Chapter
Thirteen
It feels a little like flying.
My curls whip around my face as the world slides past us in a blur. I’ve tucked my glasses into my bag for safety, and all I can see are the halos of car headlights, the back of Noah’s neck, and the brief golden twinkles of fireflies in the grass. I’ve wrapped my arms around Noah’s middle like a vise, with my cheek and nose pressed hard against his shoulder—there it is again, sandalwood and pine—and the strap of his helmet digging uncomfortably into my chin. He’d had only the one, and he’d given it to me. Even though Noah’s pedaling slowly, the hardest part is keeping my wobbly legs straight as I brace them atop the back pegs of his bike.
“You doing okay back there?” Noah asks, and god, I can feel the rumble of his voice against my chest.
“I’m fine,” I call. No, I’m more than fine. I’m great. I’m doing wonderfully. I’mflying.I’m tempted to straighten and throw my arms outTitanic-style as Noah sails down the road.
But I can’t bear to let go even for a second. I’m dizzy on more than one level, the sweetness of the moment directly at odds with the way the alcohol in my stomach flips and spins every time we take a sharp curve.
The wind almost carries his voice away completely. “It looked like you had a lot of fun tonight.”
“I love them.” It’s out of my mouth before I have a chance to think it through. “They’re so great, Noah. Everyone in our group is just the best.” At the last word, I give him a squeeze.
There’s a small, persistent voice in the back of my head, a sober voice that certainly hasn’t had four beers, but I don’t pause long enough to listen to what she has to say.
His laugh vibrates through my whole body. His smile is soloud.“I think so, too.”
Too soon, he’s slowing down, though I don’t realize we’re back at Liam’s house until we’ve stopped next to the mailbox. The deck’s outdoor lights are still on, casting a soft bubble of warmth over the porch and front yard.
Noah helps me off the bike with a steadying hand between my shoulder blades then props it up next to the curb. As we walk to the door, he keeps his hand where it is, and the weight of it is all I can focus on until we’re standing on the doormat. I can’t get the damned helmet off. There’s a button-type latch, but it’s stuck, and I can’t figure out which part of the plastic to press—
“Oh, Sadie,” Noah says, in the most endearing and gently pitying tone I’ve ever heard. “Let me help you. It’s a little tricky.” I’m sure it’s not—he’s just being sweet. He bends forward until his eyes are aligned with mine. His knuckles drag along my jawline as he tucks his fingers underneath the helmet’s straps and then—click!—it’s off.
Everything goes still. The leaves in the trees hush their rustling, and the fireflies are suspended in midair. Our mingling breaths freeze in the narrow space between us. Words unspoken catch in the back of my throat, and I don’t know what to say next.
Thanks for the ride.
I’ll see you tomorrow.
Is what Jules said about you true?
Do you want to come in?
Or, I could say nothing at all. I could simply lean forward and close the distance. I wouldn’t even have to go up on tiptoes to reach him, not with his face so close. His hair is a messy red cloud around his face, tousled by the wind. His eyes are wide and awake, and his dark brows are slanted upward. His head is canted slightly to the side, and his lips are curled in a questioning, tentative half smile. He rocks slowly forward, or maybe I do, and his lips—
The front door creaks open, and the spell is broken. The world starts to spin again. Myheadstarts to spin again, and Noah straightens suddenly and steadies me with a hand on my arm.
“Liam,” Noah says in greeting as my best friend—and worst enemy, in this moment—suspiciously peeks his head through the door.
“Noah was just giving me a ride back,” I say.
Liam gives me a good once-over, taking in my flushed cheeks and slight wobble. He exhales a short laugh through his nose. “Good thing he did, huh?”
“A very good thing,” I agree.
“Happy to chariot you home anytime,” Noah says. My attention darts back to him as his hand slides down my arm; he squeezes my fingertips twice before letting go and then fastens the helmet to his own head. “I’ll see you two bright and early tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
I float my way inside and up the stairs, out of my clothes, and into bed. The next morning, I’m only slightly hungover. In truth, I still feel a little drunk—drunk on the magic of last night, on all the possibilities that hung in that moment on the front porch.
I wonder if I can re-create it or if the moment’s already passed.
I head downstairs and into the day’s session with only one goal in mind:roll for initiative.
