Focused

by Sorensen, Karla

  Claire rubbed her forehead. "Let's just drop it. I have a couple of weeks to make the decision."

  They ignored her too. The two hotheads went at it, and I gave Claire a commiserating smile.

  "I don’t think my opinion counts more," Iz yelled. "I'm pissed that that woman is somehow getting credit for the way we turned out. It had nothing to do with her."

  "Ohhhh yes," Lia drawled. "Look at you. You're the picture of someone who's unaffected by your childhood."

  "Hey," I snapped at her. "Watch it."

  Her face pinked, but she didn't move her flinty gaze from Isabel.

  My phone buzzed, and I sighed heavily before flipping the screen to face me.

  Noah: My savings account just took a pretty massive hit thanks to you.

  The tone of his text, the fact that he texted me at all, pulled a smile onto my face. I missed him, which made no sense. I could talk to him, be friendly with him, and it wouldn't be fraternization, right? In my wine and family drama haze, I shifted through my mental checklist of why I'd decided to pull back from him all week.

  Maaaaybe because when I was around him, my entire body tugged in his direction like he was pulling on a string. The only way I felt like I could combat it was to snip the cord clean through.

  But that hadn't really worked either.

  All week I was forced to watch him, and think about him, and wonder what he was doing when we weren't filming. All week, I struggled with the feeling that he noticed my distance, and that it bothered him.

  My fingers flew across the screen before I could talk myself out of it.

  Me: You got the house?! I KNEW it was perfect for you.

  Noah: It was. I'm glad you sent it to me.

  Noah: There's one problem, though ...

  Me: What?

  Noah: The yoga mats that came with it are too small for me. Either that or I'm less flexible than I realized and need massive amounts of help.

  He attached a picture that had me laughing out loud. Marty must have snapped it, which had me smiling so big it threatened to split my skin open. Noah was attempting a downward dog, but his feet were a solid foot past the end of the bright pink mat. His form was terrible, and I couldn't see his face, but it was, hands down, my new favorite picture of all time.

  Me: Oh boy. Yeah, you're in trouble.

  Noah: Will you come help me? I think Marty misses you.

  My face flushed warm and happy and pink, and my chest expanded on a heavy inhale.

  Me: Does he?

  Noah: He said I was boring to film when I'm by myself. Just think of how embarrassing it will be when I do my first yoga session in my new house, and because I have no guidance, I fall and break my hip, which will put me on the bench for the rest of the season.

  His next text included the address, and I clicked on the map. If I requested an Uber now, I could be there in twenty minutes. The desire to go was so strong, especially when I factored in the chaotic state of my living room.

  Two angry sisters arguing about Brooke, or a football player who made my tummy flip upside down when he looked at me?

  Tapping my Uber app, I requested the ride before I could talk myself out of it. This was the impulsive Molly I didn’t let out often, but in this situation, I wasn’t going to second-guess it. Why he was still at the house, I had no clue, but I wasn't second-guessing that either. All I knew was that ignoring him was stupid because we still had to spend a lot of time together. Ignoring him was pointless, actually.

  When a driver accepted the trip, I stood and sent Noah a quick text, telling him I'd be there. Instead of waiting to see what he said, I tucked the phone into the side pocket of my leggings.

  "I need to go to work," I proclaimed to anyone who would listen.

  And just like that, their arguing stopped. Like magic.

  "Now?" Isabel asked. "You've been drinking."

  "I have an Uber coming."

  "Why do you need to work so late?" Claire asked.

  "I just ... do."

  Isabel's face softened in understanding.

  "Quit fighting, okay?" I said gently. "Let Claire do her paper on whatever she wants. It's not up to you two, and it's not fair to make it harder on her than necessary."

  Claire pushed up from the couch to wrap me in a tight hug. I kissed her cheek when she whispered her thanks into my ear.

  Isabel wiped a hand over her weary face. "Sorry, Claire."

