“I’m taking that as a yes.” He smirks. “So, this week, right?”
I bite back a smile, nodding.
“Good, ‘cause I was going to keep asking until you said yes,” he adds, making me laugh.
Noah glances past me once more as he shuffles back. “I better go.”
“I want you to stay.”
He freezes for a second, before a bright smile takes over his face and he laughs, forcing mine to slip free. “Your jukebox plays all genres.”
“Yes, it does.”
Noah takes a step toward me, and as he comes closer, his eyes, a little darker than their usual blue, hold strong on mine, and suddenly, I’m not so sure I’m breathing.
It’s confirmed I wasn’t when a low gasp fills my throat as he presses his lips to the highest point of my cheekbone. They skim along my skin, maybe by mistake, as he pulls back, but either way, the heat of his lips burns all the way down my neck.
Noah gently squeezes my bicep, and then he walks away.
My eyes refuse to leave the back of his head, and only do when my bestie comes up and hip checks me.
She tears open a bag of chips and throws one at me. “Sleeping Beauty my ass.”
Chapter 17
Arianna
* * *
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
Noah grins, glancing over as he stirs. “What do you want to know?”
“Your secrets.” I pause for dramatic effect. “‘Cause there’s no way you whipped up this sauce in the half hour it took me to drop my stuff off and get here.”
“You’re right.” He nods, setting the long wooden spoon down smack dab on the counter. “I didn’t,” he admits as I reach past him, lift said spoon, and set it back down on a paper plate. “I made it in ten.”
My head snaps his way. “I’m sorry, what?”
He smirks and begins walking backward into the living room, so just as he wants me to, I follow.
“Okay, Gordon Ramsay.” I set our drinks on the tabletop, and we lower into the spots we’ve come accustomed to eating in the last couple Mondays. “Tell me how.”
“Sorry, can’t do that.” He shakes his head, no longer waiting for me to serve myself, but rather portions it out for me.
I reach out and scoot an extra piece of chicken onto my plate. “And why not?”
Noah’s eyes glide my way, and he smirks. “Only way to learn is to do it with me.”
“That sounds a lot like coercion.”
He lifts a dark brow. “Did it take coercion to get you here tonight?”
I stick my food-covered tongue out and Noah shakes his head and laughs.
After a few bites and tuning into the scene in Superbad where McLovin first gets his fake ID, I turn to Noah. “So, do I get to pick the menu?”
“Only if you take turns doing the cooking.”
“Yeah, sure, if you want a Top Ramen night with a side of Takis.”
“I happen to like ramen.”
“Big fat liar.”
“Nope.”
“How could a guy who can cook like this possibly like Top Ramen?”
“You ever dress up your noodles? Little lime, some Tapatio and cilantro?”
I gape at him, and he chuckles, adding, “How about with a boiled egg, soy sauce, and siracha?”
I blink dramatically, and he tosses his napkin at me.
“Okay, you win.” I accept defeat. “You’re on menu, but we need a noodle night in there somewhere. I want to learn all about this from poor to polished ramen stuff.”
Noah nods. “I want to teach you.”
“Good.” I jerk my chin, and he beams. “Let’s start Sunday?”
When he frowns, I quickly add, “Or, I mean, whenever you have time. You know, after the season maybe.”
Stop talking, Ari.
“I don’t want to wait until after the season, Juliet.” Noah tries to hide his amusement as he looks my way. “I can’t on Sundays, that’s all.”
Because you and the ballerina are both busy that day…
That thought has a frown threatening to creep over my face, but I manage to hold it in.
“How about we make these Mondays official and add Wednesdays?” he asks. “Those are the easiest for me, since I have morning practice, and my classes are done before lunch. What about you?”
“Yes.”
He looks to me and I shake my head, clamping my eyes closed a moment. “I mean, same.” No, wait. I twist toward him a bit. “No, not same. I don’t have practice, obviously, but yes, those days are good for me too.”