Page 27 of Finding Noah
I’d trusted that she knew what she was doing and that, when the time was right, we’d come out with our engagement announcement.
God knew, our parents were putting enough pressure on us.
Well, more, my family. They needed the money. They needed the share of the company that the Frankstons were going to gift me upon my marriage to their daughter.
I still resented my parents. They’d overspent for years and when facing bankruptcy, had sold thirty percent of their share in the business to the Frankstons. So instead of the fifty-fifty our grandparents had created, we were now minority owners in the business. A continuously growing business.
Still not enough for my parents.
When I married Laura, the Frankstons planned to gift me twenty percent—which my parents planned to take possession of immediately.
What a mess.
Aclusterfuckas Noah liked to say.
Since I never swore, I stuck withmess.
I climbed into bed with a weariness I hadn’t felt for a long time. Even when we’d put in those long days driving across the country, I didn’t feel as tired as I did tonight.
When Stormy leapt on the bed to keep my company—against Noah’s rules—I didn’t have the energy to shoo her off.
Or maybe, just as likely, I wanted the company.
Sleep was a long time coming.
But come it did.
Chapter Eight
Noah
Icame home that night. I was still right fucking pissed off. But I came home.
Partly because I had nowhere else to go and not enough money to waste on a motel for the night.
Parly because I missed Stormy.
Mostly because I didn’t want to worry Christian.
Because he’d worry. He always worried about me. Up until today, I’d taken that for granted. Now, though, I needed to be more aware of it. Need to be careful of how that affected our relationship.
I heated the ribs and ate them while standing at the breakfast island. I expected him to come down and admonish me at any moment about eating properly—sitting so I could digest the food. Or some other stuff he was always carrying on about. Stuff I often questioned. Like, did I really digest food better while sitting down? And, while I was on thattrack—who had given him that advice? If he told me a medical journal, then I’d give it due consideration.
If he said his mother, I’d likely toss the advice. Mrs. Carter might come across as a nice person, but I didn’t trust her. She and Mr. Carter never had Christian’s best interests at heart. I knew way more than I should have about the whole Laura debacle. I’d never share with my best friend how I knew what I knew—more that I needed to watch out for him.
I was world-weary.
He was naïve and trusting.
Well, except Leroy. He hadn’t trusted my ex.
He’d been right.
To my shame.
Which might’ve been the other reason I’d come home. I wasn’t certain I bought the whole assertion about me only dating Black men or his logic about my mother. Or at least I didn’t agree with his underlying assertions of the reasons why we did what we did. Had I dated only Black men? Yes. Did my mother stick to white men? Yes. Did we both pick abysmally? Yes, to that as well.
So, should I be giving Soren a second look? I suspected we would compatible—in bed, at least. And he loved his dog more than life itself. That definitely counted more than looks or employment or anything else that someone might consider important. That said…he was a damn attractive man. Just…not for me. Even if Tibby wasn’t in my class, I probably wouldn’t go out with Soren.
