He spread his hands over the table, looking at his knuckles. His own hands, that should have felt so much a part of him and yet sometimes seemed to belong to someone else. Like when he was running and couldn’t believe what his body could do.
“Running changed things,” Amanda filled in for him. “You’re different from Luke. Running is part of that.”
“I should’ve asked more questions before I weighed my sentence against a two-day vacation from school,” he said ruefully. “Next thing I knew, I was getting up at five a.m. for practice, making smoothies for breakfast, buckling down on homework so I could get it done before I crashed and fell asleep early. I didn’t need to do all that—most people didn’t. But my coach—he put time into me. I guess I started to feel like I had to put in the time, too.”
“I don’t know whether I should say this, but I always thought you were so…” Amanda twirled her fork around, like she couldn’t come up with the word.
“Had a stick up my ass?” he offered.
“You said it, not me.” She speared a potato. “But I get it now. What it means to you. I was always drawing and doodling as a kid. Into anime, comic strips, reading all the time… When I got in trouble, it was for drawing in my textbooks and not paying attention. Finding out that people went to art school, made a living out of design, that you could tell stories through interactive pictures and scripts—it was like this whole world opened that I never knew existed. Suddenly, I felt like I belonged.”
“That’s what it was like when Luke got into graphics, too.”
She laughed. “I guess video game design only attracts the problem children.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Shit, now he felt bad.
She shrugged. “I was okay. As a kid, I mean. Drawing was more of an escape than anything else.”
He put his elbows on the table. Leaned forward. “What were you escaping from?”
“Um—” Her eyelids fluttered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You meant something.”
“Just that it was fun.”
He wanted her to trust him. He wasn’t going to blab to anyone. Not even to Luke.
But he understood what she was telling him, without her saying a word. They weren’t actually that close. This was just breakfast, not a date. They weren’t even technically friends—even if they’d spent more time together in the last couple of weeks than in the past three years combined.
He shouldn’t have said that stuff about growing up, about running. How it made the chaos and uncertainty inside him make sense. He definitely shouldn’t have said anything about Luke. It was a betrayal of his brother and exactly what he didn’t want to have happen. Letting a woman come between them.
Even if it was a woman as funny, charming, and sweet as it turned out Amanda could be.
She and Luke had so much in common. Noah was still the second choice. The accidental lay. He wasn’t in any position to take this further—and neither was she.
He swallowed. Downed the rest of the coffee.
“I should go,” he said. “Let my food settle, and then I have a private client at ten.”
“Oh.” For a second, she looked surprised. Off-put. Then her face rearranged. “I guess I’ll go home, shower, and go to work.”
“Will you be late?”
“It doesn’t really matter.”
Right. Of course it didn’t. Because Amanda did what she wanted, the same way Luke did. They didn’t live by rules and regulations. She didn’t have to be punctual or worry about what others might think.
He wanted to ask what she’d tell Luke to explain where she’d been all morning. If she’d borrow his brother’s sweatshirt and flirt with him and tease him all day.
But he didn’t say those things. He didn’t say anything. He just thanked her for coming to breakfast and headed out, his head spinning in a way no amount of running could fix.
Chapter Sixteen
Amanda sat on her bed, listening to her roommate’s music thump through the walls. Two of her roommates were out, but the third was clearly home. She’d ask her to turn it down, but the beat made her think Penny was probably in there with her girlfriend, and bass was better than sex noises any time.
So, fine. Her roommates had lives, and she was home alone after work as usual. In the past when she’d felt this way, she’d text her friends, hoping someone would be up for happy hour or a movie or a cup of tea or just a funny string of text messages to pass the time.
But her friends were all coupled up now. Even though they still spent time together, it felt different. Like she was interrupting something if she texted just to say hey. And she didn’t want to text them more about Noah.
But left to her own devices, her mind wouldn’t stop reeling.
She’d barely been able to concentrate at work. Luke had asked her at least six times what was up. Not because he thought something was wrong, it turned out.
But because he thought something great had happened.
“You’re, like, super smiley,” he’d said. “Did you win the lottery and you’re not telling me?”
I had a really nice breakfast with your brother, and even if running is still the devil’s work and endorphins are a lie and he was kind of weird and quiet when we left, I still feel surprisingly not awful for someone who set her alarm clock for five this morning.
“I got a good night’s sleep,” she’d lied. “Slept in—that’s why I was late.”
“Okay, first of all, you’re always late?” he’d said, giving her a funny look. “And you never sleep well. You’re always complaining about it. And your usual explanation for being late is—well, no explanation.” He scratched his head. “Also, where’s your coffee?”
“What are you, a police detective?” she’d snapped, already feeling guilty for saying too much, or too little, or lying when she didn’t need to, or not lying enough when she should have covered her tracks. Luke was right. When did she ever come to work without coffee?
Only on days when she’d already had three cups of it that morning, apparently. Because she’d been up for five hours.
