Him teasing me made me feel better, made the pressure subside just a little bit. “That’s good, because I’m pretty sure my baggage is over the weight limit.”
He smiled, and I felt that moment of connection again, even though we were standing six feet apart.
Then he cleared his throat and said, “I should be home at about eight o’clock tomorrow night, if you want to come by.”
That made my heart squeeze painfully. The idea that we were making plans to meet up and kiss. “I can do that. And by eight o’clock do you mean eight o’clock, or do you mean, like, two in the morning?”
“Ha-ha. If something comes up, I’ll text you.”
“Okay.” At that point I should have said goodbye and walked away and hidden from him in my van. But I just stood there, like I wanted something else to happen.
Like there was something I still wanted to tell him. “I hope you know . . . what I told you? I’ve never told anyone else, ever.”
“I know. And it’s not an honor I take lightly.”
That connection returned, only this time it was urging me to walk back over to him, tell him I’d changed my mind and that we should immediately go inside and start practicing kissing right now.
“So . . . ,” he said, and I realized that I’d been standing there for an uncomfortable amount of time wrestling with myself. “Good luck with the new job tomorrow. I can’t imagine any job working for Mrs. Kravitch is going to be a fun one.”
“It won’t be the worst one I’ve had. I’ve done some truly terrible things for money.”
“Like?”
“Like get up at seven in the morning,” I said. He broke into his infectious laughter and, figuring I couldn’t ask for a better exit than that, I headed off toward my van. To distract myself, I ran through a mental list of what I still needed to do.
When I got home I had to pack a bag, avoid Shelby for the rest of the evening—because if she pushed me at all about what had happened tonight, I feared I might break and tell her everything—make arrangements to get a ride back up here tomorrow, where I would take care of Sunshine and two of my other clients, and then . . .
Then I was going to come over to Noah Douglas’s house and I was going to kiss him. A shudder of dread and excitement passed through me.
Everything would be just fine. Probably.
When I got home, it all proceeded according to plan. Shelby was out with Allan, so I was able to pack up in peace. By the time I got up the next morning, she was already gone for the day, so I left her a note reminding her about my new gig and to call me if she needed anything. This also allowed me far too much time to think about what was going to happen with Noah later.
I took an Uber up to Gladys’s house, and as Noah had predicted, it was ridiculously expensive. I was glad I had some extra money to help cover the expense.
Sunshine was excited to see me, and I wondered for a minute if Noah was up at his house or if he’d already left for the day. I got Sunshine fed and watered and took him out for a walk to retrieve my van. I decided to take him with me for the two grooming appointments I had scheduled for the day. I texted Gladys to ask if she was okay with me bringing him along, and she texted back a single word.
And that was it. So I was taking it as a yes.
After my first session, I stopped to grab something to eat and ended up sharing half of my hamburger with a very sad-eyed and beggy Sunshine. While I was considering running back inside to order a second one, my phone buzzed.
If it was Gladys telling me she’d meant, “Fine, keep my dog at home, I don’t want him driving around with you,” she was out of luck. And I was going to have to lie.
But it was a text from Noah. From his actual phone number and not a restricted one.
I smiled.
Why did that make my heart flutter?
I sent him a smiling emoji and then added him to my contacts. That little interaction made my soul lift and feel like nothing bad could happen to me. My next dog was a Great Dane, and I didn’t even care about all the splashing that soaked my entire outfit and the floor. It was fine. I felt happy and hopeful for the first time in a long time, and I was going to get to see Noah again.
Although I wondered how I could both wish for and dread something at the same time.
Sunshine and I went out for dinner, and as the hours passed, that mixture of anticipation and fear became a potent cocktail that almost made me cancel no less than half a dozen times.
But every time I got my phone out, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Even if I told myself I didn’t want to see him again, I did.
I made some brownies, thinking that it would be a nice gesture to bring them over, since he’d fed me last night. But then they smelled so good, and while I knew chocolate was not going to mitigate what was about to happen, I figured it would put me in a better headspace to emotionally deal with everything.
And then I accidentally ate seven pieces.
So when seven thirty rolled around, I felt a little sick to my stomach, which I attributed to gorging myself on brownies. But I went into the guest bedroom and got dressed. I threw my hair up into a ponytail and put on jeans and a T-shirt. Dressing up for it felt like it would make it too much of a big deal. I was just going over to my new friend’s house to hang out.
And possibly smooch him.
I brushed and flossed my teeth really well. Really, really well. Like, I almost made my gums bleed. I also put some mints in my pocket, just in case.
I tried to psych myself up and hang on to that sliver of hope that this was going to work. I would conquer my fear of kissing and, as a side bonus, have a fantastic story to tell at parties someday. Even though no one was going to believe me.
I said goodbye to Sunshine and walked the short distance up to Noah’s house. When I got to his door, before I could even knock or ring the doorbell, Magnus was barking. I heard Noah call out, “Come in!”
Although it felt a little awkward to just walk into his house, I did it anyway, petting Magnus and saying hello to him. Once he’d been properly greeted, he trotted off.
