Page 10 of Until Then

Today.

Even if it hurts.

A door squeaks on the hinges down the hall.

“Greer,” I say through a hiss, “I think he’s coming.”

“Haze, don’t hang up, tell me where you?—”

“I’ll text you.” I disconnect the phone the moment Noah steps into the rising sunlight.

Gosh, he’s edible. His messy hair stands on end and his stubble is darker. As promised, he wears the cowboy pajama pants but he opted out of a shirt. Truly, I should thank him for the show of his flat stomach, the V-shape carving down below his waist line, and those divots of abs Greer talked about.

Noah flashes me a bright grin and rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Morning.”

“Hi.” My voice is rough.

“Want some coffee?” He strides over to me, looking like he might kiss me.

I turn my head and let his lips graze my cheek in a way that doesn’t seem intentional.

“Um, I actually just got a call that one of our horses is sick. I, uh, I better get going.”

Noah leans against the edge of his countertop. “That sucks. Do they think the horse’ll be okay?”

Why does he have to seem like he cares?

Maybe he does.

I blow out a slow breath. Someday I’m going to learn not to trust so easily. Today ought to be that day. He’s famous. High profile. I’m not his type. I’m a simple, no-strings attached conquest.

And I’m wholly ashamed of my own stupidity for thinking my life was about to change last night.

“I’m sure she’ll be all right,” I say. “But my grandma, she can’t handle it on her own, and I’m the one who usually deals with all this stuff, you know?”

He dips his chin in understanding. “Well, let me drive you.”

Drive me? Not call a car. Not a simple, ‘okay, see you later’? He wants to drive me.

He’s either very, very good at his job, or he’s genuine and I’m about to walk out on something awesome because I can’t stomach the idea of having my heart crushed all over again.

“No, that’s okay. I’ve already called a car,” I lie. I take a step toward the hallway that leads to the front door. “Well, um, thank you. For yesterday. It was great.”

Noah smirks, the same delicious smirk that ensnared me before. He runs his knuckles down my arm. “I agree. We’re doing this all out of order, but can I get your number?”

“You going to ask me out to one of those productions put on by those theater kids?”

He chuckles. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want to call you, too.”

My heart cracks. For a moment, I thought he might give up a bit more about himself. But he seems content to keep the truth of it locked up.

Perhaps he has his reasons, just like I have mine, to be so heartily against immersing myself into the lifestyle of Hollywood.

I don’t know how to get out of the question, so I slide my phone over and say, “How about you just put your number in, and I’ll call you.”

Noah takes up my phone. “As you say, Wildfire.”

“Wildfire?”

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