  I cleared my throat.

  "And sorry, Lia," she mumbled.

  "I'm sorry too," Lia added.

  I pinched my cheeks and looked down at my Wolves tank top and white sneakers. My hair was pulled back and anchored into place with a few hair pins. I shrugged.

  "Be careful," Iz told me.

  "I'm just going for some filming they're doing of his new place." When she lifted an eyebrow in disbelief, I propped my hands on my hips. "I am."

  As I skipped down the steps outside our apartment to my waiting Uber, I thought about her warning and had a moment of pause.

  "Ready?" my driver asked.

  I blew out a breath. No second-guessing. "Yup. Let's go."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Molly

  A bright flurry of nerves popped and bubbled like champagne as I approached the house. The pictures didn't do it justice. As I walked up the covered front porch with solid wood beams holding up the peaked roofline, I got the distinct impression that this house had been built for someone as strong and intimidating as Noah was. Someone tall and strong, who'd fill the space and not be dwarfed by it.

  Looking at the massive wood front doors, flanked by custom cut glass windows and artfully dimmed porch lights, I couldn't help but feel a little dwarfed myself. I lifted my chin and knocked, though, because the whole point of this—my job, the promotion, showing up to prove that I could be unaffected by Noah—was to prove that these things wouldn't and couldn't overwhelm me.

  Beyond the door, I heard his deep voice tell me to come in, so I tested the door handle carefully. It opened, and I couldn't help but gasp when I walked into the house.

  "Holy shit," I breathed. It was stunning. Even though the skies outside were dark, the soaring ceilings and crisp white walls made it seem bright and airy and welcoming. Rugs covered the floor around the solidly built furniture, and windows facing Lake Washington sparkled with the lights of nearby houses and buildings across the water.

  "Thanks for coming."

  I jumped, slapping a hand over my chest when I saw him round a corner. A ghost of a smile graced his lips, and my fingers itched to push it further, see how the motion would transform his already handsome face.

  "It's …" I shook my head, eyes still trying to take in the space. "It's amazing, Noah."

  He approached slowly, hands hanging loosely at his sides. His legs were covered in black track pants with the bright red Wolves logo near a pocket, and stretched over his chest was a white T-shirt so worn, it was practically indecent.

  Underneath it, I could see the shadows and lines of his upper body, and a hole in the neckline gave me an extra glimpse of tanned, smooth skin. My entire body swayed toward him. That same tug I always felt.

  I guess I was a bit more tuggable after a bottle of wine.

  His forehead creased. "Have you been drinking?"

  "A little," I heard myself admit.

  Why was his face doing that thing? The swirling, ominous thundercloud thing that made him look like lightning was about to crackle from the surface of his skin. The mental picture made me grin, and his face pinched further.

  "You were drinking and then drove here? Are you insane?" he said, voice low and dangerous and deep as he took another step toward.

  "What?" I blinked away from his mouth. "No."

  "You could've killed yourself, Molly." His volume increased, the thundercloud face getting darker and darker, and I watched in abject fascination as he came even closer still. "What were you thinking?"

  All I'd have to do is reach out, not even fully extend my arms
, and my palms would land somewhere in the vicinity of his pecs. Underneath that white shirt, they were the size of dinner plates.

  "You need to calm down," I said. Was I talking to him? I think I was. But maybe I was talking to me. I needed to calm down too. My fingers, in the haven of my mind, tracked over the entire topography of his chest, memorizing it for future use.

  "Calm down?" he roared.

  My hand reached out and almost settled on his chest. He snatched my wrist before it made contact.

  His fingers were so, so warm.

  "I took an Uber, you psycho," I murmured. "Your hand is so much bigger than mine. Isn't that funny?"

  Noah sighed, eyes falling shut as he dropped my hand. Boo. "Why didn't you say so?"

