“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“Sure thing. Just text me the license plate number and location, and leave the keys under the floor mat if your friend is okay with that.”
“Sounds good. Thanks again.”
“No problem.”
I hang up after saying goodbye and rehash the conversation to Chloe who keeps nodding.
I press the message button on my uncle’s contact and lift my gaze to meet Chloe’s. “What’s your license plate number?”
“8CAN386.” She looks away from me.
My hands halt mid-type. CAN for Chloe and Noah. “You still have your old license plate?”
And why shouldn’t she? She didn’t move out of state, after all. But to keep her old license plate, our license plate.
She nods and chews on her bottom lip. I’m positive she’s out to kill me. That’s the only reason that makes sense.
After sending the text message to my uncle, I try to find my inner Zen. The same one I’ve worked on for over a decade and usually isn’t a problem for me to slip into. When I can’t get into it right away, I briefly wonder if Chloe broke it. If she broke me.
The desire to retreat and go somewhere quiet to rethink my offer to drive her—and possibly taking it back—is at the forefront of my brain. Not even a second later, my manners kick in though and I sigh, “Let’s get you home.”
“Uh what?” I walk around her to the sliding doors, looking over my shoulder to make sure she’s following.
Of course, she’s not.
Placing my hands on my hips, I let out a loud breath, speaking slowly. “Obviously, I’m going to drive you home. Unless you’d rather try to get an Uber on a Friday night?”
“But why?”
She’s staring at me like I’ve grown a third eye.
I let my hands drop to my thighs. Loudly. “Because I’m not an asshole?”
It comes out more as a question, even though it shouldn’t have. It’s clear that I’m trying to be a stellar citizen—and just a straight-up stellar person—by doing the right thing.
Naturally, she has to make even that more difficult.
“But you don’t even like me.” This time, her voice has less bite, and I feel like massaging my temples. Now I know what my coach felt like earlier.
I take a step in her direction and bend my head to be on eye level with her, ignoring all the memories that want to haunt me when I get a good glimpse of her eyes. “I don’t have to like you to be a decent person. Are you coming now, or what? I’m not going to beg you.”
With that, I turn and make my way through the sliding doors and out into the cold rain. Thankfully, it has calmed down and there is only light drizzle now.
This time, she follows, and I gesture for her to lead the way to her car. We walk quietly until I spot our destination and stop dead in my tracks. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Chloe lets out a little snort and goes straight for the silver Honda that’s parked a few feet in front of us. “Nope. She’s still alive.”
I shake my head as I watch her grab a few things out of the trunk, wiggling her ass in the process. I contain the groan that wants to escape, and of course, I’m totally not staring at it. Nope.
And that car. The same one we drove around for years. The car we did things in. Dirty things. Orgasmic things.
When she’s done, she shuts the trunk, and looks at me over her shoulder. Her purple ponytail whips to the side as I keep staring at her. “You said to put the key under the floor mat, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
After putting it in place, Chloe closes the door, and we walk to my car two rows down. It’s a black sedan and only a few years old. The most important thing: it doesn’t hold any memories of us.
I unlock the car and get a few towels from the trunk. Fortunately, I always have some extra in case my nephews and I need them for swimming or a mess they made. I hand her one and put another few on her seat before we both get in. Chloe throws her things in the back and almost whacks me in the head.
After securing my seat belt, I glance toward the back. “A puzzle?”
“Yes. I’m going over to my mom’s tonight and she loves them. But I need to get home first and get changed. Then I’ll catch an Uber or cab to her place.”
My fingers go to the spot between my eyes and I rub it. Pinch it. “I’ll drive you to your mom’s after you get changed at home.”
I’d better get brownie points for this. Lots of brownie points.
“You don’t have to, Noah. You already did so much by taking care of the car and getting me home.”
My hand goes to the shifter to put it in reverse, my fingers turning white from pressing so hard. “Chloe, what’s your address?”
“814 Westminster Avenue.”
My head snaps her way so fast, a sharp pain shoots through the back of my scalp. Son of a . . . “Are you serious right now?”
“Yes. Is something wrong with that address? Do you want me to pull it up for you on my phone?”
“Nope. I got it.”
My breathing grows heavier as I try to hang on to my emotions by a thread.
Chloe Williams is back in my life.
I’m stuck with her for this volunteer project.
Chloe Williams is also my fucking neighbor.
Nine
Chloe
This is the strangest car ride of my life, and Noah has been acting extra weird. I don’t really blame him for avoiding me at the hospital. It was clear as day that he was as surprised as I was about being there. Because what are the odds? Fate is clearly laughing at us—or at me, at least—rubbing her hands together in poor glee over screwing all of this up so badly.
When I signed up for the project, I had no idea where my volunteers would come from. Painting the mural was supposed to be my safe haven, my fun project to distract me from too much free time that usually leads to thoughts of my dad, or of Noah—and especially the fact that I’m in the same city as him.
Things were supposed to be done with him. Cleared up. Forgiven or not, done with. Without anything left.
