Page 55 of Wanted You More

This time, he’s quiet. Too quiet. Even from where I’m eavesdropping, I can feel the tension growing between them. It seems like it’s been there for a while, and not just because of me.

“Look,” Noah says softly, “I know this isn’t ideal. But it’d make me feel better knowing she’s being watched over. Today is a hard day for her, and she doesn’t always have people looking after her the way she deserves.”

Bailey uncrosses her arms, her posture loosening. “I think it’s amazing how much you care about people. Really. It’s one of the many reasons why I love you.”

My nostrils twitch at the “L” word.

I’ve always struggled with it.

Hearing it.

Saying it.

Pressing my lips together, I take a deep breath and try not to let it get to me. It’d be weirder if they didn’t love each other. They’ve been dating for a while. I don’t know anything about relationship timelines, but it seems like they’re determined to make it work.

Gripping the blanket until my fingertips sting, I hear Noah say, “Then don’t make this into something it isn’t. Please. I know how you feel about my relationship with Austen, but it’s complicated.”

I can tell that strikes Bailey because her voice changes. “The thing is, there shouldn’t be any relationship to begin with. That’s what you don’t get. You two barely talk anymore. It’s time you accepted that some people aren’t meant to be in our lives. You can’t save everybody, no matter how much you want to. Austen might just be one of them.”

In almost no time, Noah tells her, “That’s one thing you and I will never see eye to eye on.”

My eyes widen at how hard his voice is.

Bailey laughs maniacally. “Onethingor oneperson? Because there’s a clear difference, and you’d be right. We’ll never agree on her.”

Her.

Me.

A throat clears, another sigh is released, and something is murmured. Then Noah says, “I think you should head home for the night.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Bailey. Just…” There’s a pause. “I’m sorry, but yes. I’ll call you later, okay? Let me know when you get home.”

She stares at him, mouth open in disbelief. Then she turns toward the bedroom and sees me watching her. From here, I see the irritation flaring her nostrils. But she doesn’t call me out for being awake.

Instead, she storms out.

I listen as a door opens and closes with her exit, cringing a little at how hard she slammed it. Holding my breath when I hear mumbled words coming from the man standing outside the door, I force myself to close my eyes and pretend I’m asleep.

I hear the bedroom door creak open.

Then the footsteps near the bed.

Those fingertips that coaxed me into the car dance lightly along my cheekbone before disappearing.

I expect him to leave and close the door behind him, but then the end of the bed dips down and a hand cups my ankle over the blanket.

I’m too afraid to open my eyes, so I make myself sink further into the mattress and feel how his thumb brushes over my ankle in caressing movements.

Eventually, I fall asleep.

When I wake up a few hours later, Noah is still at the end of the bed, sitting up while sleeping with his hand holding my ankle.

I watch him for a while, mesmerized with how his chest lifts and lowers and how soft his breathing is. He’s at peace. Calm.

The contact helps me drift back off with a content smile curling my lips.

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