Page 70 of Defend Me

I used to roll my eyes when she’d say that—it’s so cheesy and I always felt it was an excuse for how she could fall for someone like Dad. But maybe I’m starting to understand the power of opposites attracting.

“That’s nice,” Kent says, but the words are laced with condescension. Indignance flames in my chest.

“Isla is a successful baker in her own right,” I say.

“What like on Instagram or something?” Kent rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s interested in money, Siobhan. I’m surprised you’re defending her. I would have thought you, of all people, would be trying to get him out of that relationship.”

“What are you talking about?” I demand. The only people I’ve met who place money above all else are the ones who already have it. The Kents of the world. Isla seems pretty content to live above a flower shop and sell baked goods online. She’s not suddenly dripping in diamonds and Prada just because she’s dating Caden.

“You know how things work in our circles,” he says, sweeping his arm out at the leather-covered booths and polished mahogany tables surrounding us. “You know how much reputation matters in business. Who we date is just as important as how we dress or where we invest. Image is everything. Sure, you can screw thelocal paperboy, but you don’t bring him home to meet the parents.”

He’s talking about people like Charlotte, and Mrs. Greerson with all her chutzpah, and Jake just trying to keep his business afloat.

He’s talking about Noah.

Something in my chest snaps. I don’t want to be here anymore—on this date, or at this club, or any of it.

I pretend to check the time. “Sorry, Kent, I’ve got to go.”

He looks shocked. “Wait what?”

“I’ve got a big day at the office tomorrow,” I say. “Thanks for the drink.”

I leave him slack jawed at the bar as I head out into the cool evening air. There’s a buzzing in my ears and my palms itch. How many times have I engaged in those kinds of conversations with people like Kent? Never realizing how condescending or out-of-touch I must have sounded. Like a real asshole. How dare Kent talk about Isla that way, judging her when he doesn’t even know her. I’m about to text for my car service when I stop—a yellow cab is headed down the street and I instinctively throw my hand out to hail it. I give the driver my cross streets and glare out the window.

Just because the people I’ve surrounded myself with my whole life are arrogant jerks doesn’t mean I have to be one too. Not anymore.

I’m still fuming when the elevator doors open, and I storm into my apartment. Noah is on the couch watching ESPN and he looks startled when he sees me.

“Hey,” he says. “You’re home early.”

I slam my clutch down on the island.

“Um, bad date?” he asks, switching off the TV and standing up warily.

“Who is Kent to judge my brother’s choices,” I fume, as I start pacing back and forth across the room.

“I don’t know,” Noah says, taking a few steps closer. “WhoisKent?”

I steamroll ahead. “He thinks women are just after men for their money. What fucking century is he living in?”

Noah frowns. “But you have your own money.”

“I’m not talking about me!” I cry, throwing my hands in the air. “I’m talking about Isla.”

Now Noah looks really confused. “O…kay?”

“Kent doesn’t even know her. So he can miss me with his judgmental bullshit, like Isla is some sort of gold digger. I mean, you said it yourself, right? Caden and Isla belong together. They fit.”

Noah is looking at me with a bemused expression. “Yeah,” he agrees. “They do.” He clears his throat. “I take it your evening didn’t go as planned.”

I storm over so that I’m right in front of him. He must have showered while I was out. There’s a trace of freesia in his sunshine scent and his hair is damp and curls at the ends. “I can’t believe I wasted my time on someone so…sosnobby, so cruel, so utterly…” All the fight goes out of me then. I gaze into Noah’s eyes bleakly, feeling an unexpected surge of shame. “That was me, wasn’t it. That’s how I used to be. How I used to think. No wonder you hated me.”

The dent I love so much appears between Noah’s brows. I want to smooth it out beneath the pad of my finger. He’s so much closer to me than I’d realized. I can see a tiny freckle beneath his left eye. “I’m sorry,” I say to him softly. “Noah, I?—”

But I don’t get to finish my sentence because suddenly, Noah’s arms are around me and his mouth crushes against mine.

It’s like suddenly, I can breathe again. Like the air has become fresher and clearer than it was only seconds ago. My lips part and I inhale this man, the scent of him, the warmth of him. I clutch his face in my hands, my fingers raking through his beard, as something primal takes over, the need that’s been writhing insideme freed from constraints, the shackles I’ve bound myself with breaking apart.

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