Page 97 of Aria

Oh my God. I’m having a morning-after with Noah.

When Noah turned to face me, I pulled the covers up to my chin, trying to hide from him—trying to hide from my indiscretions. “Before you say anything,” I began, “I owe you a huge apology.” I refused to look at him, even though I could almost see his brow contorting into a furrowed state. I envisioned his lips drawing into a thin line.

“For what?” he asked. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I forced my eyes in his direction, and ithurtto look at him. It pained me to gaze upon the man I crossed a massive line with.

I almost had sex with him. I’d wanted to.

My best friend.

My belly ached, insides twisting. “I did everything wrong,” I said softly.

How did he not see that? How was he looking at me with anything other than disgust?

Sure, Devon had dumped me, but he was coked-up and not thinking clearly. We hadn’t even discussed things yet.

I messed up.

Noah wasn’t looking at me with disgust, though. He was looking at me, yes—he was staring at me with such an impassioned gaze, I had to pull the covers up farther until they were tickling my nose. But there was no disgust. No regret or animosity.

There was something else.

“You remember what happened?” There was mild trepidation in his voice, and I wasn’t sure what he wanted the answer to be.

“Yes,” I squeaked out.

Oh,I remembered.Memories flashed through my mind of forbidden kisses, entangled limbs, and his face buried between my thighs.

I remembered wanting more. I had wantedallof Noah Hayes.

My cheeks burned, while other parts of me cheered.

“I’m so sorry, Noah,” I rushed out. “I practically threw myself at you. I was just… drunk and upset.”

Noah’s expression changed. He looked… wounded. Like I’d just stolen something of great value from him.

“I’m glad I could be of service,” he snapped. His features hardened, jaw tensing. The familiar sparkle had left his emerald eyes.

“God… I’m sorry I dragged you into my drama.”

“Stop apologizing. You didn’t drag me into anything. You really think you could force me to do something I didn’t want to do?” Cynicism laced his tone. Every syllable was dripping with bitterness.

I swallowed again, my throat sore and scratchy. “You probably felt obligated to comfort me.”

Noah laughed, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. It was a contemptuous laugh that sent a shiver down my back. He sat up and leaned against the bed frame. “Obligated,” he repeated, as if it was the most abhorrent word I could have uttered. It sliced through the air like a crude cut.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t mean to—”

“Just stop,” he said.

Anxiety bubbled in the pit of my stomach. “What?”

“Stop talking.” Noah pulled the covers off and threw his legs over the opposite side of the bed. His head was down, shoulders taut. “I don’t want your excuses or justifications.”

My fists clenched around the blanket. It was the only thing sheltering me from his hostility. He was facing away from me, so I watched as the muscles in his back flexed with indignation beneath the constraints of his white t-shirt. “They aren’t excuses, Noah. It’s the truth. Why are you punishing me for apologizing?”

He was silent as his hands gripped the side of the bed.

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