Page 33 of Beauty and the Cop
I lean back in my seat. Clear my throat. There are nine thousand things I want to say, but I don't think this is the place to say them, not with a restaurant full of people watching.
"You ready to go?" I ask instead.
Elsie nods, but the motion is jerky and uncertain.
Shit. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that I watch her through the windows.
Did I just fuck this up?
Chapter Eleven
Elsie
The ride home issilent.
Noah looks over at me a few times like he wants to say something as he escorts me to my door, but he stops himself at the last minute every time.
I'm not sure what to say.
I'm not even sure why I froze in the restaurant. I think, maybe, it's because no one has ever said anything like that to me before, at least, not how he did. He said I was beautiful like he meant it, like it was killing him not to admit just how wild he is for me.
Part of me wanted to climb over the table into his lap right then and there. Part of me panicked a little, too. It's probably ridiculous, but there was something in the way he was looking at me that I've never seen before. I want him to keep looking at me like that forever.
But I'm a little terrified that we'll move too fast and screw it all up.
I push the key into the lock and turn it when we reach my porch.
And then I spin around to face him.
"Did you mean it?" I ask, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.
"What?" he blinks at me, caught off guard by the question.
"Did you…never mind," I sigh, turning back to the front door.
"Yeah," he finally whispers, "I meant it, Dimples. You're fucking gorgeous." He blows out a breath. "You completely captivate me. You have since the moment we met. I should have told you weeks ago."
"A-And the rest of it?"
"Yeah, I meant that too." He pauses for a moment. "Maybe that makes me an asshole, but it's the truth. I can't fucking stop watching you. If you're home, it's like I have to see you. I have to look at you, just to remind myself that you're real. I want you every goddamn minute of the day."
My heart pounds like a drum, beating wildly against my ribcage. I want to tell him that I watch him too, that I feel the same way, but the words won't form. They're stuck in my throat, choking me.
Why can't I talk? Why can't I tell him that I'm in love with him? That I watch him the same damn way he watches me?That stalking him through the window has become my favorite hobby?
Because no words have ever mattered more, that's why.
"Goodnight, Dimples," he sighs behind me.
What?
He's leaving?
I turn to look at him, but he's already jogging down the steps, his head lowered.
"Goodnight, Noah." My voice cracks as I slip through the front door, confused and disappointed, my heart aching in ways that don't even make sense to me.
I wanted him to stay.
