Tabby darted away like a silverfish, leaving Nicole to her confusion. Noah and Kelly. Kelly and Noah. Her jealousy was so sharp she could have cut someone with it. Kelly. She could have cut Kelly with it. God, she needed help processing this. She looked around for Sam, but she and Scott were dancing to a Britney song in a way that said they were leaving as soon as it ended. She lined up for the bathroom and peed. When she got out of the stall, she splashed cold water on her wrists while she studied herself in the mirror. She looked fine. Good, even. But she didn’t look sexy. She’d always struggled with sexy. It wasn’t about looks—Sam was her genetic double and she was sexy. It was herpersonalitythat was wrong. She couldn’t show she was turned on in a non-embarrassing way. The sluttiest lingerie looked girly on her and she made dumb faces during sex. Aaron said she looked like was sitting on a pincushion. She’d cried and he’d apologised, but only because he’d hurt her feelings, not because it wasn’t true.
She looked at the bare finger where the ring used to be. If there was a time to give being sexy another try, the week she got dumped was a good bet. And if Noah really was a dark horse and definitely wasn’t ‘father of her children’ material, was there any harm in exploring…that, with him?
She looked into her own eyes, silently asking if Noah Newcomb made her feel sexy.
I don’t know, came the answer.He makes me feel exposed. Is that the same?
She didn’t think so, but maybe it was the start of sexy; that flaying, nowhere-to-hide sensation. Maybe if she followed it, sexy would pursue.
A girl gang burst into the bathroom, chatting and laughing. Nicole left the bathroom, not thinking, just moving. She found Noah in the same place, drinking a different beer and interacting with no one. She slipped into the seat beside him.
“Hello. You’re sleeping with Kelly.”
Noah squinted, as though unsure she was there. “You drunk?”
“No!”
A raised brow.
“Yes! But that’s not the point,” she said, louder than she intended. God, of all the times for the alcohol to kick in…she focused hard on Noah’s face, determined to keep her train of thought on track. “Do you want to know something?”
“Am I gonna hear it regardless?”
“Probably!” She leaned closer and his scent hit her in a rush of warm cedar. Was that cologne beneath the laundry detergent and fresh tobacco? Noah didn’t seem like the kind of guy who wore Giorgio Armani but then why did he smell so delicious? Was it his sweat? Some kind of pheromone? She leaned closer, trying to subtly inhale and almost toppled off her stool.
Noah gripped her arm, holding her in place. “Do you want me to get Sam?”
“Please, no. If they know I’m drunk, she and Tabby will start mothering me intensely.”
“And that’s your job, isn’t it?”
If she hadn’t seen his mouth move, she wouldn’t have believed he’d talked. Noah Newcomb saying something personal—and mildly bitchy—about her behaviour?
“I have to mother them,” she said with all the dignity her drunk tongue could muster. “Our mother left, you know, when Sam and I were eight and Tabby was four.”
His face softened. “I know. Sorry, Nikki.”
Her heart pulsed so hard it was like her weight was shifting. She looked at him, and the pure, unadulterated beauty of his irises made her say it. “Noah, do you know I’ve only slept with three guys?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Three more than me.”
“You know what I mean. That’s not enough. The first two were when I was inhigh school. That’s not normal.”
God he was so close, so close and his eyes were the colour of a football field, so green and lovely and his lips were nice too, fuller than she’d realised. She remembered that night in the hallway, when they’d almost, kind of kissed, and a zap wove itself down her stomach and between her legs.
“Nicole.” Noah’s face wavered in front of her like Christmas lights. “You want some water?”
She shook her head, wanting to say it so bad, it was almost scary. She bit her cheeks and the pain incited action. “I want you…us…to…you know. Tonight.”
Noah face grew stony. He looked as angry as he had when pinstripe shirt elbowed her. “Not gonna happen.”
It was lucky she’d taken so many blows to her emotional system this week. The rejection hurt, but it was a dull ache, not a sting. Not anything that would make her cry. She’d go home and examine her bruises tomorrow. She stood, feeling delicate but steady. “Okay, bye.”
She turned and walked away and it would have been fine, only her heel caught on a slippery thing—lime wedge?—and then she was on the floor, her knees, chin, and palms throbbing with the impact of her fall. There was a collective gasp over the music and fifty hands seemed to pull her to her feet.
“Are you okay?” a redhead asked.
“I’m fine.” She brushed her hands down Sam’s dress, hoping Noah hadn’t seen her. That he’d had a heart attack. That she’d been imagining him this whole time and he didn’t really exist. Without looking back at him, she headed for the exit, pretending she couldn’t feel her throbbing skin.