Page 75 of Stop and Seek
No. Maybe not that.
They weren’tthatkind of close.
Yet.
Sleep was becoming a thing, though. After his jaunt from Cleveland to Eunice and back again in the thunderstorm from hell last night, he was running on fumes.
Paying attention to the road in his condition deserved a damn trophy. Noah had one hand on the wheel, the other glued to his phone, watching the screen like it owed him something. Ohio drivers were always trash, but Saturday nights? It was like playing bumper cars with your eyes closed. Even California’s standstill traffic was better than this crapshoot.
Would itkillthemto use a turn signal?
It had been forty-seven minutes since he texted Theo.
Forty-seven minutes of absolute silence.
No “fuck off,” no thumbs-up emoji, not asliverof “yes I saw your text.”
Noah didn’t even realize he’d been gnawing at his lip until the screen lit up withsomeone else’snotification. He ripped off the beginning of a scab. That hurt a little.
Shoving the phone into his pocket, he gripped the steering wheel harder, the tension traveling up his arms and into his temples.
It’s fine. Theo’s probably asleep.
Or he hates me.
“He doesn’thateme. He can’t.”
Jesus. Max was going to throw this in his face the second she laid eyes on him. She’d say he was “doing it again.” That she “wasn’t comfortable where it was headed.” Max could say whatever she wanted because she didn’tget it.
Theo wasn’t some weekend project or whatever label Max had stuck to him—he was... different.
Skittish, sure.
Nervous, fine.
But the way he flinched at kindness, the way hebristledat being seen—it wasn’t standard, adult behavior. Theo didn’t know how to deal with someone whogave a shit. That was the obvious thing here.
No one closed themselves off to the world unlessthe world made them do it.
He was probably used to being left, not followed home at 2 a.m. to make sure he drank water and could relax enough to get a good night’s sleep.
Because that’sexactlywhat Noah had done for him, even if he never asked out loud.
Theo was a stray. An angry, skinny-ass cat who tried to claw Noah’s eyes out because he got too close, too quick.
Understandable.
Noah glanced at the time again.
Fifty-six minutes.
Still nothing.
“I am totally fine with this,” he told the rear-view mirror, and his reflection didn’t argue.
When he tried the hotel keycard, the little light stayed red. He tried again, slower this time, like maybe the slot needed some foreplay.
Still red.
