“Jesus! You could have put a shirt on.”
The image of his chiseled six-pack is burned into my retinas.
“This is my room,” he points out, dryly.
“You’re practically naked.”
“I’m wearing sweatpants. And hey, eyes up here.”
Oh shoot. My gaze can’t be trusted to behave apparently. I look away as I push past him and step into his room.
“Sorry, here, I’ll look this way, just hand me your phone.”
I dangle my hand behind me, wiggling my fingers out into open air, waiting for him to do as I say.
He slaps his iPhone into my hand and I turn to leave, anxious to be out of this room, but he blocks my path.
“Sit. You aren’t leaving here with my phone.”
“I won’t do anything with it.”
He doesn’t believe me.
My butt hits his desk chair and I’m suddenly in the middle of a Magic Mike-inspired porno. Sitting down dutifully while Noah stands before me, sans shirt, buff and annoyed-looking. The lap dance is about to begin.
He rolls his eyes and walks over to his closet to yank a t-shirt off a hanger.
“It’s like you’ve never seen a male torso before. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
My comeback dies on my tongue as I watch him work that t-shirt on over his head. His back muscles pull taut, flexing beneath his warm olive skin. I’m about to pee my pants.
“Would you stop?”
“I…can’t.”
I’ll chastise myself for this later. In bed, when I replay this interaction moment by excruciating moment, I’ll curse myself for not getting it together. Never show weakness, Audrey.
“Call your mom,” he says with a shake of his head.
Right.
I dial her number from Noah’s phone and spin around to face the window. I think it’ll help, but it’s pitch-black out and Noah is reflected in the glass. He’s staring at me with a grouchy expression, his hands propped on his hips.
My mom answers on the first ring.
“Hello? Who is this?” Her tone turns threatening. “If you have my daughter—”
“Mom, it’s me. Relax. My phone died.”
“Oh thank god.” Then she calls out to my dad. “Peter, you can hang up with the sheriff! I’ve got her!”
“Please tell me you weren’t really—”
“Whose phone is this? I don’t recognize the number.”
“My coworker’s.”
I try to leave it at that, but my mom is a certified sleuth.
“Oh, Noah? Noah Peterson? How is he doing?”
“Fine.”
“Just as handsome as ever?” She whistles like a construction worker catcalling on the sidewalk. “If I were twenty years younger and your father were dead…”
I look around Noah’s desk for a sharp object to impale myself with. “Yes, Mom. The pasta really is better over here.”
Noah laughs behind me. “Tell your mom I said hi.”
I whirl around in my chair. “Stop listening!”
He shrugs, unbothered. “It can’t be helped. The room is quiet and your mom talks pretty loud.”
“Oh is that him?!” My mom sounds positively giddy. It’s like I’ve got George Clooney here with me. “Put him on! Put him on!”
“No. Mom, I’m not—”
Noah wrenches the phone out of my hand, and before I know it, they’re having a little tête-à-tête.
She could be unveiling all of my deep dark secrets. I don’t know because I can’t hear a word she’s saying. Unlike Noah, I don’t have supersonic hearing.
“Hi, Mrs. Cohen. It is good to finally meet you,” Noah tells my mom.
And then, “I completely agree.”
He grins diabolically at me while my mom keeps right on talking. What could she possibly be saying?!
I stand up and try to get closer, but Noah stiff-arms me with a hand to my chest.
“Put it on speakerphone,” I demand through clenched teeth.
He ignores me.
“You know, I was just thinking the same thing. You’re so astute, Mrs. Cohen.”
I hear her coquettish giggle on the other end of the line.
“Stop flirting with my mom!” I whisper-hiss.
“Really?!” he exclaims like he’s never heard anything more interesting in his entire life. “The millionth visitor? You must be a lucky gal.”
“Mom! HANG UP! RIGHT NOW!”
“Oh, you need to go get dinner started? I’ll let you go. Want me to hand you back to Audrey first? No? Okay, I’ll tell her.”