She put her hand over his. “You’re the only one who stood by me today.”
The thought sobered him. How could that be? He was the least responsible of all of her friends. He instinctively pulled her closer. “Oh, Lib. I’ll always be there for you. I promise. I’m sorry I said I wasn’t coming. If I’d kept my original flight yesterday, maybe I could have helped you change your mind.”
Her head rubbed against his chest as she shook it. “No. You couldn’t have. I was sure I knew what I was doing.”
The sadness in her voice wrecked him. “It’s over. Tomorrow is Libby Day and we won’t mention any of this at all, okay? Just fun.”
“Okay.”
Soon her breath evened again, and he drifted off to sleep too, wondering if this was what contentment felt like. If it was, he knew he wanted it with her.
Chapter Eight
Libby woke facing Noah, their legs intertwined. For a few moments she was confused and horrified. Had she had sex with him? But the thought barely had the chance to form before she remembered everything. He’d only held her.
She’d slept in a bed with Noah and he hadn’t made a move on her. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted. She settled on disappointed—another surprise. But sex with Noah was bound to ruin everything, she reminded herself. Yesterday he’d proved himself to be a loyal and supportive friend. She couldn’t let her hormones screw that up.
She untangled herself, making him stir, then propped herself up on one elbow. “Good morning.”
“What time is it?” he muttered, keeping his eyes closed.
“I don’t know. I can’t see a clock.”
“Go back to sleep,” he grumbled. “Whatever time it is, it’s two hours earlier in Seattle. For me, it’s like the middle of the night.”
“It’s not the middle of the night. The sun’s out.”
Groaning, he rolled over and looked at the clock on the nightstand, then groaned again.
“So what time is it?”
“9:13.” He didn’t sound very happy about it.
“I’m hungry.”
He lay on his back, looking up into her face. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. “You’re worse than Tortoise.” Then his eyes widened. “Hey, where is Tortoise?”
“Did you seriously think I was irresponsible enough to leave my dog alone overnight?”
“Well, no.”
“Liar.”
He looked relieved when she laughed.
“He’s with my friend Steph. She treats him like a little prince.”
“I miss him.”
That surprised her . . . then it didn’t. She’d adopted Tortoise while Noah was in town—they’d gone to the dog shelter together—and he’d teased her to no end about the name she’d given him. But he’d grown attached to the animal too, and often asked about him, as infrequent as his calls had become these past weeks.
“Hey,” she said, giving his arm a shove. “Why haven’t you called me very much over the last month?”
“That’s a two-way street, Libby.”
It was true. She’d pulled away from him after telling him about her engagement. She realized now it was because his disapproval had smarted. Even though she hadn’t intended to go through with the wedding, she’d known all along he was right about marrying Mitch.
“None of that,” he said, pulling her close again. “Yesterday happened in a vacuum.”
It hadn’t, not really. But it was nice to pretend it was true. “Maybe so, but today has its own very real problems.”
He frowned. “What problems could you possibly have on your special day?”
“Remember? The only thing I have to wear is a wedding dress.”
“Hmm . . . I see your point. Should I go out and pick up an outfit for you?”
“Are you kidding?” she asked in mock horror. “I don’t care to spend my special day dressed like a hooker.”
He leaned to the side to catch her gaze. “I’m slightly insulted by that.”
“Only slightly?”
“Well, I admit, it’s a legitimate concern.”
She lifted her eyebrows in mock surprise.
“I have a pair of sweatpants in my bag. You could wear those.”
“So I’m going to pair your sweatpants and T-shirt with my white beaded shoes?”
“Only so we can go out and find you something more suitable to wear. Unless you want to go in the buff. Or in your dress.”
“Sweatpants it is.”
“Thought so.”
She hopped out of bed and grabbed her bra from underneath the wedding dress on the chair, then slipped into the bathroom and closed the door. She was in the process of putting her bra on under Noah’s T-shirt when she saw his toothbrush on the counter.
Oh, God. She’d been talking to him with morning breath. She could get a toothbrush while they were out shopping, but she didn’t want to go that long. Looking over her shoulder, she turned on the water and grabbed his toothbrush, quickly putting toothpaste on the bristles. She’d been brushing for half a minute when Noah knocked on the door and pushed it open a crack. “Are you decent?”
“Uh-huh,” she said with the toothbrush in her mouth.
He opened the door the rest of the way and stared at her in the reflection in the mirror for a moment, his forehead wrinkling. “Here’s the pants.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled, still brushing.
His mouth dropped open. “Is that my toothbrush?”
She pulled it out and spat in the sink. “Yeah.”
“Oh, my God!” he said in horror. “That’s disgusting.”
“Come on,” she said, cupping water into her hand and slurping it into her mouth. “You’re telling me that you’ve never shared a toothbrush with someone before?”
“Absolutely not. Now that thing is covered in your germs.”
She rinsed off his toothbrush under the running water. “It’s no different than kissing.”
“But at least I get something out of kissing. What am I getting out of this?”
She turned around to face him, lifting her eyebrows in a playful manner. “My charming personality without halitosis?”
Something happened in his eyes then, the annoyance shifting to something she didn’t recognize, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. “Just remember paybacks are a bitch.”
A grin spread across her face as she stalked closer to him and rested her palms against his chest. “Am I supposed to be scared, Noah McMillan?”
His eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
His tone was teasing, but the combination of their proximity, their playful banter, and the suggestive words he’d just uttered sent an unexpected wave of heat coursing through Libby.
That was the thing. She wanted to find out what he was capable of . . . .
Her hands were still on his chest, but her fingertips were on fire now. She inhaled sharply, trying to make sense of the war being waged in her head. Her body demanded she grab the back of his head, pull his mouth to hers, and drag him to the very available bed less than ten feet away, so they could have what she was sure would be the most amazing sex of her life. But her head commanded her body to stop. She had too much to lose with a spontaneous fling. It wasn’t worth the risk. Even if she let herself think they might have the potential to have something long term, she had a hard time ignoring what was plainly written in her palm. She was destined for a man who was creative. She was certain an engineer who worked in an office didn’t qualify.