It concerned me a bit that Noah didn’t keep his doors locked. Although maybe he’d specifically left it open just for me.
“Hello?” I called out. For one second I was worried that Noah was in his bedroom and expected me to join him, and I nearly bolted back out the door.
“I’m in the kitchen!” His mouth sounded muffled, like he was eating.
Sure enough, he had another bowl of cereal that he was eating over the sink. He’d apparently just gotten out of the shower again, his hair hanging down in wet strands. I was struck with a desire to push it off his face, but he beat me to it. I sighed. I loved when he did that.
“You just missed me clearing out my fridge. I saw on the news that romaine lettuce was recalled.”
I liked how he seemed calm and mellow. Like this huge thing wasn’t about to happen and we were just hanging out together. “Do you know what doesn’t get recalled?”
“Is it chocolate?” he asked.
“It’s chocolate.”
“Do you want anything?”
“No,” I said. “I’m good.” Not really, but I was trying hard to calm my heart rate down. “I’m not keeping you from some wild Hollywood party, am I?”
“That’s not really my scene,” he said after swallowing down a big gulp. “I like going to the theater, but that’s a little harder to do these days. I spend a lot of my time reading and watching movies. Cheesy as it may sound, it helps me hone my craft. And if there’s one thing I learned in the military, it’s the importance of doing things right.”
Yeah, and he was going to show me the right way to kiss. My knees buckled slightly, and I leaned against the wall for support. “Do you ever watch your own movies?”
“No. You know how when you see a video of yourself or hear a recording of your voice and it just sounds off or wrong? And it makes you cringe, because that’s not how you hear yourself in your own head?”
“It’s like that for me, but for some reason it bothers me a thousand times worse than it seems to for other people. Plus, I see all my mistakes and all the different choices I should have made for a scene, and it drives me crazy. I basically just run them over and over again in my head. So I’ve learned not to watch my own work.”
I couldn’t help it. My face fell. I had totally wanted to watch the last movie in the Duel of the Fae trilogy with him and demand answers.
“What’s that look for?” he asked.
I should have known that he, of all people, would notice. “This means I can’t ask you what the writer and director of the third movie were thinking when they freaking killed Malec. He joined the good guys, risked his life to save Aliana, they admit their love, and then . . . he’s just dead? How is that a happy ending?” I was so caught up in my indignation that I accidentally added on, “You know, he doesn’t die in the books. Instead of having to live up to some masculine fantasy of being a noble martyr, he gets to pay for his misdeeds by actually physically atoning for them and making reparations to the people he’s hurt. And he gets to be with Aliana and get married and have little fairy babies. I guess it doesn’t matter now that the movie’s over, but I’ll never not be mad that they killed Malec Shadowfire. That ending was so bad it should be tried at The Hague.” It also infuriated me that the movie studio had severely underestimated Malec’s popularity and had walked away from hundreds of millions of dollars in continuing his story through animations, novels, or comic books.
Noah just looked amused. “Given this a lot of thought, have you?”
“Yes. And now I’m getting upset all over again. So before that happens, we should just, you know, kiss or whatever. That’s what I’m here for, right?”
“That is why you’re here.” He set his bowl down in the sink and walked over to me. I was already pressed up against the wall, so there was nowhere for me to go. “So, Juliet Nolan, are you ready?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I was so not ready. My adrenaline grabbed me by the throat, making my heart beat out of control. “I want to say yes, but can we, like, be sitting down or something?”
“I should probably go brush my teeth. Like you already did.” He winked at me, and it annoyed me.
What was he implying? “Did you consider that maybe I just have a dedication to good oral hygiene?”
“You were getting ready for our kiss.”
“That wasn’t it.”
“Your minty breath says otherwise.” He said it as a parting shot as he left the kitchen. I made my way into the library and found Magnus already there, lying in his oversize dog bed near the fireplace.
I sat down on the couch, rubbing my wet palms against my pant legs. I tried telling myself that I was okay. Noah was a good guy and I had nothing to worry about.
Before I could get too into my own head, he returned. “Hey, would it help if I got you a drink?”
“No.” I shook my head harder than I needed to. “I’ve tried that before, and it didn’t work. If anything, alcohol just made things worse, because everything seemed even more out of control. I need to be sober for this.”
“Okay.” He sat on the couch next to me. “So I stayed up late last night doing research.”
“You did?” Why did that make my heart quiver? It seemed so sweet and thoughtful. I hadn’t bothered to look up my phobia at all, but he’d stayed up to do just that?
“Of course. You’re my friend. I want to help you. And from the things I read, your reaction to kissing is a hardwired, conditioned response, and you can’t just logic or reason your way out of it. That’s why it’s a phobia. It’s not supposed to be rational. There’s actually not a ton of information about philemaphobia, although it’s not supposed to be as severe as other phobias. With other phobias you might have to get cognitive behavioral therapy or exposure therapy. What we’re doing is kind of like a home version of exposure therapy. And supposedly just the act of kissing and getting through it can help you overcome it.”
