Page 63 of Meet Me at the Metro

I exhale a long breath to calm my rising annoyance. “Could we please have a minute?”

“Sure,” she smirks, stepping outside. “Takeallthe time you two need.”

I slam the door shut, and Nora giggles when she finally makes it downstairs. “You find this funny, do you?”

“A little bit,” she snorts.

“She’s not going to let you off the hook with this one. You know that, right?”

“Oh, I know.”

“I’m sorry, I tried stopping her before she got up the steps, but—”

“Don’t be.” Her eyes flash to my briefs. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“For what? Nora, I promise you, I enjoyed myself plenty tonight.”

“But you didn’t get to…”

An innocent blush blossoms on her cheeks, and I can’t help but grin, wanting so badly to hear her say it. “Go ahead.”

“You’re mean.”

“I am not,” I chuckle.

“You are!” Nora glances toward the front door, and I’m surprised when she admits, “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do,” she groans, limping over to fetch her crutches. “My clothes are all wet.”

“So, borrow some of mine,” I offer, pulling her to me. She settles right into my arms, and I appreciate how natural the gesture seems.

“I need to go talk to the advisor tomorrow and get my schedule worked out. I don’t think it’ll look too polite if I walk in wearing the guy-I-almost-fucked-the-night-before’s clothes.”

“Fuck what they think.”

“I need to look nice, Theo.”

“I think you’d look very nice in my clothes,” I say matter-of-factly. Nora gives me a fed-up stare, not amused in the slightest. I sigh, “Fine. What about tomorrow night?”

“I can’t,” she frowns. “I have a piano lesson tomorrow night.”

“Hell, I could give you lessons, Nora. Didn’t you know? That’s what I’m majoring in.”

“I had an inkling. Sothat’swhat you’re studying atGildenhill.Thanks for clearing up another mystery.” A lovely smile spreads across her face. “Good to see you letting that guard of yours down a little bit.”

The words are unsettling to hear because the thought of her breaking through my defenses and discovering my past makes me actually want to vomit. It’s too fucking heavy—too fucking much.

She immediately notices the change in my demeanor.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to press any buttons or push too hard.”

“It’s alright,”I mutter.

I don’t blame Nora for being curious; that’s her right, but I’m not ready to tell her everything. I’m not ready for her to know why my head’s so fucked up the way it is—not yet, and quite frankly, I don’t know when I will be.

I force the subject away from myself as I ask, “Can you tell me something?”

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