Page 33 of Backslide
And he’s back. Back in his swagger. Thank God.
Still, he holds his breath while he awaits her response.
“Oh,” she says, surprise and then amusement in her eyes. “Sure. Try me. After all, I might still be feeling the effects of today.”
“So true.”
And then he leans down and kisses her on her soft cheek, not in a perfunctory sort of way, but with intention, so that he can take a beat to notice her orangey perfume again. He watches her shiver slightly at his touch as he slowly returns to his full height.
“Talk to you later,” he says.
“Talk to you later… Noah.”
His name on her tongue threatens to take him down.
And when they part ways, both turning back at least once to steal a glance, he feels like he just hit a game-winning grand slam. Maybe even a season-winning one. He feels that light.
A warm breeze blows past, rustling the leaves of the English elm above.
Eyes twinkling, the doorman nods as Noah returns his pen, and he nods in response.
And making sure that precious gum wrapper is safe in his pocket, Noah heads back the way he came.Nowhe could go for some video games.
Then he needs to get home. He’s got a phone call to make.
7NELLIETODAY
When I feel his eyes on me from across the deck—sense him like I always could—I can’t help but turn to catch him. And when our eyes lock, I feel like I’m falling down a wormhole into a different me. A me from decades past—who still thinks brown lip liner and matte lipstick is a good idea. Who communicates with this man across rooms. And, for just an instant, I kind of want to keep falling.
Maybe Noah just happens to be surveying the scene when I look up. Maybe I’m reading into his expression—which seems to hold all the things at once. But the familiarity of those changeable hazel eyes, the way Iknowthem like I know my own even after all this time, how they become conductive with that soft blue denim shirt—I feel something slip inside me and I have to look away.
I still light up under his gaze. And it’s no good.
We are stuck in that suite together. Because I cannot with Damien. That’s too close for comfort in a different way. I don’t want to live on guard. But I also cannot complicate things even more.
The anger feels safe. Like an unshakable boundary.Keep the anger, I tell myself.
Though I’m pretty sure that’s not what the life coaches say.
I shake my head clear. Shake Noah out of it like a pebble from a shoe. It’s just the passage of time, running rampant through me, pushing my buttons. Creating that ache in my chest.
With that small act, I feel a sting radiate from my upper arm. It wasn’t until I tried to get dressed for evening cocktails earlier that my shoulder lodged an official complaint. Or maybe I just didn’t notice the severity of the flare-up until then because, before that, I was busy reeling.
Now, Sabrina catches whatever flickers across my face before I can quite return to normal. She catches everything. Even a thing like this—that isn’t a thing.
She tilts her head. “So, I know you’ve got Alfie at home but how is seeinghimagain?” she asks, lowering her voice, as her wife, Rita, sets off for another drink. Rita drinks like a fish and holds her liquor like a beast.
I steel myself for the interrogation. “Seeing who again?”
Sabrina gives me an impatient look.
“Fine,” I say. “It’s fine.”
She arches an eyebrow. And it’s a good one. Extra dramatic above her cat-eye liner. The best in the biz. “Fine?”
“Fine.”
“Fine like fine, but really not fine?”
