervous to look at the screen.

“Screw it.” I hop up and make my way back to the kitchen, deciding even if he can’t or doesn’t want to come over, I’m cooking. It’s not like I don’t help Cam make stuff for the boys a lot, usually I’m the utensil grabber or box opener, the stirrer and stuff, but still… I help. Plus, Noah’s taught me some basics, so yeah. I can make it by myself.

Only, I don’t want to make it by myself.

Once I have everything lined up on the counter, I flatten my palms and stare at it for a while. With a heavy huff, I pick up my phone to check his message. Instantly, my smile breaks free.

He’s on his way.

Less than thirty minutes later, we’re settled in my kitchen as a nice little change.

“Why are you doing that?” I stand on my toes, trying to peek over Noah’s shoulder, making him laugh. Turning slightly, he gently moves me aside, so he has room to bend his arm.

“You put salt in the water to help season the noodles.”

“That makes no sense. It’s in water.” I hop onto the counter next to the stove. “Won’t it wash away or dissolve or something?”

“Or soak into the noodles themselves,” he teases as he sets the spoon down next to me.

I roll my eyes playfully, pick up the spoon, and place it on the small saucer meant to hold it.

Noah turns to the bag he brought with him, pulling out a can of olives, fresh mushrooms, and something green.

He looks at me and grins. “You can turn a dollar can of sauce into something worth eating with just a few extra ingredients.”

I watch him prepare it all and stir it into the simmering sauce. “Another tip from your mom?”

He nods, and while it takes him a minute to share more, he eventually does. “We didn’t have a lot of extra money, but she always found a way to make cheap taste expensive.”

“How do you know what tastes good together?”

“Google.”

A laugh spurts from me, and he chuckles, continuing with his instructive cooking.

I love how he talks me through each step.

“You should always start the sauce before the noodles, the longer it simmers, the more the flavors come out, but we’re doing this the quick way.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear, watching him. “You know I meant what I said before about the chef thing. I really think it’s something you’d be great at.”

Noah glances up at me a moment before looking back to the pot. “I appreciate that.”

“Did you really cook dinner with your mom all the time?”

“Every night.”

“Yeah?” I grin, resting my elbow on my knee, my chin on my palm.

“Yep. I’d go home after practice or after games, and she’d be getting home from work right about the same time, so we’d make something together. Sometimes it was nothing more than grilled cheese, and other nights we’d ruin a couple batches of risotto until we got it right.”

“So, on game nights, instead of going out with your friends after, you’d go home and make dinner with your mom?” I ask, my voice giving away my thoughts with my stomach full of flutters.

That’s the sweetest thing.

“Don’t get me wrong, I went out.” He chuckles.

“But after dinner with your mom.”

“Yeah, after that.”

Even though he’s not looking at me, I nod. “You were good, though, weren’t you? You were a good kid?”

Noah’s eyes are on me now.

“Yeah, you were good.” I smile softly. “And you’re doing all this for her, school and football. You push yourself to be the best you can, so she can see that from you. So she knows you appreciate her and all she did for you.” His brows pull to the center, and he shifts toward me. “Because she gave you everything she had to give and more, and you want to do the same for her.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if I let her down, not when she was always there. Not when she gave me everything she could, and made me who I am. I owe it to her to do my best with what I’ve been given.”

“You haven’t been given anything, Noah,” I say quietly, a small smile on my face. “You earned what you have, and that’s something you should be so proud of.”

Noah’s chest inflates, and he turns back to the sauce. He clears his throat, takes the wooden spoon, and stirs, then lifts it to his lips, blowing gently.

He steps in close, holding it in front of me. He’s done this before, many times. Every time, really. So why does a sudden rush of nerves swirl through me?

I open my mouth, and he slips it between my lips. My fingers gingerly wrap around the stem of the utensil, and he releases it. Stretching my torso, I set it down, and my body slips slightly.

Noah’s quick to push close, keeping me from sliding off the countertop, his firm, large hand instantly locking around my upper thigh, steadying me.

My eyes fly to his, my breath catching in my throat. The distance between us has been completely erased, and he doesn’t seem to want to put it back.

His nearness, his touch, it’s unexpected, and I can’t deny the way my pulse spurs to life. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

Slowly, his rough palm leaves me.

“Good?” His voice is deep and raspy, his attention locked on my mouth.

“Yeah. Noah?”

He looks up.

I want you to kiss me.

I freeze at the thought, my eyes popping wide as if I shouted my desire out loud, and my cheeks burn out of control.

He sees it, but he turns to the food before his grin breaks free.

I watch as he puts the final touches in our sauce, drains the noodles, and grates a small mountain of parmesan cheese. He then pulls the garlic bread from the oven and cuts it into small pieces.

The preciseness of his movements, the flex of his arms, the focus on his face, him.

I can’t look away, and when he turns, catching me staring, he stops moving.

Spaghetti bowl in one hand, bread bowl in the other, he smiles, soft and easy. Thoughtful.

I should look away, but instead, I move closer, my eyes locked with his.

There’s an ache growing within them, each second that passes.

Was Cameron right?

My brows pull in as I try to figure out what’s happening here. Within me.

All around me.

Noah…

His looks my way. “You want to eat in the living room here too?”

“Yeah. Noah?”

He tips his head.

“Do you want to kiss me?” I rush out, and then I freeze.

So does he.

He doesn’t move, blink, or breathe.

Noah stares at me, deep into my eyes, and swallows hard. “Since I met you.”

My skin prickles, my stomach flipping like I’ve done a dozen cartwheels. “Really?”