But because she’d gone so long already without telling Luke anything, it was too late to open her mouth and come clean. All day, her heart kept doing this off-kilter thumpy thing. It was a familiar feeling: the flutter of a crush beating inside her.
Only today, whenever she’d looked up from her computer, it wasn’t to check out the man sitting in front of her. It was to gaze into the distance and wonder what Noah was doing right then. If he was as distracted as she was from the things they’d said, the way they’d laughed.
How bizarrely, unexpectedly fun it had been.
Luke was supposed to be the fun twin, the one she wanted to be around. The one who made her laugh.
Only now it felt sort of annoying how he kept finding reasons to “bump” into her or try to make some joke. Maybe she didn’t want to be joking. Maybe it had been nice that morning to talk about something real. The way Noah got when she’d asked about running—the look in his eyes, the set of his shoulders. The sense that there was something weighty to the words he’d said. He didn’t toss them off lightly to fill the silence. He didn’t do anything he didn’t mean.
So what did it mean that he wanted to keep spending time with her? Did he like her? Or was he just being nice? When they’d parted after breakfast, he’d given her a quick wave and trotted off to his next appointment. Did you wave at people you’d had sex with?
She sighed and sank into her pillows. Maybe it was a sign. Breakfast was just breakfast. Their run was him doing his job. He’d laughed because that was part of making conversation. She shouldn’t be reading so much into something so run of the mill.
She wanted to text him, but she couldn’t think of what to say that would open the conversation again. Goddammit, she was driving herself crazy. How cou
ld she spend this much time thinking about someone who was going to be out of her life so soon?
But this what was she did, wasn’t it? Thought about people, pined for them, until she got so wrapped up, she couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Couldn’t see the person for who they were. Couldn’t see when it was all wrong for her.
Was she just doing the same thing with Noah that she’d done with Luke—concocting a fantasy that would never be? Obsessing over what she couldn’t have?
She thought about Noah’s lips on hers. The spark in his eyes as he laughed over breakfast. The way he’d stayed beside her for every step around the reservoir, urging her on, even when he had no reason to humor her and plenty of people who’d paid for his attention. None of that felt like make-believe.
I’ve thought it was real before.
But it was different this time. She swore it. No matter how silly she felt saying it…it was real.
He’ll only find another way to hurt me.
But she picked up her phone anyway.
Before she could lose her nerve, she texted: I had a nice time this morning, even if it was an ungodly hour. Thanks for the butt-kicking and the eggs.
She closed her eyes and pressed send.
And then she waited.
She thought that might be it. He was probably with Luke, out, or at home doing something. Packing, planning his move. Sleeping. Maybe he was even on a date—a thought that made her stomach flop like a fish.
But her phone vibrated after only a moment.
NOAH: Anytime.
Amanda’s heart kicked up to see the message—and then fell again. What was she supposed to say to that?
AMANDA: That assumes I’ll ever be able to wake up that early again, lol.
She didn’t have to agonize about it too hard, right? Noah couldn’t break her heart because her heart wasn’t in this. It was just…a thing. A few weeks of occasionally seeing the wrong brother she wasn’t supposed to have made out with in the first place. She could do that.
NOAH: I’d like to think I made it worth your while.
AMANDA: The coffee was good.
She bit her lip to keep from smiling too hard in her room.
NOAH: And?
AMANDA: And the water actually does look pretty nice at the ass crack of dawn.
NOAH: No other benefits?
Her thumb hovered. Should she write it? Was it too much?
AMANDA: Speaking of asses…
She left a whole lot more ellipses, just to torture him.
NOAH: Yours in those stretchy not-even-real-pants you wore today just to give a man a heart attack at his job?
She almost dropped the phone. Obviously, she knew things had gotten hot and heavy with Noah. But those still felt like accidents. Things that had simply happened, without either of them stepping up and saying, “I want this.”
But Noah checking her out? Noah noticing what she was wearing and commenting on it? Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. But it was.
AMANDA: I was talking about YOUR ass in those not-even-real-pants that are the only reason 9/10 of your clients show up.
NOAH: I can’t believe you’re dissing my motivational talks.
Now she was laughing.
AMANDA: Talking is one thing. But actions speak louder than words.
NOAH: Don’t I know it.
AMANDA: What’s that supposed to mean?
NOAH: You tell me we can’t see each other anymore, but I’m starting to think you don’t mean it. ;)
She pressed her lips together, typed, and then deleted and typed again.
AMANDA: Do you want me to mean it?
She held her breath, waiting. It seemed like the three dots hovered on her screen forever, showing that he was typing. What the hell kind of novel was he writing?
But when the bubble of text finally appeared, it was classic Noah—short and to the point.
NOAH: Not at all.
She wondered what he’d started typing and then thought better of it. She had her answer. He wanted this to keep happening.
And her?
