The moment the call ends, his smile drops and he steps away from me. All that charm gone in a flash.
“Your mom says bye,” he says flatly.
“She didn’t say she loves me?”
“Strange. She must have forgotten.”
I leap toward him and hold up my hands like I’m strangling the air. Even with an exasperated “Argh!”， it doesn’t satisfy my urge to kill. Noah looks like he’s standing in front of an angry little mouse he could squash with his shoe. He cocks one eyebrow before he takes my hands and lifts them to his neck. So much muscle at my fingertips.
“Do your worst, Audrey Cohen,” he goads.
Oh, if only I could.
What a sweet way to end this all, here and now.
I tighten my hands around his neck, but sadly, my strength fails me. It’s not a death grip so much as a soft squeeze. I sigh and let my hands drop.
“I hate you,” I say with all the passion drained out of me.
“Then end this. Say, Noah, you’re the winner. I’ve loved you. I’ve always loved you.”
Panic seizes me. “Never.”
I walk around him, leave his room, and slam the door behind me.
Chapter Nine
“So listen, I think I’m going to go for it with Noah.”
The butt of my croissant is sticking out of my mouth and I’m midbite when Gabriella comes over to my table in the dining hall the next morning with this piece of information.
I hold up a finger to let her know I need to finish chewing before I can continue this conversation I’m definitely interested in having. Not.
“Sorry.” She laughs, inviting herself into the vacant seat across from me.
I was eating alone with a book flipped open in front of me. I hadn’t looked up in the last ten minutes. I thought I was giving off a gentle Do Not Approach vibe, but I guess I was wrong. Next time, I’ll hang a Do Not Disturb sign on my nose.
I drop my croissant on my plate and try to sound friendly as I ask her to repeat herself. “I’m not sure I caught what you said.”
“Oh, yeah. No worries. I was just letting you know I’m interested in Noah, and I was hoping you could, y’know…help a girl out.” Her declaration is accented by her little dancing eyebrows.
I laugh like this topic doesn’t deeply disturb me. “I’m not sure how I could help.”
She leans in like we’re in on some secret together. “You guys have worked together for years. Surely you have some good intel.”
Intel? Sure.
I have an encyclopedia’s worth of knowledge about Noah. He thinks sweaters are annoying; they make his armpits sweaty. He doesn’t love coffee, but if he has to drink it, he prefers cold brew with a splash of cream. He has a rotation of ten podcasts he’s perpetually trying to stay up to date with. He thinks Quentin Tarantino is the greatest director to ever live and Pop-Tarts should make it so the icing goes all the way to the edge.
I’ve studied my enemy carefully. I know him like the back of my hand.
I’m not about to just spill that intel to any ol’ person.
But still…I close my book and push it aside.
“So what’s your plan? I thought I heard you asking him to hang out yesterday.”
“Yeah, I did. There’s an Italian restaurant around the corner that has two Michelin stars and the food is supposed to be di-vine. It’s twelve courses and apparently it takes like four hours to get through. I have a friend of a friend who can get us reservations. Otherwise the waitlist is like four months long.”
Noah would absolutely hate that.
He’s a simple man at heart. He’s not one for pomp and circumstance. Give him a burger and fries and he’ll be happy. Also, the price tag on a meal like that would blow his mind.
$75 for a glass of wine? Does it come with the vineyard?
“But he doesn’t seem all that excited about it,” she continues. “Which is where you come in. Maybe you can give me some pointers? I mean, I’m pretty eager to go for it. Noah seems like a rare breed. I can’t believe he’s single.”
I don’t know what my face is doing, but I hope it resembles a normal expression.
“It’s slim pickings in New York. The guys are either workaholics or playboys. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been ghosted by some Brooklyn brownstone boy who’s trying to pursue his life’s calling. There was the graphic artist, the DJ, the writer. I mean, are you kidding? No, Ezra, I don’t want to read your manga a year after you stopped calling me back.”