Page 31 of Reconnected Hearts
“A good place to start might be to stop hiding from her. And if you’re gonna hide from her, don’t do it in a bar. You’re just punishing yourself here, hon.”
“You're right,” I admit, pushing myself off of the barstool. “I have to go see her.” I start to walk away but pause and turn back. “Thank you so much...I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
The woman smiles, the corners of her brown eyes crinkling.
“It’s Lucy.”
Well, if that isn’t fate’s way of telling me that I’m doing the right thing…
CHAPTER17
LUCY
Something has shifted. When Noah finally came back, not only did he reek of alcohol, but also he started acting very strange. At first, I thought he must be drunk, but he didn’t seem to be inebriated in any way. It’s as if someone else has invaded his body.
He’s being kind. Not “kind” like he wants me to notice he’s being kind and praise him for it, but truly, genuinelykind.He doesn’t stare at me or make any dumb jokes—minus the occasional jab at me. It’s like how it was before, only as friends instead of enemies. He pokes fun at my book, and I mock his dumb haircut. It feelsright.
After a long evening of snacking and watching TV (with me on the couch and him on the armchair), we turned in amicably. He took the couch, and I took the bed. Everything was great, and I could finally, painlessly breathe again.
So, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why in the hell I can’t sleep.
No, that’s not right. I knowexactlywhy I can’t sleep.
Noah, his name dances around in my head. I can’t sleep because of Noah.
He’s consumed my thoughts again, just when I thought I was finally rid of him. Have I mentioned I hate his dumb dimples? Because Ireallyhate his dumb dimples.
This has to be some kind of curse. I finally got him off my back and now Iwanthim right back on it.
Howis he doing this to me?
I need a nice, long walk in the cold—outside, where I cannot be tempted by Noah Laurier.
I slide out of bed and pull on my sweater and shoes. I creep silently through the darkness of the bedroom into the pitch black den, where I move by memory to the door. I’m so close. I’m so torturously close. My hand is on the godforsaken handle.
And I can’t do it.
I can’t leave when thisstupidman is right behind me on the couch, not when I want him so badly that I think my heart will literally explode if I don’t see him right now.
I can’t do this.
It’s a bad idea.
It’s cruel.
“Fuck it.”
I march over to the couch and fall to my knees next to it. I can see his silhouette—his large, firm arms. His long, toned back. His sweet, boyish curls that reappear in the tossing and turning of the night. He’s so handsome, it hurts.
“Noah,” I murmur. My hands brush over his arm, tracing the tattoos that are just barely visible in the dark. I make around to his bare chest, running my fingers along five years that have been permanently inked beneath his skin—1981, 1982, 2009, 2011, 2014.
He purrs sleepily, head lolling over to face me. His eyes slowly flutter open, lashes dark against his pale skin. He smiles when he sees me, but then he seems to clock my hand making my way down his torso because he tenses up, his face pulling tight in confusion.
“Lucy, what are you?—?”
“Just one more time,” I tell him. “One more time, then we part ways tomorrow and forget it ever happened.”
Noah doesn’t seem any more relaxed after I’ve finished speaking. If anything, he looks even more concerned. “No. No, you don’t want this. You and I both agreed this isn’t what we need right now. Let's just take it slow and maybe get to know each other? I’d actually love to take you out on a da-“