  "You were kind of busy yelling at me." I turned and hummed in appreciation when I saw the kitchen. "And you had your thundercloud face on, which makes it hard to interrupt you."

  "My … what?"

  Walking along the length of the island, I let my palm glide just above the surface of the granite. "When you get mad, you look like a thundercloud."

  Noah was quiet, and I felt his eyes on my back as I opened a few cabinets.

  "Where's the listing agent?"

  His footsteps started following mine as I wandered through the dining area and into the main living space, staring through the sprawl of glass windows facing the water even though I couldn't see anything other than the moon glinting off the far side of the bay.

  "We convinced her to give us a couple of hours to film."

  I smiled over my shoulder. "And she said yes?"

  "She was very willing to accommodate, given my offer."

  My smile felt brittle. "Ahh."

  "Ahh, what?"

  I shrugged. "Nothing."

  He let it slide, and I was oh, so thankful for that.

  "How was hanging out with your sisters?"

  The laughter that escaped my lips was harsh and tired and all sorts of tangled emotions. Amazing how much you could wrap up in one puff of air. The argument about Claire's paper was easier to ignore when I was trying to escape it, when their voices overlapped each other and I just wanted it to stop, stop, stop.

  But it was quiet in Noah's house, and he wasn't searching to fill the silence with meaningless words. Behind me, he was a solid, steady presence, and it was exactly what I needed.

  There was just enough wine in my system, loosening my brain and allowing honest words to roll from my tongue.

  "We fought," I told him. "Or they did, I guess."

  "What about?"

  "Family structure," I answered with a sad smile. His eyebrows bent in, but he didn't say anything. The arm of the couch was close enough that I could sit back on it and still stare out the window into the inky darkness. "Ours is nontraditional even though I'm told by my sister who's minoring in sociology that's not a term you should throw around lightly. And the structure we had before this one was sort of traditional but incredibly dysfunctional."

  Noah shifted so he could see my face, his big shoulder braced on the wall just on the other side of the window.

  "Claire—the one in school—has to write a paper on maternal influences in nontraditional family structures," I explained.

  "Logan's wife?" he guessed.

  "That's where we started the discussion, but ..." My voice trailed off. How much of this did he actually want to hear? "Where's Marty?" I asked, suddenly very aware that we were alone in the big family room.

  He tilted his head. "On the phone downstairs. I think it's Rick, but I'm not sure."

  I nodded.

  "The paper," he prompted.

  "Are you asking to avoid your yoga lesson?"

  "Absolutely." His face was all harsh lines and angles in the dimly lit room, and I laughed at his answer. Another flash of a grin appeared, but it was gone just as quickly.

  I moved off the arm of the couch and onto one of the end cushions, my hands clasped lightly in my lap. This didn't feel like the kind of conversation you had while sitting in a pseudo-seat. "Paige is the obvious answer," I said quietly. "She and Logan got married when I was sixteen, the twins were twelve, Iz was fourteen, and since then, she's been our mother in every way that matters."

  With each word, and each moment of precious quiet he gave me to process, I felt the effect of the wine drain slowly from my body.

  "I remember when she showed up," he said.

  "I'll bet," I said wryly. "You know it's really her fault that I climbed through your window."

  His eyes sharpened. "Is it?"

  I wondered how long we'd tiptoe around this, and now seemed like as good a time as any.

  "Of course, she didn't know how literally I'd take her advice, but at that time, I had such a desperate craving for a person like her in my life. To hear her tell me to take the bull by the horns and go for what I wanted—someone I viewed as smart and strong and feisty and successful and beautiful and just ... everything I wanted to be as a sixteen-year-old. Her words were as good as gospel, you know?"

  He took in a slow breath and let it out before he walked toward me and took a seat on the coffee table that faced the couch. Somehow, he didn't doubt it could hold his weight, but it did, and he spread his legs so that his hands dangled between them.

  "I always wondered what prompted it." His eyes never wavered from mine.

