Page 98 of Mr. Picture Perfect
Noah peers at me over my dog. “You’re so thoughtful.”
“I really wanted us to cuddle under the stars.”
“We’ll be able to see the moon in a little bit,” reasons Noah. “Oh, unless it’s already gone by.” He glances around, confused.
I prop myself up on an elbow, watching him. I think this may be right at the top of my list of experiences I was hoping to share with Noah: stargazing. Of course my dog is an optional part, but I told Noah I made a promise to her several weeks ago that I didn’t quite fulfill, and Noah said he knew how important promises were to me and didn’t want to be the reason I broke one with my dog.
I thought that was so sweet of him to say.
But it also made me worry whether this is his thing at all. If he would find it romantic or boring. I’m not even sure he likes dogs. He doesn’t like rabid raccoons. Then again, I’m not sure who does. Maybe Malcolm’s boyfriend Samuel might like raccoons, whether they’re rabid or not, considering his whole life is dedicated to the care and treatment of animals, being a vet tech and all. I think my brain might be rambling nervously a little bit. Why am I nervous?
Maybe it’s because this is the first time I’ve invited Noah here since that interview that didn’t happen. I’ve been less-than-subtly avoiding bringing him here for a number of reasons. One of those reasons is asleep in her room right now. The other one is at work.
I should probably take the hint and stop making plans at all.
“I’m having a great time with you tonight, Cole.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“The last few hours were unexpected,” he notes, “and we’ve had our fair share of … odd experiences these past few weeks. But this moment right now, it feels special. I know how much your dog means to you. Apparently this moment means a lot to Anthony, too. I’ve gotten to spend some time with Porridge twice now.”
A relieved smile spreads over my face. “I’m happy to hear it.”
“I always wanted a dog.” Noah sighs. “But my mom is scared of them. Well, big dogs, not the tiny yappy ones that nip at your ankles, which seems backwards to me. And my dad is too busy to properly care for one, so that would leave all the responsibility to me. Plus the expense.” He turns onto his side and rubs Porridge’s head, who is so deep in sleep with her head on Anthony’s gently rising and falling chest, she doesn’t even look up. “I’m beginning to realize the benefits we could’ve enjoyed … had we been friends back in school.”
I smirk at him. “You mean us skipping class to secretly make out in the locker room?”
He wrinkles his face. “With all that musky stench?”
“Make out under the bleachers?”
He squints at me. “With all the anthills and litter?”
“Make out in a bathroom stall?”
That earns me a full-on eye roll from him.
I lean in toward him. “I’d make out with you anywhere, Noah Reed. Anywhere in the world.”
He gazes at me, dropping all his disgust and trading it for that hopeful expression he only makes when I capture him by saying anything that has to do with bringing our lips together.
Just like the photo shoot today, when we seemed eager to be pressing each other’s buttons in all the right places.
Full ignition. Pistons firing. Engine rumbling to life.
It’s like a spell.
Or a car, apparently.
“You’d make out with me over Anthony and your peacefully-sleeping dog’s heads?” he asks dryly.
I lean forward even more, bringing my face to his. “With all of this wet dog aroma?” I ask with mock disgust, teasing him.
“Are you calling Anthony a dog, too?”
“Am I?” I lean in more.
Our mouths grow close.
