Page 88 of Echoes of Us

“I’ve tried talking to him, Holls. You know I’ve been trying for months. He doesn’t want anything to do with me. Besides, he’s getting better. At least he doesn’t look at me like I’m killing him anymore. I don’t want to keep screwing him up.”

This hurt.

“You haven’t been getting better. You’ve been way worse since the party at his house.”

“That was just… He needed… I don’t want to talk about this anymore. This wasn’t even the point.” He sounded frustrated.

“Atticus is always the point, one way or another,” Holly said.

Noah sighed. “I just need to get over it, too, and it’s not my fault. ‘Hard to Say I’m Sorry’ speaks to my soul right now…” He walked away.

I didn’t hear Holly’s response or the end of his sentence.

I looked at Georgia, and she gave me a shrug. She seemed like she was sorry.

“Can we leave now?”

“Look at the bright side, Att,” she said with a small smile, “at least you ruined sex for him.”

I smiled back.

That shouldn’t feel as good as it did. I knew Noah was looser with these things, and he was out there in the world getting laid and not just thinking about us. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one struggling with that. Everything bad that happened between us was never related to physical things. Noah and I had great chemistry in that department. At first, I thought it was because I liked him so much and because he was my first everything.

Now that I had tried dating after him, I knew it didn’t come along so easily. I understood why he told me it was different;wewere different. I didn’t think anybody would ever compare to him, and I hoped I was wrong.

Still, it was nice knowing he felt the same way about me.

After that day at the library, I noticed Noah looking at me much more. Maybe I had been purposefully trying not to see it before. During training, I often caught him staring at my legs or arms. His gaze was serious, a startling difference from the playful glances he used to give me. Before, he would always bite his lip around a smile or wink at me. I thought he didn’t think of me like that anymore, but after overhearing him, it was easier to pick out.

One day during training, I heard Hank talking to Noah about his receiving technique. Hank said he needed to keep practicing and up the challenge. Noah nodded along as Hank mentioned the serve of another team that had bested Noah in our last game. He wasn’t wrong; Noah had never managed to catch mine.

“I’ll help.”

They both turned to me, surprised.

“Seriously? That would be great, Att,” Hank said, then paused and stepped closer to me. “Just don’t make it personal.”

I nodded, remembering the last time we had tried this. Noah was very unconvinced, shaking his head as he walked to the back of the court. I took my position and noticed his eyes drifting down to my legs before I aimed for him. The ball hit the side of his arm and bounced. He closed his eyes in frustration.

“Again.” I prepared to serve again.

His eyes drifted down once more just before my aim. He missed. He ran his hand through his hair and moved back.

“Again,” I repeated.

He leaned on his knees, trying to focus. Right before I hit the ball, his eyes landed on my shoulder. He missed again.

I stopped. “Noah.”

He looked at me, upset and frustrated. I walked towards him, and he met me halfway.

“Yeah?” he asked from the other side.

“You keep losing focus before I hit.”

He glanced away, nodding with a frown.

“Pay attention to the ball and what I’m doing—all of me, not just a part. You keep focusing on just one thing.”

---