  I grinned. "Besides a raging crush on the boy next door?"

  He exhaled a laugh. "That part was clear enough," he forced out. I had to close my eyes at the sound of his voice, rough and raw and low.

  If I reached back far, so very far, into my memories, I could still remember what it felt like to kiss him. I'd kissed dozens of boys, even slept with a couple who I thought would be something to me, but the memory of Noah Griffin's lips still haunted me the most.

  Slick tongue. Strong hands. Muttered curses as I climbed onto his lap.

  My eyes popped open because those thoughts wouldn't bring me anywhere of value.

  "What prompted it." I sighed. "That would have to be maternal influence in a nontraditional family structure."

  His laughter came instantly, loud and surprising, a sharp burst of sound that had me sitting up straighter. There it was. His elusive smile. Perfect, straight white teeth and lips stretched wide across his face. The lines bracketing his mouth made it look like he smiled often, instead of the reality, which was that it was rare and fast and made you feel fortunate to see one.

  "So that's why you left? Talking about Paige's role?"

  "No," I said immediately. "No, it was the discussion of how our own mother influenced our family structure by her leaving."

  His smile faded. "How old were you when she left?"

  "Just turned fourteen. We were so young, you know? And having three younger siblings to look after, plus an older brother who was just getting his footing in his own way, it was almost like ... I couldn't dwell on how much it hurt me that she left because I had so many other things to worry about. I had my sisters to worry about, and they were so much more important than Brooke."

  His eyebrows popped briefly. "I never really ... I never thought about why you guys lived with Logan. Where your parents were."

  "Most people didn't know. He did such a good job of protecting us. And because he did, we could just be kids. Teenagers who got into trouble and played pranks and were allowed to make normal mistakes because we had him."

  "Sounds like you protected your sisters, though, too," he said. The look he was giving me, searching and intense, reminded me of the night on the couch when he was watching film. Like I was something worth studying, like picking me apart would help him understand.

  That knowledge was like someone pressed their foot on the gas pedal, but I was stuck in neutral until I could explain something to him in the right way.

  "I think what I used to do then, and still do now," I said, leaning forward, my knees almost touching his, "is try to take responsibility for how they feel. And that wasn't my job. I didn't want to impose my
will, you know? It wasn't like I wanted them to feel what I felt. I wanted to make sure that everything stayed okay, even if it was to my detriment."

  "Even if it hurt you," he said slowly.

  "Maybe. I don't know. I wasn't the teenager who threw tantrums for attention, but if I went too long trying to keep the peace among my sisters, I'd just ... burst. Do something stupid."

  His eyes drifted to my mouth. "I can't imagine what you mean."

  "Liar."

  His grin flashed bright again, and it made my skin tighten deliciously.

  "I still do it, and that's a big part of what's made me good at my job, yes, but... some of it isn't smart for me," I admitted, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "I was doing it with you."

  That had him straightening. "What do you mean?"

  It was so hard for me to say things like this and risk what he might think of me, so I stood nervously from the couch and went back to the window. The coffee table creaked when he stood and followed.

  "I found myself worrying about how this process, this move, this change was affecting you. Affecting your game, your mood, your frame of mind."

  Noah breathed deeply behind me, and I felt his exhale ruffle the hair on the back of my neck. In my mind, I imagined the string connecting us, wound tight around my hips when I turned slowly to face him.

  "Is that why you pulled away this week?" he asked.

  My eyes stayed focused on the line of his throat and jaw, sharp as a knife’s edge. He swallowed roughly at my unwavering attention. "Yes. Because I need to worry about how this is affecting me too."

  "H-how was it affecting you?"

  Had he moved closer? Or was that me?

  I didn't answer, probably because my mouth went tumbleweed dry at his nearness. My eyes fell shut; my head spun dizzily. No alcohol in the world could've affected me like Noah Griffin's body next to mine.

  "Because I can tell you what it did to me," he continued.