Anyway, he’s calling me. And I may or may not be squealing like a child.
“Hello, Norma,” I answer, already giggling like the stupid schoolgirl he turns me into.
“Hello… Myrtle? Are we giving each other old lady nicknames now?” Noah’s tone is confused, but still bathed in humor and casual wittiness, which I adore to the fullest.
“You bet,” I grin, getting up to clean my brushes. “What’s up, home skillet?”
“Not a whole hell of a lot, except that I just found out when I’ll be meeting my new costars!” His voice is rippling with excitement and unbridled optimism, and it’s so enchanting to hear I almost burst into tears. I love how happy he is all the time. It’s the polar opposite of everything else that happens in my life outside of our friendship.
“Oh, so cool! When?” I ask, giddy with anticipation for him.
“I meet the star on Saturday, and then I think they’re planning a dinner thing sometime in the upcoming weeks for most of the cast,” he tells me, and it sounds like he’s walking. “But I’m totally amped to meet Andrew. He lives in London, so I guess he’s flying out for -” He stops speaking abruptly. “Shit! I totally wasn’t supposed to say his name.”
“Why not?”
“Because it hasn’t been officially announced yet, so no one’s supposed to know… Ah, screw it. I trust you. It’s Andrew James! Cool, right?”
My smile is out-of-control. I might need someone to come reel me in, because I think I’m losing it.
The fact that Noah trusts me is a wonder all on its own, but hearing him talk about his new costar makes me melt everywhere. He’s obviously beyond thrilled to be working with a star like Andrew James. Everyone knows who that guy is.
I’m so proud of Noah. I can’t wait for him to show off his skills among other gifted actors.
I’ve watched things that Noah’s been in before, but it’s a different story now that I know him personally. I always remember thinking, Wow. Who’s that hottie with the dark eyes and the bad boy smirk?
But now, I look back on watching him act in TV and movies and think, My friend Noah is so talented. He could easily be starring in box-office movies and graciously accepting awards. Maybe giving a quick thanks to his good friend Alex who always believed in him…
“That’s very cool, Noah. And of course you know I won’t say anything to anyone. I just hope you get along with him.”
“Me too. Ugh, imagine if he’s, like, a huge douchebag?” He chuckles. “That would suck.”
“I’m sure it’ll work out.”
“Um, okay, so the real reason I called…” he changes the subject, and my heart raps quickly in my chest. “I want to see you. Let’s hang out.”
My initial response is an emphatic yes. But I can’t allow myself to fall into his web like this.
We’re friends, and that’s fine, but if I spend all my free time hanging out with him I just know I’ll start crushing on him eventually.
Eventually?? Who are you kidding? You’re two seconds away from hanging up his poster in your room and kissing it goodnight.
“I don’t know…” I whisper, grasping for the will to say no to something I desperately want to do. “I’m painting and stuff…” I can’t help but sound completely lame.
“Please, Alex,” he whines into the phone with an audible pout that makes my insides swell. “I miss you so much…”
“Noah, it’s been like two days since we last saw each other,” I giggle, twirling my hair around my finger. Dammit! I got paint on that now too!
“Yea, two excruciating days without my bestie,” he huffs. “Come on over. Come on over, baybaayyy!” He sings this in an awful Christina Aguilera voice that has me in stitches.
“Come over… to your place?” I ask in reluctance. Going over to Noah’s could derail my attempts at not dry-humping him.
“Yea!” He shouts in my ear, overly excited. “It’ll be so fun! You’ve never been to my place.”
“That’s because we’ve known each other for all of five seconds,” I grumble. I don’t know why I’m still playing this game. I’m already deciding what to wear in my mind.
“Five awesome seconds,” he adds, and I think I hear him clap. “I’ll text you my address. Just bring a couple pizzas and some chips and dip, and a molten chocolate lava cake. I’ll do everything else. Like sit here and wait for you.”
I can’t stop laughing. I’m going to bust a gut if we continue on with this friendship.
“Okay, fine! Jeez…” I sigh out my remaining giggles and get up. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Yay,” he whispers. My stomach must not have gotten the friend memo, because it’s twisting up like a pretzel. “Can’t wait. Oh, and Alex?”
“Yes, Noah?” My voice almost cracks.
“I was kidding. Don’t bring anything but your gorgeous self.”
This friend will be the death of me.
An hour later, I’m dressed in my super-tight ripped up black jeans, combat boots and my favorite sheer Nirvana shirt. The one that hangs off my shoulder, showing the pretty lace fabric of my new bra. My hair is styled the way it always is, straight and hanging well past my shoulder blades, and topped by Noah’s red Supreme hat with the black paint smudges on it.
I’m standing in front of his building, looking over how incredible it is. It’s a brownstone on 83rd, right across from the park. The perfect place for a celebrity to live, and yet I still can’t believe he lives here. I know these buildings are probably brimming with richies, but Noah isn’t just rich. He’s rich and famous. The fact that he lives amongst the people is very cool.
Although walking up to the door, I see that it does have some very elaborate security. There are a few different cameras, motion sensors, and some weird little touchpad with numbers all over it.
I press the button for his place and stand there feeling insecure. I think one of the cameras is moving.
Someone’s watching me. I squint up at it.
“Big Pete’s taxidermy emporium. You snuff it, we stuff it. How can I help you tonight?” Noah’s voice of amusement and snickering filters through the intercom thing, and I press my lips and thighs together before I pee myself.
“Let me in, you ridiculous idiot!” I shout at the screen, laughing through every word.
“Is that Alexandra Mackenzie? The Alexandra Mackenzie? World famous painter?? Oh my God, oh my God, okay. Hold on.”
I sigh out hard, shaking my head as his door buzzes and I push it open. There’s only one way to go, straight down a very long hallway, so I follow it toward the door at the end, and sure enough, it opens before I get there.
Noah is standing at the threshold of his home wearing only some very fitted black jeans, which are sitting far too low on his hips. He leans up against the doorframe and crosses his arms over his chest, face decorated with that signature smirk.
Now, this is my first time ever seeing Noah with no shirt on. I’ve certainly felt his muscles before when we were grinding in the club, and the other night when he was hugging me. So I knew they were there for sure.