“Noah…”
His fingers brushed a snarled clump of hair from my eyes and his arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a hug but leaving me the dignity of allowing me to stay in my seat. This was not where I wanted to be. His lips pressed against my hair, my temple, my eyes.
“You need to stop fighting this.”
I looked up at him, unsure what was happening between us, terrified I was losing my only friend a little more each time we hung out. We didn’t work as a couple. He wanted more. I didn’t. I knew more would only end in disaster, and we’d end up losing everything. Why couldn’t he see this wasn’t worth that?
His lips traced mine, smooth yet firm, and my eyes closed. That mouth. It wasn’t fair for anyone to kiss so well.
His hand cupped the back of my head, and I let him, because I, apparently, was a weak moron who thought with her vagina. His other hand slid inside the back pocket of my jeans, massaging the area he’d smacked.
I gave in to the kiss, too exhausted to fight him off. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were caught in the frienemy zone, in a traffic jam of sexual tension, sarcasm, and explosive chemistry. It was the unhealthiest relationship imaginable. When his lips pulled away from mine, I forgot why we were fighting in the first place.
He looked at me through gold-fringed lashes. “Are you done?”
“Yeah.” I slid my feet to the floor and buckled up. “You’re a jerk. My butt hurts.”
“So do my balls. I’ll take you to Fourth Street for breakfast.”
And that was that. Nothing resolved. Nothing changed. Just stuck in this weird, little, maybe relationship of I don’t know what the fuck is going on.
But the label didn’t matter. All that mattered was I still wasn’t ready to sacrifice our friendship for something sexual. Nor was I ready to sacrifice my control. So we were basically back where we started.
18
Noah
I should have known better than to assume this would be easy. Nothing with Avery was fucking easy. The morning we returned to the city I kissed her goodbye and paused at my door. Something told me I should take a long hard look at her, but when I turned around, she was already gone.
The following day I didn’t see her on my way into work. Nor did I spot her in the building that night. I texted her, but she didn’t respond.
On Tuesday I texted her again, but she still wasn’t answering. I was growing concerned until a familiar man picked her up. She seemed to open the door just fine for him. I paced a trench in my floor the entire time they were gone, and when he walked her to her door, I pathetically watched through the peephole.
Seeing another man kiss her—even if it was only on the cheek—filled me with so much rage, I worried for my sanity. What kind of hold did she have on me to incite this much emotion? We hadn’t even had sex yet.
I tried to do the healthy thing and let her go. She claimed she wasn’t interested anyway. But she was. We both knew she felt something. This was just some bullshit game we had to play until she couldn’t take the distance anymore. We’d played it before. Sooner or later she’d show up in her sweatpants with a bottle of wine and an excuse.
I hadn’t decided if I’d forgive her. I shouldn’t care this much. I should be in a place where casual was just fine. No expectations, no problem. But I wasn’t. I was eye fucking my peephole every night and stalking my text messages for any response from her.
By Wednesday, I was pounding on her door. She was home—I could hear her phone ringing when I called—and yet she wouldn’t fucking answer.
“Avery! This is childish.”
Fury bubbled out of helplessness. What the hell sort of woman was I dealing with? It was like dating a child.
“Answer the fucking door—please.”
By the end of the week, my pride was a pile of mush, and I was embarrassed for myself. This wasn’t me. Women never affected me like this. I needed to get control of my senses.
I spent the remainder of the week working through my emotions and convincing myself that I was rejecting her before she ever rejected me. It was bullshit, but it was also the only way I could move on. And I would move on. There was no way I’d start the new year like a pussy whipped little boy pining over his crazy bitch of a neighbor. I had better things to do.
And she was a bitch. Only a bitch could act so cold and warm at the drop of a dollar. Infuriated and at my wit's end, I decided if she wanted to ghost out of my life, I’d beat her to it. She might be a cold-hearted bitch when she wanted to be, but I could be a callous prick if that’s what she wanted.