Enemies Abroad(40)
I look up and study him like I haven’t seen his face in years.
“Of course I know you.” I snap like I’m trying to draw his name out of my brain’s Rolodex. “Nigel something, right?”
I can see the relief in the subtle sag of his shoulders, the sly smile as he forks another bite of his food into his mouth.
“It felt weird not talking to you today,” I admit. Then, because that almost sounds too desperate, I tack on, “You missed a lot. Lorenzo and Gabriella are dating now, I think. They seemed to really hit it off last night.”
They’re still over at the dessert table. It looks like they’re inspecting every single bowl of pudding as if trying to find the best ones. Are they really that interested in dessert, or are they trying to give us time to talk?
“Strange. Is that his thing? Does he just jump from teacher to teacher the whole summer? Seems inappropriate if you ask me.”
He sounds offended.
“Are you upset that he went after Gabriella?”
I just assumed he wouldn’t mind—it’s why I gave them my blessing last night and again today—but maybe I was wrong.
He shakes his head vehemently. “No. I thought you might be annoyed he was going after her now.”
I rear back. “Me?”
Oh right. Last he knew, I was into Lorenzo.
I frown down at my food. “Turns out he’s not my type after all. What a shock.”
“He wasn’t good enough.”
I snort. “Yeah, right. Accomplished handsome Italian man with a great personality—total dud, I see exactly what you mean.”
He pffts. “He was only ever average, and you’re…”
My heart swells and I work up the courage to look over at him, but his attention is down on his plate.
“Hilarious,” I supply.
He rolls his eyes.
“One of a kind.”
At this he pretends to gag himself with his fork.
“A total dream girl.”
He looks up and spears me with his warm gaze. “Audrey,” he deadpans.
“Noah,” I deadpan back.
We hold eye contact for one, two, three.
“Should we talk about last night?” I blurt.
His entire demeanor changes in an instant. I want to take an eraser to my question. “What’s there to talk about? You shouted at me in a bar.”
He says it like it’s no big thing, but my hackles go up instantly. “I didn’t shout.”
He shrugs. “You came on to me. I kissed you and then you got mad at me for it. I mean, come on, Audrey.”
I’m leaning toward him now, heated. “I wasn’t upset with you because you kissed me. I was upset with you because of your motives for kissing me!”
I realize belatedly that our voices are starting to carry.
A table of Trinity students is staring at us with wide eyes. Just great.
“See that’s what I can’t wrap my head around,” he continues, leaning closer. “You think I kissed you—”
“Keep your voice down!”
The others are walking back now. They’ll be at the table any second.
“You think I kissed you because I wanted to—what? Hurt you?” he whisper-hisses. “You know that’s bullshit.”
“We got you guys bread pudding!” Ashley singsongs, waving spare dessert in the air before plopping a bowl down in front of Noah and another in front of me. “And you don’t have to thank us, but seriously, this stuff will change your life. Did bread pudding originate in Italy?”
“England, I think,” Gabriella says as she sits back down.
Ashley laughs. “Oh duh, that sounds right. So, what did we miss?”
I push up to my feet. “Nothing. Thanks for the dessert, but one of you can have mine. Stomach issues. I’m going to go lie down.”
This time, I get the satisfaction of leaving Noah to deal with the mess.
When I get back to my room, I immediately regret being hasty about the bread pudding. That was shortsighted. My dramatic exit was not worth the cost of that dessert, but it’s too late now. I can’t go back out there.
I sit on the edge of my bed angry and confused as I replay every word Noah said to me at dinner.
Then there’s a knock on my door.
“Should we finish our fight?” Noah says, sounding almost cheeky.
“No. Go away.”
“Sorry, no can do. We need to go over the plans for tomorrow, so open up.”
Right. Crap. Tomorrow is a big day: beach day. The chaperones need to be on the same page with planning.
He tries the doorknob and I panic. “Can’t. I’m indisposed.”
“How so?”
“Naked. Totally. Pale butt cheeks and all.”
It sounds like his forehead thunks against the door and then I swear he laughs. A real couldn’t-suppress-it-even-if-he-tried laugh.
“Just email me your dumb plans,” I say, trying to wrap this up so I can go back to doing one of my most beloved activities: stewing.
“Stop being ridiculous, Audrey.”
Ridiculous?
I’ll show him ridiculous.
I get my phone and pull up my email app.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]