She was already sliding under the covers, her legs squeezed tight together, wanting more. Wanting him.
That certainly felt like an answer.
NOAH: Where are you right now?
AMANDA: Home. You?
NOAH: Same. Still in those not-pants?
AMANDA: My goodness, Noah Miller. Are you asking me what I’m wearing??
NOAH: Don’t stress about the answer, you could say absolutely anything. I’d be into it.
AMANDA: A paper bag? A toga? Adult-size onesie pajamas?
NOAH: Those all sound pretty easy to rip off you.
Forget about how hard her heart had been racing—the damn thing suddenly stopped.
AMANDA: What if it’s a striped shirt that I think I spilled spaghetti sauce on? :(
So she was terrible at flirting. She’d already known that. In the back of her mind, she almost wondered if she was doing it on purpose. If he rolled his eyes at her and lost interest—wouldn’t it be better to know that now, before she started believing what he was saying? It wasn’t that she wanted to push him away. But maybe some part of her wanted to know if she could.
NOAH: All the more reason to take it off, then.
She stared at the phone for so long, she was suddenly afraid he’d think she was the one who wasn’t interested.
AMANDA: We should try that some time. The whole not wearing clothes thing…
Oh, crap. Had she really just said that?
NOAH: Maybe even an actual bed.
AMANDA: Whoa. Let’s not take things too far.
She’d been trying for jokey, in an effort to regain her footing. But when she saw the words appear under his, she was afraid he’d think she meant it.
AMANDA: I was just kidding about that.
His answer came back immediately.
NOAH: Too far is exactly where I want to go with you.
She swallowed. Felt the heat between her legs, the heat building everywhere inside her as her heartbeat revved.
NOAH: I’m lying in bed. I was thinking about you even before you texted.
AMANDA: Thinking about what?
She hardly dared to breathe.
NOAH: This morning. Last week.
There was a pause and then:
NOAH: Everything.
AMANDA: Everything is a lot of stuff.
NOAH: I was thinking a lot.
AMANDA: You’re so chatty. Really, you overshare all the time.
NOAH: Ha ha.
AMANDA: Tell me what you were thinking about.
There was a pause. It felt endless.
AMANDA: Noah?
NOAH: I want to ask you out on a date. A real one that we plan for. With no interruptions.
AMANDA: Okay.
NOAH: Okay what?
AMANDA: Okay ask me. :)
She pictured him in his bedroom, the one next to Luke’s, the one she’d seen more than a few times when she was over at their place. Neater than Luke’s—far neater than hers—with his bed made, his clothes put away, a laptop the only thing on his desk.
She wondered what he was doing, if he was taking a deep breath before he finally typed:
NOAH: Amanda, can I take you out on a date on Friday?
She didn’t write back right away. Not because she was thinking about her answer, but because she wanted to savor the question.
AMANDA: I’d like that.
She finally typed it because she didn’t want to keep him hanging. There were obvious limitations to texting. But she was pretty sure he could read her smile, even if he couldn’t see it.
AMANDA: If it goes badly, we’ll pretend it never happened. Since we did such a good job of that afte
r the Hudson Valley, lol.
NOAH: Goes badly??? What’s the worst that could happen?
She knew the answer to that. We could like each other. You could break my heart.
AMANDA: The restaurant could catch on fire. I’d run off with the hot firefighter who also saves kittens in his spare time and then it’d be hard to explain to Luke where you were all night or why you smell like smoke.
NOAH: Or why I suddenly started a kitten rescue operation out of our apartment, he typed before she could come up with another silly thing to say, a thing to test him, tease him, see whether he was sure he wanted to be doing this.
She burst out laughing, staring at her phone. Noah had a sense of humor? How did she not know that dryness about him wasn’t his soul being sucked out his nose, but an actual sense of humor?
How did she not know he was someone she could actually see herself falling for, wanting more of, laughing with like this? And why hadn’t she figured that out years ago, instead of now, when it was too late?
But what if it’s not too late?
She didn’t have an answer. All she knew was that she couldn’t believe they were making plans—real ones. And that she was dying to see him again.
Chapter Seventeen
Noah stood with a towel around his waist, staring at his closet. What was he supposed to wear that said “date I put a reasonable amount of effort into because I’m not a turd” but wouldn’t make his brother harangue him with a million questions as he was trying to leave?
It shouldn’t be this hard. He was allowed to have a life. He was allowed to go out with Amanda.
It was just that tonight, on his way out the door, wasn’t the moment to make it a Thing. Especially since maybe it wasn’t. How was he supposed to know? There was what his mind told him and the list of reasons not to. Everything he knew he should listen to.
But there was also something else. A feeling so physical, he could sense it taking up space inside him, expanding behind his lungs. In the room around his heart. It was completely irrational. He couldn’t explain it even if he tried.
But it was growing there, whether he’d planned it or not.
Wrong Bed, Right Brother (Accidental Love) Page 10