Page 85 of Aria

I had foolishly quit my job without a second thought, with no backup plan. I would be starting back from square one, no better off than I was when I’d walked out on Ian Masterson five years ago. How had I allowed myself to become dependent all over again?

Had I learned nothing?

The realization made me feel ill.

“I can’t believe he’s using.”

Noah’s words broke through my self-deprecation. He pulled back, but was still close enough that I could feel his breath against my face. “What do you think he was on?” I asked, looking up at him through watery eyes.

“Cocaine.”

A chill raced down my spine. “I can’t believe it…”

I never anticipated this—I never expected Devon Sawyer to fall down such a dark path.

He wasn’t Ian.

I wasn’t falling back into old patterns.

He. Wasn’t. Ian.

Had my friendship with Noah triggered it? WasIresponsible for his poor decisions? “This seems so out of character,” I whispered raggedly.

Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “Tad used for over a year. It almost broke up the band. Drugs were never Devon’s scene, but money and fame can be powerful things. He’s never been satisfied… he’s always needed more.”

“What do we do?” I wondered. “We have to help him.”

“Only he can help himself,” Noah said gravely. “And I sure fucking hope he does. Fast.”

I scrubbed both hands through my hair. Part of me couldn’t accept that. I needed to help him—I needed totry. It was in my bones. “He seems to really have it out for you,” I said with a gulp. “Do you think he honestly believes… ?” My voice trailed off, my eyes hopefully finishing the question.

“That we’re sleeping together?”

Blush tinged my cheeks as I nodded faintly.

“I think he thinks that I want to.” His words didn’t falter; his voice didn’t waver. He was staring right at me, so unabashedly.

My breath caught.

Do you?

It was on the tip of my tongue, but God, I didn’t have the guts to ask. “Rosa… she was talking to me earlier. She also thinks there’s something going on between us.” I studied him, monitoring his micro-expressions. “Or… that there should be, anyway. It was crazy talk.”

Noah’s eyes dipped. “We’re an enigma. We’re something people can’t understand.”

That made so much sense.

And… no sense at all.

“What are we exactly?”

That was the million-dollar question—as if my relationship with Noah could be explained away in a simple word or phrase. As if there was an appropriate title we could bestow upon ourselves.

There wasn’t. There couldn’t be.

We simply just…were.

Noah found my eyes again, his own flaring with something heated. A yearning of some kind. A carefully-veiled poignancy. “We’re whatever you want us to be.”

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