I wanted that to be true so badly. I couldn’t picture myself going to a professional’s office and doing therapy. Not only because I couldn’t afford it, but it was so hard telling Noah the truth that I didn’t want to have to do it all over again. I realized that there was a possibility this wouldn’t work, but I was still hopeful that it would.
If things got worse instead of better, maybe I’d have to consider seeing a therapist. I hoped it didn’t come to that.
Noah was still talking, and I made myself pay attention. “One therapist called it sexual stage fright, and I know stage fright. You want to throw up and run away, but then you have to go out there and perform. And it gets a bit easier each night. You just start off small and then build up from there.”
There was a pounding in my head that was so loud it made it difficult to hear him. My lungs were starting to constrict as my body got itself ready to jump immediately into fight or flight. “That makes sense.”
“And I want to make some promises to you. I am not going to make fun of your kissing or tease you about how you do it, and I’ll never judge you. I won’t do anything that you haven’t asked me to do. You’re the director here—what you say goes. Nothing will happen unless you want it to, okay? So I’m promising that I’m never going to get caught up and forget myself.”
“Even if you really want to?”
“Even if I really, really want to,” he said, and there was a note in his voice that made my stomach feel like it was going to float away. “I promise that you’ll always be a hundred percent safe with me.”
“Thank you.” It seemed like such an inadequate thing to say, but his promises meant a lot to me. They didn’t stop my shins from sweating, though.
“I was also thinking that you should probably kiss me first. That way you’re totally in control.”
“But I don’t know what to do.” Didn’t he get that’s why all of this was happening?
“It will be fine. Don’t use your teeth. Ramming your teeth into someone is not sexy.”
Ha. Lies. His teeth were extremely sexy.
He was still talking, and I tried to concentrate. “And maybe no weird licking in the beginning.”
“What’s weird licking?” I asked, alarmed. “What if I do it by accident?”
“I’ll let you know if it happens. Just know that when you’re kissing someone you want to kiss, it can feel a lot like the sensations you’ve described from your attacks. Your heart beats fast, you’re out of breath, you feel light-headed, only you shouldn’t feel like you’re going to die. Those feelings should be happening in a pleasurable way instead of a frightening one. Which is why people keep doing it. I hope there comes a point that you fall on that side of the scale.”
“Me too.”
“Look. I want to show you something. Is it okay if I take your hand for a second?”
“Yes.”
He wrapped his long fingers around my wrist and pulled my hand to his chest, placing it over his heart. It was beating fast. “You’re not the only one affected.”
And we stayed in that moment, his chest feeling strong and sure, his heart pounding beneath my palm.
“Do you want to kiss me?” It wasn’t something I had asked him before. He’d volunteered to help me out, but I didn’t know if he was just being a nice guy or if he was actually into it.
His words were low, and I could feel them rumbling inside his chest. “Very much so. And you?”
“I want to want it, but it’s all sort of abject terror right now.”
“You’ll do it, and we’ll keep doing it. It’s why actors rehearse. We practice it over and over again until it feels natural. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Rome wasn’t built in a day. We got this.”
“If you tell me ‘Go, team,’ I’m going to punch you,” I informed him.
“If I said that, I’d deserve it.” He shifted a little closer, but I kept my hand on his
chest. I liked it there, liked the feeling of his strength and warmth. “So, come on. Let’s go, team!”
That made me laugh, and I realized that had been his intent all along. It did help me to relax slightly.
And then there was no more delaying. If I was going to do this, I was going to do this. I had to move quickly. So many of my alarms / warning bells were already sounding in my head. I wanted to make a move before they could stop me.
So I did it.
I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his. There was a moment where I registered his warmth, the softness of his lips.
But before he could respond to me at all, I was moving away from him, crouching on the floor because I felt like I was falling. The room was spinning, and I was convinced I was going to pass out. My heart thumped hard against my chest, and my rib cage was constricted, like someone was sitting on me. I couldn’t breathe.
Then Noah was there next to me, not touching me, but he made me feel like I could draw on his strength. “Breathe. Five things you can see.”
I struggled to focus, to be in charge of my hysterical brain, trying to drag air in and out of my chest. I saw his robot socks. I saw Magnus, who had come over to investigate why we were on the floor. I saw a pile of Noah’s books, the gross avocado carpet. The couch where we had been sitting.
My limbs were shaking so hard.
“You’re okay. Keep breathing. Four things you can touch.”
I dug my fingers into that carpet. I felt my soft T-shirt against my skin. The hair from my ponytail against my cheek. My shoes straining across my feet.
“Now three things you can hear.”
Noah’s voice. Magnus’s panting. My own strangled breathing. I tried hard to slow it down. To keep breathing in and out. In and out. Inhale, exhale.
“Two you can smell.”
Noah’s clean scent. Magnus’s not-quite-so-clean scent.
My stomach was clenching so hard. I was going to throw up. I gritted my teeth against it. I could beat this thing. I could be stronger than this . . . what had Noah called it? My hardwired response. I would rewire it.
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