Gladys was a stronger woman than I’d given her credit for.
He rested his arm across the back of the couch, and it reminded me of us being in the car together last night. But this time, instead of feeling afraid that he was going to make a move, I found it oddly appealing. And wondered what he would do if I laid my head against his forearm.
He had really nice biceps. Did he know that? He must, since he obviously worked out to have them.
“Thank you,” he said with a grin.
Oh crap, that part had definitely been out loud. It seemed that my inhibitions had been lowered without me realizing it. “You know you have good genes. I already told you that.”
“You did,” he said with a smile. “So, is your father the reason you don’t date?”
He was a little like a dog with a bone, wasn’t he? But I found myself only slightly annoyed. “No. You’re not going to give that up, are you?”
“It just doesn’t seem fair to deprive the men of this great city the opportunity to date you.” He thought he was so adorable, didn’t he?
To be fair, he was.
That feeling I had last night was back. That Noah Douglas was trustworthy. Considering all he’d told me about his life and his family, it was clear that he kept his own secrets locked up tighter than Fort Knox . . . Wouldn’t he do the same for me? And maybe if I said the words out loud, to somebody else, it wouldn’t feel like this ridiculous, terrible secret. I might find relief saying it.
I mean, it was so dumb. What I’d been carrying around was stupid. And the accompanying panic attacks were even dumber. He was going to think I was ridiculous. How could he not when I already did?
I knew it was supposed to be a bad idea to tell him, but I couldn’t think of a single reason why. He was my friend. My good friend. And very, very, very trustworthy.
“I am trustworthy,” he agreed.
Okay, I was definitely tipsy, and all the things I thought were just inside my head I was apparently saying out loud. Maybe that was a sign that I was meant to say them. Meant to tell him. My mom was a big believer in signs, and I’d always dismissed them. Maybe I shouldn’t have.
And he was just my friend. That was the boundary we had agreed on. So there wouldn’t be any temptation to make it more, right?
“Do you have secrets?” I asked.
“That’s the thing that’s hard about my life—when someone’s interviewing you and you’ve developed this rapport, there’s this constant struggle between opening up and giving everything away but wanting to keep something for myself. I live in this twilight kind of world where my ability to do my job relies on my ability to be human and live a regular life, but I can’t do that. I’m always straining for normalcy and settling on what I can get. It’s one of the reasons I read. I get to experience so many different parts of humanity through stories and plays that I wouldn’t get to otherwise.”
“That’s a long-winded way of not answering my question.”
He laughed and said, “There are parts of my life I keep private from the press and the public, but they’re not secrets. I think a real secret, something I had to guard from everyone in my life, would be too hard for me to keep. It would weigh me down.”
That’s how I felt. Weighed down. And I didn’t want to keep feeling that way. Did that mean I was going to confess? My mind was a little muddled, but this seemed like the right move. I needed a moment to decide without him possibly overhearing my brain talking to itself. “I’m thirsty. Could I have some water?”
“Yeah, absolutely. I’ll be right back.”
I’d never even come close to telling anyone else. I thought about things he’d said to me, how he’d joined the military to have a life that was more authentic, more real. Was I guilty of not being my truest self because I kept something like this a secret? Normally it didn’t consume a lot of my mental or emotional energy because I stayed away from attractive men and just lived my life.
Until I didn’t.
Until I ended up on the couch of a movie star that I was desperately attracted to, and maybe the best way to make sure that I didn’t have a full-blown meltdown in front of him was to tell him the truth so that he’d see why we had to stay just friends.
Although, to be fair to Noah, he was so . . . compassionate. Empathetic. He’d been nothing but respectful toward me. And I didn’t think he’d make fun of me. Because he was a mature adult who had really lived and had his current life together. He wasn’t a frat boy or a high school football jock. Perhaps someone who had devoted his career to understanding the human condition would be understanding toward me.
Maybe it would be cathartic. Liberating.
He came back in the room and handed me a water bottle. He’d poured himself a bowl of cereal.
Cold fingers of fear wrapped themselves around my spine, and I tried to temporarily distract myself. I was going to do it, but I was afraid, and my body was trying to buy some time to convince my mind it should choose differently. “You’re eating again?”
“It happens all the time. I eat a ton of cereal. I don’t really ever feel full.”
If I had been looking for a sign, there it was. That connection of “we’re the same” sparked again. He would get me. He already did.
My heart pounded so loud in my ears that I felt light-headed. I breathed in deeply and realized that my limbs were shaking. I wanted to stop feeling this way. So I was going to tell him and get it all out.
“I want to tell you why I don’t date.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Okay.” He kept eating, which surprised me. It felt like such a monumental occasion that it deserved him putting down his food and giving me his full attention. Or maybe this was better. He wasn’t staring at me, which would have made this worse.
“You can’t laugh,” I told him. “If you laugh, I am walking out your front door and I’m never coming back. I’m serious.”
He swallowed his mouthful. “I won’t laugh.”
“Promise me.”
Now he was the one making an X over his heart. “I promise.”
This was it. I was going to do it.
Swallowing back that nauseated feeling that was growing in my gut, I said, “I don’t date because . . . I’m terrified of kissing anyone. Like, just the idea of doing it makes me freak out. The times I’ve come close have caused full-on panic attacks.”
There. I’d done it. I’d said it out loud, and despite my body telling me otherwise, the world hadn’t ended. I let out a shaky sigh of relief as the adrenaline started to fade away.
And in the same moment, Noah coughed and sprayed milk out of his nose.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Sorry. That just went in the wrong way.”
“More like it came out the wrong way,” I said, trying to lighten things up. Because other than hosing down his couch with two percent, he hadn’t responded, and his reaction seemed desperately important. But instead of letting him speak, I had to keep going, nervously. “I had that happen with a Twix bar once. That tasty cookie layer really hurts when it’s coming out of your nose. Then I smelled chocolate for, like, three days. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.”