But, as if the universe is playing a cruel joke on me, Noah shakes his head. “Not yet, my adorable littler smartass.” He runs his thumb over my bottom lip as it were his own. “The next time I kiss you, it isn’t going to be because of a stupid dare, and it sure as fuck isn’t going to be as a rebound for your piece of shit ex.” He stares down at me intently. “It’s going to fucking count,” he swears.
And with that, Noah nods in the direction of my front door, as if to say, “get going,” and for some inexplicable reason, despite my half-disappointed, half-confused frown, I do the incomprehensible. I obey.
10
I barely sleep that night. Instead, I obsessively—pathetically—replay the details of the day before, intending to analyze and understand, but, instead, finding myself lost in the perfection of it all.
For the first time in my life, I’m a giddy schoolgirl, pining over a boy, and I feel equal parts silly and excited by the prospect.
At the same time, though, I don’t know actually what yesterday meant. I know what I want it to mean, but I know better than to trust that a guy still feels on Friday the way he felt on Thursday. Or seemed to feel. And I will not become one of those desperate girls, obsessing over a guy I like, who may or may not really be all that interested in me.
When Noah doesn’t text or call the entire day, I suspect I know what it means. And despite the undeniable measure of disappointment taking hold in my gut, I refuse to keep staring at my phone. I refrain from so much as seeking out his social media accounts; I don’t need to learn anything more about him. I don’t need Noah Reed, or Jonah Berry, or anyone else in my life, at all.
And I sure as hell am done sitting around my house waiting for something to change without actually having to change it myself.
I text Jillian the next morning, and meet her at Aqualina. I don’t start work until July Fourth weekend, and I might as well get all the free beach-time in I possibly can.
The sun and sea are as soothing as ever, and I wonder why I ever thought that holing up in my house would be more healing than my happy-place.
Oh, right—the bruises.
But they’ve now faded down to almost nothing, and either way, I’m done sacrificing myself to protect Jonah and his abhorrent behavior.
I still haven’t heard from Noah, his silence a stark contrast to all the texts and calls I’ve been ignoring from Jonah, before I finally went ahead and blocked his number. And then blocked him on Facebook when he tried to message me there. And then Instagram. He’s either gotten the hint, or simply ran out of places to stalk me.
Jill and I grab some iced coffees from the club’s café, and it’s then that I catch sight of Noah. We lock eyes, and I'm taken aback by the way he glares at me. After a few moments, he subtly shakes his head, as if disappointed—or even disgusted—by me, before turning his naked, toned back on me and walking away.
What the hell was that?
I don’t say anything to Jillian. We haven’t even discussed Jonah, and I certainly haven’t mentioned Noah, and she knows I like to keep my personal life more private than most.
It isn’t until we settle on lounge chairs by the pool that the dreaded moment arrives.
Jonah approaches cautiously, his gaze equal parts contrite and pissed. I know he doesn’t like being ignored. But then, I don’t like being abused.
“Can I talk to you,” he whispers harshly. “In private.”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to talk about, Jonah.”
He grits his teeth. “The hell there isn’t, Lizzie. I’m sorry about the other night. I was drunk, and pissed at you, and—”
I stand up, right in his face, so that he even has to back up a step. He’s several inches taller than me, but right now, he feels like a small, pathetic boy who simply doesn’t get it.
“I. Don’t. Care.” I practically growl at him. “You will never touch me again. We are done.”
He still won’t accept it, I know, but he’s not worth my time, or further argument, and I walk away, Jillian fast on my heels. Like I have some kind of radar for him, I catch Noah watching me thoughtfully, a perplexed frown coloring his strained, beautiful features. At this point, he can go fuck himself as well. Hell, he and Jonah can fuck each other for all I care.
Jill grabs my elbow to stop my heated, hurried gait, and I turn to give her the answers she obviously wants.
“Wait, so you’re really broken up this time? For good?” she asks, stunned. “He’s been telling everyone you guys just had a fight, and got back together, like usual.” Of course he has.
I sigh. I lead her around to the quiet courtyard, and I tell her everything. Everything that happened with Jonah, with Noah, and she blinks at me for a minute, before getting up.
“Where are you going?” I ask her.
“Just gonna go murder Jonah real quick,” she deadpans. I don’t stop her. I know she’s just going to give him a piece of her mind, probably in a public display that will humiliate Jonah, and, frankly, I don’t even care. He deserves at the very least some humiliation.
It’s the moment I stand to head to my cabana that he’s there. Noah. But I don’t have anything more to say to him, either.