Noah bangs on my door like he owns the place, which, given how often he shows up uninvited, isn’t far from the truth.
“Open up, lover boy,” he calls, voice dripping with amusement. “You’ve been ghosting me all weekend, and I’m thinking you’re in there writing love poems or some shit.”
I groan, dragging myself off the couch. “Not in the mood, man.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get dressed. We’re hitting the gym.”
I open the door, leaning against the frame. “Not today.”
Noah gives me a once-over, then smirks. “Oh yeah, you’re definitely in your head about her.” He pushes past me like I didn’t just say no and makes himself comfortable in my kitchen, rummaging through my cabinets like he actually pays the rent here.
I shut the door and cross my arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Noah snorts. “Right. Because you’re totally the type to sit at home doing nothing on a Sunday. Come on, man. Spill.”
I shake my head, grabbing a water bottle just to give my hands something to do. “It’s nothing.”
Noah leans against the counter, arms crossed, waiting.
I exhale sharply. “It’s Amelia.”
“No shit.” He grins like he just won a bet. “What about her?”
I run a hand down my face. “Okay, what I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this apartment, got it?” I point my finger at him to make sure he’s actually taking me seriously.
“Yeah, man, got it,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender.
Taking a deep breath, I walk over to the couch. “She’s got all these rules. No strings, no feelings, no expectations. And I was fine with that—at least, I thought I was. But now? I don’t know, man. It’s getting messy.”
Noah nods like he saw this coming a mile away. “And by messy, you mean you actually give a shit?”
I shoot him a look, but he just laughs.
“Look,” he says, grabbing his gym bag that I didn’t even notice he had with him, “you can sit here all day overthinking it, or you can work out, get out of your head. Either way, you’re not getting rid of me.”
I shake my head, but a reluctant smirk tugs at my lips. “You’re a pain in the ass, Rivers, you know that?”
“Yeah, yeah. Now hurry. We’ve got work to do.”
We’re halfwaythrough our workout when I finally ask.
“So,” I say, adjusting the weights on the bench press, “how’d it go with Nesta the other night?”
Noah, who’s been unusually quiet, shrugs like it’s nothing. “It was fun.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” He avoids my eyes, focusing way too hard on rewrapping his hands. “Nothing serious.”
I don’t buy it for a second.
Noah doesn’t do serious. That may be why we bonded so quickly. Sure, he plays the game, flirts, and has his fun, but when he’s actually into someone? It’s different. And right now, he’s giving me that look—the one that says he’s thinking about someone else entirely.
I sit on the bench, wiping the sweat off my face with a towel. “Who is she?”
He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “There’s no one.”
“Bullshit.”
