Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Is my crush so obvious that I’m making him uncomfortable?
Billy and Tanner are first to excuse themselves, rounding up their kids and getting ready to make the long trek down the path back to their house in the woods. Soon after, the rest of us call it a night and start gathering up to leave, too. While Paul cleans up the kitchen and Nadine discusses one last thing with Tamika and Burton, I spot Noah quietly slipping out the front to the cars.
For half a sec, I decide I’d better let him leave in peace, having done quite enough to suffocate him with my attention tonight.
The next second, I’m chasing him to the front of the house. “Hey there, Noah!”
He stops and turns, feet crunching in the gravel. “Something wrong?” he asks quietly back.
“Oh, uh, no. Not at all. I … I just wanted to say …” My hands find my pockets.
And then: nothing.
That’s when I belatedly realize I should have figured out what I wanted to say before I opened my mouth. Now I’m standing here like an idiot.
“Well,” I make myself say, “I mean … about tonight …”
“Oh. Don’t worry, Tamika will contact you to schedule it.”
I lift my eyebrows, confused. “Schedule what?”
“Your interview. She’s great with them. You’ll have fun.”
That wasn’t what I was about to say. Though, come to think of it, I didn’t know what I was about to say. “So … Tamika is doing the interview? Why can’t you do it?”
“Me? No. I’m not good with those. I’m better sticking with the photos, writing, and website code. I’ll be at the shoot on Monday.”
“But what if …” I take a step toward him. He appears to notice, as his whole body freezes up. “What if I wanted … you … to be the one who interviews me?”
He gazes down at my chest. “I—But I don’t—I’m not the—”
“I’d have so much more fun being interviewed by you.”
He stares at me, appearing at a loss for words.
I don’t know why I said that. That’s such a lie. My heart will be jumping out of my chest. I won’t know what to do with my hands. My feet will be bouncing all over the damned place, and I will give the stupidest answers as I stare adoringly at Noah wishing I could just touch him. It would be nerve-wracking until the end.
Tamika and I, on the contrary, would have such a great time. We’d crack each other up and enjoy every second, then probably go out for burgers and fries afterwards.
But I can’t help myself around Noah.
I can’t resist an opportunity to spend more time around him—now that I’ve got him back in my life.
And this time, there aren’t cafeterias and classrooms standing in between us. The only thing in our way is ourselves.
“I … I want you to be the one,” I say, forcing the words out. “I want you to be the one who interviews me … Noah.”
Here I go again, suffocating him with my attention.
Like some kind of lovesick parasite.
Do I even know how to practice restraint around him?
Then he says something. A single word.
And I miss it.
“What was that?” I ask, perking up. “D-Did you say—?”
“Yes,” he chokes. He shifts his feet, appearing uncomfortable. Then he lifts his chin and repeats the glorious word: “Yes.”
My heart skips. “Really? You’ll do it?”
“Yes. I just need to … to reorganize myself a bit.”
I watch him swallow down the panic and nervously adjust his glasses. He swiftly pulls out his phone and starts tapping it, skillful thumbs scattering across the screen with impressive speed.
Honestly, it’s kind of amazing, watching his fingers move like that. I can see him busy at the keyboard, hard at work.
I imagine those fingers on my shoulders suddenly.
Then on my chest, with his eyes on mine.
Then those same fingers sliding down my body.
Every tap of his thumbs on that phone, I feel his fingertips on my skin, like the fantasy is made more real with every soft sound he makes. I bite my lip with frustration, watching, listening, and feeling every tappity-tappin’ bit of it.
Seriously, can I fucking restrain myself for one second?
“Is tomorrow okay?” he asks suddenly, speaking without once looking up from his phone.
I blink. “Oh. We’d do it so soon?”
“Burton still wanted to run the story about you saving my life, so I can ask some questions about that, too, and maybe better flesh out the piece I wrote earlier this afternoon.”
“Wow, you already wrote a piece about today?”
“I’m kind of like a machine,” admits Noah. “To a … fault,” he quietly adds to himself, still thumbing through his phone.
I stare at him in a silent daze, wondering how else he might be like a machine.
I feel his fingers curling tightly on my shirt, tugging on me, pulling me close to his body, reeling me in like meat. His eyes dig into me with the amount of machine focus he gives his tasks. He proves to me with every stroke of his fingers that he is not the shy boy he seems on the outside.