Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
"I know. I'm just say—"
A loud knock thumps the door on its hinges, and I nearly drop the phone.
"Crap," I whisper.
"What?"
"I think he's here." That's a lie. I know he's here. He's the only one who ever knocks on my door, and he knocks precisely like a cop, so it's not like it's a mystery who is out there now.
"Good," Alice says, a little growl in her voice. "Let him in. Talk to him. Verbally kick his ass. And then jump his bones."
"Alice," I groan. "We're just friends."
"Right. That's what you call it when you want someone to kiss you and then bang you into next century. Also, if you're just friends much longer, you're going to have to buy stock in Duracell because we both know you're going through enough batteries to rival the carbon footprint of a billionaire with a private jet."
Dammit. She isn't wrong. If I keep it up, I may break my vagina.
"We're just friends," I say anyway, just for good measure.
"Well, I'm hanging up, so you can either open that door and talk to him, or you can eat your frosting all by yourself. But I bet it'd taste better on him."
"Alice!"
She cackles before hanging up on me.
I groan again when Noah knocks one more time.
I guess it would be cowardly to pretend I don't hear him, wouldn't it?
I grumble to myself and haul myself to my feet to answer the door.
I know I look like shit. My face is probably splotchy. My eyes are red. I probably even have mascara trails. I quickly try to wipe them away and then straighten my clothes and hair before pulling open the door.
Noah looks like a God, like usual. Who knew a T-shirt could mold to muscles so perfectly? He also looks tired.
"Shit." His expression turning thunderous when he sees my face. He doesn't wait for an invitation before he stomps inside, looking like he wants to break something.
"What do you want, Noah?"
"I made you cry."
"Funny how that happens when you insult people who thought you were friends."
"We are friends," he growls.
"Friends don't insult each other."
"I know, Dimples. I know. I just…I was an asshole, and I'm fucking sorry. I didn't mean it."
"Then why'd you say it?"
"I thought we covered that under 'I was an asshole'?" He shoves a hand through his hair like he's stressed. "I don't know why I said it, sweetness. I was tired and irritable, and I took it out on you when you're the last person who deserves it. I felt like an asshole as soon as I said it."
"You really hurt my feelings," I whisper.
"I know. I know." He steps toward me, reaching out for me. I bite my lip as he reels me into his arms, wrapping them around me until I'm pressed up against his chest. "I'm sorry."
I don't know what happens or why, but as soon as I feel his arms around me, I choke on a sob. It's like everything just crashes down on me at once, and I can't fight off the tears this time.
"Baby," he says, horrified as he pulls back to look at me. "Please, don't cry. I'm so goddamn sorry."
That just makes me cry harder. It's not even his fault, not really. Yeah, he said something shitty. Yeah, it hurt my feelings, but that's not really why I'm in my feelings today. It doesn't really have anything to do with him at all.
But I can't explain that. I'm too busy snot-crying into his shirt to explain. When I try, I just choke on the words.
He hauls me closer, swinging me up into his arms like I'm a little girl as he stalks toward my sofa. He sits with me in his lap, and even though I know I should move, I just curl into him, letting him hold me as I cry.
"It's okay," he croons, rubbing circles against my back. "I'm so sorry that I'm an asshole. You deserve to be treated like a queen, Dimples. I should have told you this morning that you're perfect. That's what you deserve to hear."
I'm not sure if he means it, but the biggest part of me hopes he does.
Eventually, I cry myself out. And then I just sit in that awkward post-meltdown silence, not sure how to explain why I fell apart. Emotions are such a pain in the ass. They're messy and complicated, and it's a whole uncomfortable thing most of the time.
"I'm sorry," I finally whisper, still not looking at him.
"Don't apologize to me," he groans, sounding pained. "I'm the one who fucked up, not you."
I lick my lips, trying to work moisture back into my mouth. "It's not your fault. I, um, today is my dad's birthday."
"Shit." He goes rigid beneath me. For a second, he just sits there, every muscle locked tight, and then he crooks a finger beneath my chin, forcing me to look at him. The regret and guilt in his eyes make my chest hurt. "I'm so sorry, baby."