Present Perfect(51)

“You don’t remember a thing after you got drunk?”

I shook my head. “No. Not a thing.”

“You don’t remember me carrying you out of the party and taking you to my house?” I shook my head. “You don’t remember me undressing you? You don’t remember my hands sliding up under your shirt, touching your back? And you don’t remember asking me if I wanted to touch you and then telling me to touch you?” I took another huge gulp of air and shook my head. “None of that rings a bell?” he asked, his voice was low and gruff.

Every nerve ending in my body exploded and he hadn’t even touched me. The hair on my arms and legs bristled. My lips slightly parted, sucking in as much oxygen as possible before I passed out. Warmth started at the top of my head and the tip of my toes, flowing over my body, and meeting smack-dab between my legs. I was feeling woozy and it wasn’t from the aftermath of the tequila.

I stood there, immobile. I couldn’t look away from him. I knew I needed to say something. He wasn’t going anywhere until I did. I couldn’t think of any words long enough to be able to string them together to form a sentence. The only word that came out of my mouth was, “No.”

“That is such bullshit and you know it!” Noah looked down, concentrating on a spot on the countertop. He blew out a big breath and growl of frustration before looking back at me. He sounded so deflated when he said, “Last night, when I saw you standing in the hall …The way you looked at me…Broke me. You looked so hurt and disappointed. I thought I’d lost you for good. I couldn’t think straight after I saw him kiss you. Then you ran to his side. I’ve never felt that out of control before. I wanted to be numb and forget, so I grabbed a lot of beer and the easiest piece of ass around, and f*ck her.”

“Noah…,” I whispered. I understood him. Our actions echoed each other’s last night.

“I always tell her not to talk, so I can pretend it’s you. It’s pathetic, I know. I don’t want to pretend anymore, Tweet. I’m trying my damnedest to stay in the friend zone. It’s just hard and I thought after last night in my room…The way you were acting... I knew you had been drinking. I just thought things would be different for us now.”

“Always?” I said, the hurt evident in my voice.

He just opened himself up to me. Why did I zero in on that word? Why did I think last night was a one-time thing, a mistake? Apparently the rumors were true. The butterflies were gone, replaced by a huge boulder sitting in the pit of my stomach.

“A few times,” he whispered, lowering his gaze.

“Was she your first?”

Tears I had been holding back started to seep out and fall. My mind was whirling. I hated that she had been his first. I hated that he had shared that part of himself with anyone, besides me. We would have been each other’s first and he would be with me, if I didn’t keep pushing him away. My head was so screwed up that Freud would have thrown his hands up and retired.

Noah looked up at me through his long dark eyelashes. He didn’t need to say anything. My eyes started stinging from the tears. I felt exhausted and drained.

I didn’t look at him when I said, “I’m sorry I can’t be with you like that.” I choked back a sob that was trying to escape.

Looking back up I was met with piercing light blue eyes. Noah pushed off the counter and rounded the kitchen island, headed directly towards me. He was in front of me in two strides. Cupping one side of my face in his hand, he tilted my head back, forcing me to look straight into his eyes. His warm breath swept across my lips sending a shiver through my body. His nose skimmed across my cheek up to my temple as he whispered, “Stop pushing me away.”

His lips started moving across my skin again, traveling down my cheek, over my jaw, landing on my neck.

I closed my eyes and let the sensations of his touch wash over me. It would be so easy to get lost in him, but I couldn’t.

“Noah, you promised you’d stay in the zone,” I whispered as he continued to nuzzle my neck.

“That was before last night.”

As his lips made their way down and across my naked shoulder, I tightened my face, swallowed hard, and pulled away from him. His hands dropped and landed on his hips. His head was down.

“I can’t do this with you. Don’t you understand that? Please Noah, stop pushing me.” You could hear the plea in my voice.

He straightened up, turned, and walked out the door, not saying another word or looking back at me.





It took me all afternoon to recover from the events of last night and this morning. After taking a nice long nap, eating a little something, and getting dressed I started feeling like my old average self again. I needed to talk with Noah. I needed to get us back on the friendship track. I had just gotten him back. I wasn’t willing to give him up again.

I knocked on the Stewart’s back door instead of just walking in as I usually did. I stood beside the door, so when he opened it the only thing he saw was my hand holding a plate with a big piece of chocolate cake on it. I could feel the smile he had across his face.

Grabbing the cake, he said, “Thanks. I wanted something sweet.” Then he shut the door. He was playing with me, which was a good sign.

As I entered the house, I saw Noah was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, eating cake. I walked towards him. He looked at me, with a mouthful of cake, and asked, “Did you want some?”