It’s now midnight, but my body is wired from all the excitement. And I am starving.
“What would you like to eat?” Noah asks, flipping his menu pages back and forth, though he’s not looking at them. His eyes are stuck on me. “Order whatever you want.”
“Thanks…” I murmur, feeling very unsure of myself.
I’m sitting here with a guy I barely know; a guy who also happens to be rich and famous, and who I was two hot seconds away from climbing like a sexy tree a few minutes ago. And he’s asking me what diner food I want to eat, aiming that gorgeous, celebrity face directly at me.
“The waffles are good here,” he chirps, his pillowed lips curled into that easy smirk he wears so much. I’m secretly obsessed with how he always seems to be smiling. I’m over guys who scowl all the livelong day.
“I like waffles,” I tell him with a small smile, because his is contagious. I don’t think I’ve smiled as much in years as I have tonight, being with him.
He nods, apparently pleased with my acceptance of his suggestion, then flags the waiter and orders waffles for both of us. I nestle into the booth and keep my arms tucked securely under the table. He’s watching me again, and his forehead creases.
I can tell he’s thinking about the bruises. It’s a look I’m slightly familiar with at this point. People always look at my bruises like that, especially when they’re on my face, though I try not to go out as much if that’s the case.
But why would Noah need to think my bruises are from anything bad? Maybe I just bumped into something. I am sort of clumsy sometimes. And he doesn’t know me. It’s fully plausible that I was doing something normal to bruise my arms. No one should be jumping to any conclusions…
Or it could be a vibe I’m giving off. I’m not the best at hiding stuff, and I’ve had to get good at it, which I don’t enjoy. I know I must look like a downtrodden little lump of emotions, but I just can’t help it.
I hate my life.
Accept right now, because I’m sitting with the coolest guy I’ve ever met, and his dark eyes are locked on me. This is the best feeling I’ve had in a while… And I want to hang onto it for dear life. I want to grab it and smother it and absorb everything it has to give until I’m replete.
God, I’m so messed up.
Don’t get used to having him around, Alex.
“So, how long have you been married?” Noah asks, rubbing his hands together.
He seems uneasy. I can’t say that I blame him. He probably thought he would get laid tonight, before I dropped the husband bomb. And because he seems to have manners, he offered to hang out with me so I didn’t feel like the dick-tease I so obviously am.
I almost wish I had asked him to take me home…
“A little over seven years…” I tell him honestly because lying seems like so much work, and I’m already mentally exhausted.
He makes a face I can’t read, and I witness his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, sheeted in sexy stubble that makes my insides shiver.
“Wow…” he breathes. The tension surrounding us is palpable. “Long time…”
I really have no desire to talk about my marriage or my husband right now, especially with Noah Richards, of all people. Quite frankly, it’s unnecessary. There’s no way we’ll ever see or speak to each other again after tonight, so what’s the point in bringing up all this marital nonsense?
I nod slowly, my eyes locking on my silverware. If I’m going to say anything else, I should do it now, and change the subject before he can continue with this line of questioning.
“So when are you going to meet your new costar?” I peer up at him, unable to help the vulnerable look that’s likely possessing my face. It’s abundantly clear that I’m attempting to redirect the conversation off of me and my problems.
Noah’s quiet for a beat while continuing to watch me. All I can see right now are his eyes, and how shockingly dark they are. They must be brown, but they look almost black, like coal or obsidian. It’s mesmerizing. I’ve never seen irises that deep. I wonder how many secrets they hold…
“Well, we just signed the contracts for the pilot, so probably not for a few weeks,” he answers my question, his face instantly sweeping into the excitement he was wearing earlier at the bar when he was telling me about his good news.
Obviously he’s ecstatic about this job. For hours he’s been bouncing around, giddy every time he mentions it. It’s pretty adorable to witness, and to my own surprise, I’m oozing pride for him and his accomplishments, a strange way to feel for someone you barely know. I can just tell he’s happy and uber-dedicated to his craft. It’s a very endearing quality, something he seems to have a lot of.
“I just have a feeling this job is going to change my life, you know?” His head tilts to the right. “I mean, I’ve played some pretty awesome parts, but this one sounds like a dream come true. And the producers asked for me, which is always flattering.”
I smile wide. “That’s sick.”
“Right?” He chuckles. “I totally nailed the audition though. Just saying.”
I laugh out loud, which makes him beam. He’s so freaking cute. Honestly…
The waiter drops off two plates of waffles and we eat and talk. Noah was right, the waffles are fantastic. Fluffy with just the right amount of crispiness on the outside. I slather mine in butter and drench them in syrup, which has Noah chuckling at me.
“Sweet tooth,” he murmurs, forking waffle into his mouth. Even that is sexy when he does it.
His mouth is very alluring, with lips that are curved and temptingly full, a contrast to how sharp and angled the lines of his face are. I’ve just decided his mouth is my favorite part of him, paired with the adorable things that come out of it.
“That’s an accurate assessment,” I quip, then groan out loud over the exploding flavors on my tongue. Sweet mapley goodness and probably too much butter. I can’t remember the last time I had waffles, which sucks because I love them. Especially now, being enjoyed in the company of this even sweeter man.
Noah laughs softly at watching me enjoy my food, and I peek up at him, wondering if he’s just being nice to me because he knows we’ll never see each other again. I don’t know much about Noah Richards: celebrity. But from what I’ve seen in the occasional blog post or gossip article, he’s a chronic bachelor. A womanizer extraordinaire, just like his Hollywood brethren. They’re all the same, after all.
And as charming and kind as Noah Richards seems, the fact of the matter is that there’s no way he hangs out with women as friends. He beds them, fucks them - probably really well - and then sends them on their merry way.
Well, that’s not what’s happening here. So again, don’t get used to him.
I pout to myself because I’m not ready to give him back yet.
“I have a question…” he asks, and my stomach instinctively tightens.
“I hate questions,” I grumble which just makes him chuckle again. He does that a lot. He’s a smiley, chuckley kind of person, which is so foreign to me, I barely know how to react around it.
He’s just staring at me so I raise my brows at him in a well? What is it? kind of way.