Instead, I’m stuck with him in his car. It’s not a small car by any means, but I might as well be rolled up with him in a blanket for all it’s worth. His presence is astronomical. And his scent . . . Goodness, the scent of him is so overwhelming to my senses I feel a little intoxicated. Or high. Maybe both.
Car rides with him used to be my happy place. Our main teenage hangout spot where we could be alone without watchful eyes on us. The place where we crossed lines and whispered naughty things to each other. The place where we explored and learned.
Sure, there had been tears too—they seem to come naturally to a teenager, especially when you’re in love—but I mainly remember the fun times. The joy and bliss that only a teenager without a care in the world can feel.
The car stops, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I look over at Noah whose gaze is locked on the house behind me. My house. For now, at least. It was one of the only affordable rentals in this area. Close to my mom, the hospital, Eadie, my uncles, and everything else I love and need.
At some point, I might look into buying a house, but that wasn’t anything I wanted to do online without seeing it in person. Maybe next year.
It’s close to the neighborhood I used to live in, and I was thrilled to find this place available.
“I’ll be right back.” I open the door to get out but turn to him when he doesn’t say anything. “And you’re really sure you’re okay to drive me to my mom’s? It’s no problem to call an Uber or cab.”
“Go. I’ll wait.” His voice is gruff as he turns his head in the other direction, successfully dismissing me.
Grouchy butt.
Not for the first time, I wonder if he’s like this with everyone, or if he saves his moodiness specifically for me.
It’s so contrary to what he used to be like. He was never the life of the party, the classroom clown, but th
ere was more lightness to him. Now, there hasn’t been one smile or form of levity whenever I’ve interacted with him.
I make my way to the front door while rummaging through my bag to find the keys. Somehow, they always disappear in there, no matter how hard I try to keep them in the same spot.
Once I’m inside, I make quick work of my clothes, changing my T-shirt and leggings for another set, but this time also putting on a sweater. I take the extra minute to hang up my wet clothes in the laundry room, so I don’t have to deal with them later.
After locking the house, I make my way back to Noah’s waiting car—the light drizzle has mostly stopped—ready for the second leg of our odd car ride.
This time, he doesn’t react all weird when I tell him the address. I take a moment to send my mom a quick message to tell her what happened and to let her know I’m on my way.
“Thanks so much again for driving me. I really appreciate it. And also for the help with the car. I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to get it done so quickly otherwise.”
“No problem.”
That’s it. He doesn’t give me an inch, and I can’t even blame him. Shit. I’m not sure I’ve forgiven myself for what happened back then. I know I wasn’t planning on getting sick, but the way I ended things between us was brutal. For both of us, even though he doesn’t know that.
To him, I was the evil one.
To him, I was the one who ripped out his heart while mine stayed intact.
And that’s what I let him believe—what I wanted him to believe—even though it couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Because even when my heart was ripped out and there was nothing left of it, I could still feel his imprint deep inside of me like it had never left.
He was a part of me, engrained so profoundly within my essence that I would never be able to let go of him entirely for as long as I lived.
And yet I did.
That doesn’t change the fact that there’s no future for us though. I have to live with this new life, and there’s no room for him in it. It wouldn’t be fair to him or to us.
As so often, my body isn’t in line with my thoughts. Inhaling his scent deeply, I feel like he’s around me. Taking in this still-the-same yet slightly-unfamiliar, older version of him whenever I can, committing every single detail to memory, even though I know it will only make things harder for me.
But as before, when it comes to Noah Winters, I’m unable to deny my senses what they crave. Most of them, at least.
Thank goodness the drive to my mom is quick. When we get there, I jump out of the car before it fully stops, slamming the door shut after mumbling a quick “Thank you” in Noah’s direction.
I’m almost at the front door when two things happen: my mom opens the door and smiles at me, and Noah calls my name.
Sending a few stern words to fate, or whoever’s doing all of this for shits and giggles, I give my mom a forced smile and give myself a second to think about what Noah might want. Has he gotten over his aversion to me? My body, my memory, and everything in between are obviously drawn to him.
Maybe we could be friends? Friends sounds good, right? Everyone needs friends.
A spark of something I don’t want to name ignites in my chest, spreading warmth through my body. I take a deep breath and shoot another glance at my mom before looking at Noah, who’s walking up the drive. How bad is this going to be?
Then I see it. The bag in his hand, just as he stretches it out toward me.
Damn it. Of course. I was so focused on getting out of his overpowering presence, I totally forgot that I still had my bag in the backseat.
Taking it out of his hand without touching him—okay, maybe just a small, torturing brush of my fingers against his—I’m glad the sky has gotten darker because my skin’s on fire. “Thanks.”
My mom gasps behind me. “Oh, I can’t believe it. Is that really you, Noah Winters?”
I hold my breath, and then I die because Noah smiles. A disarming smile that is breathtaking.
Wow.
Unfortunately, it’s not aimed at me, but my stupid heart doesn’t seem to care. It latches on to this rarity like it’s never seen it before. Which I guess it hasn’t. Teenage Noah’s smile had me enchanted from the very beginning, but adult Noah’s smile is something else entirely. It’s meant to steal my sanity, along with other things. Which is not an option. No. Nope. Not going to happen. And now I won’t ever be able to unsee it.
