Page 122 of Backslide
I purse my lips, amused. “?’Cause it’s that easy. And?”
“The fourth and final rule is that instead of going back to the party, you come back to our suite with me and let me do stuff to you and you don’t leave again until I have to go to the airport in the morning.”
Sounds like heaven—except for the part where he leaves. I push that out of my head.
“Well, I’m going to have to draw the line there,” I say, toying with the collar of his open shirt. “I have a best friend who just got not-married who is going to be not happy if I don’t go back and dance and belt out power ballads with her.”
Noah stares at me hard, like maybe he was joking just then, but he isnotjoking. And he says, “What about the rest of it?”
I look back at him—his bright eyes, his stubbly jaw, the scar on his cheek. And I realize, I won’t say no to him. Whatever happenedin our past, whatever complications exist now, I need to at least be open to finding a path for us to be together. Because all of my resolve has melted. As unlikely as it seemed just days ago, I found the man for me when I was just a teen. And I’m not going to let him go again.
I’m scared. I’m unsure. There are definitely flutters in my chest.
But I have to trust him.
He is not the boy from before—Sabrina told me, Rita told me, Noah himself told me.
And I can see it for myself.
“I will take that all under advisement,” I say with a half-smile.
“I’m going to need some clarification on that.”
“I like you,” I say, even though inside it makes me squirm, even though the words aren’t big enough for what I actually feel. “I like you and I’m willing to try. Is that enough clarity for your stubborn ass?”
He smiles, big now. Smooths a hand over my hair, then tucks it behind my ear. “I’ll take it.”
“Okay. Now let me get dressed before I have a humiliating run-in with a cater waiter.”
“Right,” he says, as if just remembering where we are.
And as we put ourselves back together, as I watch him button his shirt as I pull up my dress, I feel warm inside. There is a light blooming in my chest.
“I’m glad you aren’t in a coma,” I say.
And he shakes his head like I’ve lost it and smiles.
“Should we tell people we’re together?” I ask Noah, as we start back toward the party. “Like, screw it, maybe?”
I sort of want to shout from the rooftops.
He thinks, then shakes his head. “I kind of like having this just be our own thing for now.”
I’m mildly disappointed by his answer even though I’m the one who originally suggested the secrecy, but I accept it and let it go. The truth is, I know he’s right. Telling people will change things. We scatter our re-entry to the party—with a promise from him to carry the carton of orange wine. Not because we’re hiding anything anymore, but because there’s no reason to complicate the night.
We’re feeling good. Why welcome other opinions?
With a single glance back at Noah in the dark, so damn handsome, leaning on his shoulder against the overflow shed, I walk back to the party—hopefully not in too much disarray.
I’m about to start up the stairs back to the treehouse space, when a voice startles me in the dark.
“If it isn’t Eleanor Hurwitz,” says Damien, standing there like maybe he’s been waiting.
“You scared me,” I say, a hand to my chest.
He tips his blond head, laughs. “Nellie, are you afraid of the dark?”
I roll my eyes. But he is not done talking. He isneverdone talking.