“Yeah, Juliet.” Blindly setting the bowl down, he slips closer. “Really.”

My spine tingles, my limbs jolting as his palm meets my cheek, slowly gliding up, until the pads of his fingers are in my hair, his thumbs caressing the edge of my bottom lip

A shiver runs through me, and Noah’s lips twitch.

“Kiss me,” I breathe. Please.

“Fuck.” His eyes squeeze closed, his forehead falling to mine. “You’re killing me.”

“But what a way to go.”

His chuckle is deep, and when it fans along my lips, my hand shoots up to grip his wrist.

Noah’s chest rumbles, causing the muscles in my core to clench.

I want him to kiss me, to devour my mouth with his own.

I want his tongue to slip inside, discover the taste of mine, and commit it to memory as mine does the same.

I want him to move me the way he wants, however the hell he likes, and I want him to haul me closer than I’d think possible.

But Noah’s lips don’t move.

And when I try to open up for him, to beg without a word, he shakes his head against me.

I open my eyes, finding his still pinched tight, as if he’s fighting himself.

His pulse beats wild at his temples, and for a solid thirty seconds, Noah stands frozen until, finally, a heavy exhale leaves him.

He steps back, his gaze finding mine as his knuckles feather along my jaw. He stares with a tenderness I’ve never known eyes could hold. It’s raw and painful, beautifully confusing.

My heart stops, jumps, and I can’t breathe. I can hardly feel my own limbs.

What’s happening to me?

A knowing smile graces his lips, but I’m not sure what he’s figured out, because I’m lost.

Finally, he speaks again.

“I can’t kiss you yet,” he rasps, his voice thick with desire, causing my toes to curl in my socks and confusion to swirl in my mind.

Embarrassment swells within me, but before I can shake my head and attempt to backpedal my way out of this, Noah shakes his, having anticipated my reaction.

“I said yet,” he whispers gently, shifting nearer. Want whirls in his eyes, but they’re drawn tight with torment. “Trust me, I want to.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause I’m getting the opposite vibes right now.”

Noah’s chuckle is instant and adoring, and I bite the inside of my lip at the sound.

“I’m sure.” He smirks, but it slowly smooths out as he pins me with a soft, yet stern expression. “In case you haven’t figure it out yet, there isn’t a thing about you I don’t like. Nothing.”

“…but.”

“But a loss as big as you might be too much for me.” His voice drops to a whisper. “So I can’t do what you’re asking me… not yet.”

“I don’t…” I trail off, swallowing the sting burning up my airway.

I don’t understand, but the longer I stare into Noah’s blue eyes, the clearer it becomes.

The calm understanding of his gaze leads me where he intended, and a sharp pain knocks against my chest.

Chase.

I’m not sure why, but shame falls over me, and as it does, I realize that’s the point.

Not the shame, but the fact that I don’t fully understand where it’s stemming from.

It might be the fact that I realized what his concern was without his saying it aloud.

It might be because I’ll always love Chase.

It could be because the thought of him still hurts, even if it’s nothing like it was before.

It might even be because I can’t remember the last time I thought of him at all…

All I know is it has nothing to do with my desire to kiss the man in front of me.

But that doesn’t make it any less complicated.

I understand what Noah is asking, and it only strengthens his character more.

Noah Riley is a good-ass man.

What if he was my man?

My cheeks heat, and I tear at the inside of my cheek. “You know what I think this sauce can use?” I try to change the subject.

It’s obvious.

His smile widens, stretching over his beautiful face, and I’m blushing again. “What’s that?”

“A kick.”

“A kick?”

I give a curt nod, spinning on my heels.

“A little something called… ” I open the drawer on my right, lifting out two old packets from Mountain Mikes. “Crushed red peppers.” I lift a brow. “Also known as crushed red peppers, in case you didn’t know that,” I joke.

“I had no idea.” He plays along, picking up the bowl of now lukewarm spaghetti, leading us toward my couch. “You might be onto something.”

We’re half a bowl down when he looks over.

“What?” I ask over a mouthful of French bread.

“For the record, that about killed me, and it was a one-time thing that will never replay itself.” His lips pull into a one-sided grin. “So next time you ask, be sure, because I won’t deny you again.”

“Say you swear.”

A laugh flies from him and he nudges my leg with his own, shaking his head as he turns back to his food. “I swear.”

I smile into my bowl and just like that, everything is fine.

As I think that, I realize it already was.

There was no awkwardness that followed, only a moment of mortification on my part that Noah quickly washed away.

It’s always like this with him. Simply, effortless.

Once our bowls are empty, Noah turns his body toward me, so I do the same.

After a moment, he says, “Tell me something.”

I pull in a lungful of air. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

I freeze for a split second, my stomach muscles tightening, and a low laugh leaves me.

“Hm,” I think. “I like comedies.”

“I know.”

“I like pasta.”

He shakes his head. “Already know that too.”

“Okay… I don’t like flowers.” His brows rise. “Or I do, but I think they’re wasteful as gifts. Overpriced just to be tossed in the trash a couple days later.”

“Noted.” He chuckles, an expectant look on his face.

“More?”

His nod is slow.

I laugh again, and with a hint of bashfulness I share something else, something he definitely doesn’t know.

“My uh, my favorite color is blue.”

Noah’s blue eyes sharpen, and he holds mine a long moment, and when the grin that follows is far too charmingly cocky, I toss a pillow at him to erase it.

He chuckles and we settle into the cushions.

We spend the next several hours eating popcorn, chatting about our childhoods and the things we miss.

By the time he goes home, it’s after three in the morning, and before I’ve got the door locked behind him, I’m already looking forward to next time.