“Hey, Mrs. Williams.”
“Oh my. I didn’t know you two were getting together today. What a surprise.” She shoots me a meaningful glance that silently portrays “You owe me an explanation,” before her focus is back on Noah. “And look at you. You’re all grown up.”
“I guess I am.” Noah chuckles once and shrugs. “You look as lovely as ever.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that he didn’t comment on the “getting together” part. Also, I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m jealous of my mother. Who needs that?
My mom touches her cheek, probably because she’s another woman who's fallen victim to the Noah-made-me-blush syndrome. “Would you like to come inside? I just set up some tea for Chloe and me.”
I feel like I’m watching a tennis match, my gaze flickering back and forth between my mom and Noah. I’m actually not sure which team I’m on though. And who do I want to win?
His gaze meets mine for a nanosecond before he scratches his neck with one of his oversized hands. That guy has always had big hands, or rather paws as I’d called them. Strong and very, very capable. “I have some things to do, but thank you for the invitation.”
She waves him off. “No worries. Maybe next weekend? You could come over for Sunday lunch if you want to.”
He’s about to open his mouth to decline, I just know it.
And I don’t even blame him. What on earth is my mom doing?
Apparently, she’s prepared for him to decline this invitation as well. “I insist . . . for old time’s sake.”
Guilt card, here we go. I think I might need to have a stern talk about this with her later.
Noah’s Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow as he closes his eyes. “Okay.”
“Great. That’s great.” My mom seems to be the only one who thinks this is anything but a disaster, and also the only one who’s oblivious to the tension radiating off Noah. Or she's a better actress than I thought.
He clears his throat. “Well, I better get going. Have a good night.”
With that, he turns around, leaving me to enjoy the view. And by view, I mean that tight, round ass in his low-hung sweatpants.
“Well, well . . .” My mom’s hand lands on my shoulder as she spins me around and we walk into the house. “Looks like there’s a lot you have to tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell, Mom.”
“That didn’t look like nothing to me.”
We make our way through the hallway—where I stop to look at our family photos, sending my dad a smile, as always—and into the kitchen. The two mugs on the kitchen bar are steaming, the herbal tea tags hanging over the edges.
After slinging my purse and the bag on the bar, I plop onto the barstool, and drop my head on my folded arms. Seems to be my new thing, especially after seeing Noah in any capacity, or when recounting anything involving Noah.
What a mess. This wasn’t supposed to be like this. None of it.
This was supposed to be a new start. Bringing me comfort to be united with my friends and family. Instead, it has unleashed chaos.
I listen to my mom’s movements around the kitchen, the clinking of the mugs on the counter, the opening and closing of the trash can drawer.
She’s always been the patient one out of my parents, which sometimes drove my dad and me insane. Do I want to talk to her about Noah? We’re close, even closer since my dad passed away, but talking about boys . . . about men has never been our thing.
And what’s there even to tell? Nothing
on the outside since we aren’t anything. But there’s so much going on inside my head. Things I don’t want to say out loud, let alone think about. Not that my mind or heart care about any of it.
“Noah was assigned to me for the volunteer work at the hospital.” I accept the mug she holds out to me, knowing she’s already added the honey. “Thank you.”
“Oh wow. That’s unexpected.” She grabs her mug and we move to the dining room table.
I’m not sure why she even needs one since she’s living by herself, but in my eyes, she’s got free rein on whatever the heck she wants to do. Between me and my dad, she’s had a lot to deal with in the last decade, and I just want her to find a slice of happiness. If a giant dining room table makes her happy, so be it.
I catch her up on the hospital work and my broken-down car. There really isn’t much else to tell.
After spreading out her puzzle mat, we spend the next hour hunched together over her latest obsession, a three-thousand-piece edition of Flowering Paris.
It will look gorgeous and has me completely engrossed.
My thoughts don’t sneak off to Noah at all.
Not one bit.
Ten
Noah
Is twenty-nine too old for a round of ding-dong ditch?
Or maybe a mental assessment would be more appropriate because, at this point, I’m seriously doubting my mental capabilities.
I clearly seem to be incapable of making wise decisions when it comes to anything Chloe-involved, and shouldn’t be around her at all.
The last few days alone are proof enough.
First, the hospital project. Maybe I could have gotten out of that one. I probably should have tried the second I saw her, but I was too dumbfounded.
Then, not only driving her home, but also to her mom’s? Definitely reckless. Maybe even stupid. Clearly, I was asking fate to smack me upside the head.
Which brings me to my third point. A lunch invitation from Chloe’s mom. How on earth could I have said no to her? She’s always been incredibly kind and supportive toward me.
I shake my head at my own . . . I'm not even sure what to call it. Idiocy? Weakness? Either way, I turn around. I have to leave. Right now. Before—
Second Dive: A Second Chance Sports Romance (Kings Of The Water Book 3) Page 6
