Enemies Abroad(52)

“I prefer Doctor.”

“Somewhere along the way…in spite of the fighting and the antics and the bad blood…I started to develop real feelings for her.”





Chapter Seventeen





My stomach flips upside down.

I hold my breath, curious to see if he’ll continue. When he doesn’t, I have no choice but to play along.

I cross my arm over my chest, rest my elbow on my hand, and tap, tap, tap my chin—fully in character now. When I talk, I affect my best clinician voice. “These feelings…do they come and go?”

“No. In fact, they’ve only gotten progressively worse. Completely impossible to ignore. They’ve taken over my life here lately.”

I hum like this is deeply concerning. “Troublesome. Any other symptoms?”

“Butterflies. Sweaty hands. Flustered speech.”

“Sounds terminal.”

I step closer and hold out my hand to feel his forehead.

“Burning up.”

“Really?”

“’Fraid so. Cough for me.”

He does.

“Yes, just as I suspected. I give you one, two weeks max.”

We both descend into peals of laughter.

I start to step back, but he catches my hand, holds it like a delicate flower, inspects it on all sides. I stand perfectly frozen, letting him do it.

I’m a rare animal he’s never encountered before. He traces my fingers on that hand, every one of them, up, down, up again, until he reaches the bottom of my thumb and drags the pad of his pointer finger down to my pulse. It leaps and he feels it.

His gaze catches mine.

“Audrey, do you ever think—”

“No. I never think. Not if I can help it.”

He laughs and sits up, releasing my hand.

Exasperated, he tugs his own through his hair. It air-dried in the hours since we’ve been in the rain, and now it’s springy and soft. When he has children one day, I hope they get his hair.

He’s part agitated, part amused when he speaks again. “God. You’re…you’re…I don’t know! I’ve never met anyone like you. I was right on the beach, you know—you really are a coward. You’ll run from this forever, won’t you? If I don’t force this conversation, it’ll never happen.”

Now that he’s on the edge of the bed, we’re almost at eye level now, too close for comfort, but I don’t take a step back. He just called me a coward. I want to prove to him that I’m not.

“So the kiss…”

He sighs, relieved I’m bringing it up.

“The kiss was real. I kissed you because I wanted to. I’ve wanted to for years.”

Whoa.

How’s that for honesty?

“I know you feel the same. I don’t think this is one-sided.” His eyes grow wide with panic. “Jesus, tell me it’s not one-sided. I’ll die right now if it is.”

My brain is so set in its ways, pre-programmed to be at odds with Noah, that even when I’m confronted with irrefutable evidence proving his words to be true, I still have to ask, “You swear this isn’t some elaborate prank you’ve meticulously planned in which you convince me to fall in love with you and then subsequently break my heart and brag to everyone about it? That sort of thing?”

“Oddly enough, no, I’m not trying to reenact the plot of an early-2000s teen movie. I’m telling the truth.”

Wow.

This is wild.

Almost…too wild.

I narrow my eyes, trying to see through the bullshit.

“What exactly are you suggesting here, Noah?”

“A ceasefire.”

“Interesting. For how long?”

He fights back a smile. “Forever, Audrey.”

I think he can tell I’m still not convinced.

“Let me prove I mean what I say. Give me a week. No mean tricks. No dipping your hair in my inkwell. No poking you with a stick at recess. Next Saturday, you let me take you out on a date.”

“Why?”

He tosses his hands in the air and shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s what normal people do. I’m supposed to buy you food. We might kiss at the end of it.”

A shiver shoots down my spine.

Still, I make him wait. I want beads of sweat rolling down his face. I want him nervous with anticipation. If this is all real…

The possibilities are endless.

“Fine.”

I hold out my hand for him to shake before I lose my nerve.

“Fine,” he repeats back to me.

We shake hands, up and down, over and over, as our smiles grow in tandem.

Then I sigh, sounding perfectly content. “Well, now that that’s sorted, I need you to help me clear out this attic. If we work together, we might actually finish before morning.”

He groans under his breath, reaches out to grab me around the waist, and hauls me up onto the bed with him.

“We’re going to sleep,” he insists, driving home his point by turning off the lamp. We’re plunged into darkness.

“We can’t both fit on this bed.”

Our limbs are a tangled mess.

“We can and we will. Shove as close to the wall as you can.”