Page 5 of Falling for Fury

Noah

I pull up out the front of the Parks Play House in Matt and Ava’s swanky suburbs, and I sit and stare at the entrance. Why the fuck am I at a kids’ 5th birthday party, let alone on a Saturday? “Noah, you are a twenty-nine-year-old bachelor in New York City, and here you are, at a child’s party?” I say to myself in the silence of my car, wondering how the hell a catch up with my college roommate brought me here. It has been a while since I saw Mia in person, that I guess, at the thought of her name, I feel a small pang in my chest. I never really let the thought of children affect me; I have no plans to settle down. Love? God no. But with Mia’s big, brown, I-melt-Noah-into-a-puddle-every-time puppy dog eyes, here I am.

Opening the door to the Play House, I instantly search for Matt and manage to run straight into someone. Recovering my footing, I spin to apologize and lock eyes with a five foot blonde woman with a scowl on her face. A very captivating scowl, so intense I forget the word sorry.

“Um hello? Watch where you are going!” She scoffs at me before turning on a heel to walk out the door.

As the door opens, a musky-strawberry soap smell snaps me from my stupor and I jog after her, “Hey, sorry, I didn’t see you as I was walking in.” Because at six-foot-five she didn’t even make it into my eyeline.

“I am a whole ass human, not an ant. You should be more aware of your surroundings.” Her retort is laced with rage, and I am almost certain she mumbles the word pig under her breath, but I don’t even care. Struck dumb, literally secured in the ground, as she continues to walk away from me. Can confirm she is correct, emphasis on her description of whole ass. Damn. I grin to myself and jog after her again. Goodbye dry spell.

I catch up and stop in front of her. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” I try to soften my face and avoid the obvious ogling. Try, being the key word here. She doesn’t say a word.

“Are you always this amusingly sardonic to strangers? I’m Noah, by the way.” I plaster on my best smoulder. Perhaps I can skip the sleazy bar vibes tonight and end the lull in my sex-life.

Holding out my hand in the hopes of shaking hers, but she stares at it, then at the smoulder. No hint of amusement to her face, just disgust.

Huh, my game is not usually this off.

I intensify my grin and try to add a sparkle in my eyes—honestly, I still don’t know what Caleb means when he says that—but it clearly earns me some points, as she releases a sigh and rolls her eyes. “Addison. Why are you at a kid’s Play House anyway, stranger?” She crosses her arms, and I swear I can see the rage emanating from her. A very sweet strawberry rage because that mouth-watering sweetness is definitely coming from her, and she looks so seriously at me that it feels like she sees through me, causing a shiver to rake down my back.

“I’m a friend of Matt’s. Matteo, Mia’s dad. We go way back; I hadn’t seen Mia in a while, so he invited me along,” I say with a wave of the hand, trying to appear casual and not at all like I am flustered by this striking woman.

“Why are you at a kids’ party?“ I ask with a touch of playfulness and secretly praying it isn’t because she is a parent of a child here. Single mom is not my vibe.

It is not lost on me that this tiny blonde—Addison—is drop dead gorgeous. Her tiny figure is complemented by her small curves and, from what I can tell, she has runner’s legs but a cyclist’s ass.

“Mia is my niece; Matt is my brother-in-law,” she replies, annoyance dripping from her, and I cheer internally that she has no minions of her own. I stop myself from reminding her that she ran into me. Short people are always so grumpy.

“Ah, you’re one of Ava’s sisters. Nice to meet you.” I attempt another handshake and hope she doesn’t notice my eyes snaking down her body and back up to her eyes.

Busted. Head tilted slightly, scowl growing more intense by the second, I did not get away with it. She pushes past me and heads to Matt’s car.

“How about a drink? To apologize?” She stops short of opening the car door and spins to pin me dead with the angriest eyes I have ever seen. Fuck, she is hot. Why is rage turning me on? I should talk to a therapist about that.

“Buy me a drink?! You run me down like a snowplough and you want to buy me a drink? What kind of horrific 90s rom-com-frat-house-meet-cute do you think this is?!” she shout-whispers at me as her face starts to turn a shade of red. Her tone and her borderline-adorable metaphor-comparison have my guts twisting and brain evacuating. I have no idea what to retort, and I have never been one-upped in a conversational pissing contest.

I open my mouth to respond but she continues, “Also, this is a kid’s Play House. They have juice, soda or water, so I am not sure what ‘drink’ you think you’ll be buying me.” Her scowl only deepens.

“Okay, that was impressive. ‘90s rom-com-frat-house-meet-cute’ is a new one for me. I think I might use that.” Her raging stare grows, but doesn’t leave my face. Furious green eyes that feel like a raging forest just daring you to get lost in them. Who is this woman, and why has Matt never mentioned her before? I mean, surely “my sister-in-law is pint-sized Godzilla” would have come up in conversation before?

While I think the display of anger and ability to banter is cute, the rage is grating, and I want to cut the tension or just cut the fuck out of here ASAP.

“Look, I just wanted to apologize. We don’t have to get a drink. It was by no means anything but a platonic offer from one stranger to another, to apologize for the… snow ploughing.” I reference her previous description, try to paste on a polite smile, and count down from five before I spin on a heel and forget this strange interaction. For all her sexy-sass, I can still take a hint.

She huffs a breath and closes her eyes for a beat. I’d almost pay money to know what is going on in that wrathful brain. She heaves another sigh and snaps her eyes back to mine. Scowl in place before she turns to Matt’s car, pokes around inside before turning back with a phone in hand. “Suit yourself,” she grunts.

“Fantastic. Looks like both our lucks have changed today,” I say with as much playfulness as I can get away with.

She scoffs in return and mumbles, “Luck. Right.” She shuts the door, turns and heads straight to the playhouse without so much as another look in my direction. I stay quiet as I turn and follow that strawberry musk back into the playhouse.

When we make it back inside, we find a table amongst the other adults in attendance but as far away from the tiny germ-spreading mini-humans as possible. I bring over her raspberry soda and my bottled water, and I place her drink in front of her. “Here you go, sweetheart, a raspberry soda for the luckiest girl on the playground,” I say, trying to poke fun at her height but also the fact that she is an adult, a grumpy one at that, and ordered a fucking raspberry soda.

“Don’t judge me.” Her eyes sweep the area, and she slinks back into her chair mumbling the rest. “The bubbles and the flavor make me feel joy.”

I have literally no words.

“Do you typically make it a habit to run people over and tease strangers about what brings them joy?” Her tone is mocking as she uses my previous taunt against me. She stares into my soul with her perma-scowl while playing with the straw of her drink.

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