Sugar Page 10

  Hiding my uncertainty, I took on a somewhat cocky, unaffected tone, thinking indifference might be my greatest weapon in this war. “Go rub one out, and you’ll be fine.”

  His chuckle scraped along my every nerve like gravel. “Why don’t you give me a hand?”

  I rolled my eyes but took another step back. He was wearing me down, and I wasn’t used to making excuses.

  Disappointed in my wavering, I lifted my chin. “That’s never going to happen. Go home. I have things to do, and I’m not letting you in.”

  “Pussy.”

  He was using my word, yet the way he let it roll off his tongue… It curled around me and tangled up my insides.

  Knots of confusion throbbed with need and curiosity. “That’s not going to work this time. Go home.”

  “Fine. But you can’t hide forever, Avery. Eventually, I’ll find you, and you’ll regret every minute you made me wait.”

  He didn’t deliver the promise as a threat. It hit my chest like an absolute guarantee, a punishment issued in a vow before delivery, and I shivered, wondering if he had the balls to dare to kiss me again.

  Next time, I wouldn’t be so gentle. Flirting seemed harmless and fun, but in the end, it was dangerous and a little too tense where Noah was concerned.

  No one said anything for a few seconds. Creeping back to the door, I peered through the peephole again, only to find the hallway empty. I should have been satisfied, but my gut tightened with disappointment. Part of me enjoyed the torment a little too much. The ease of chasing him away instantly diminished part of my interest. That was the moment I realized I wanted Noah to like me, even if I couldn’t like him back.

  14

  Avery

  Signing up for classes was always a hassle, but there was a quiet satisfaction in seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Almost finished and then I could go where I wanted, be what I wanted, and never think of the girl I left behind. Avery Dean Mudd would finally be a forgotten memory.

  As I printed out my spring roster, there was a knock at the door. I frowned because it was the middle of the workday, and the building was usually empty at this time.

  Peeking through the peephole, I smiled at the sight of flowers. They must be from Micah. He usually sent flowers at the end of each semester and on other special occasions.

  Opening the door, I greeted the deliveryman with a smile.

  “Ms. Johansson?”

  “Yes.”

  “These are for you.”

  They were gorgeous. Sprays of vibrant lilies mixed with enormous sunflowers and eucalyptus sprigs and full bloom roses. “Thank you.”

  I tipped him and shut the door, carrying the heavy arrangement to my dining room table. He’d really outdone himself this time.

  Pulling out my phone, I sent Micah an email.

  * * *

  They’re BEAUTIFUL. Thank you!

  * * *

  A minute later, my phone rang, Micah’s name flashing on the screen. I answered with a smile. “You’re so sweet.”

  “I’m flattered but confused. Mind filling me in, sweetheart?”

  I frowned. “The flowers. They’re lovely.”

  “Avery, I didn’t send you flowers. Do they not have a card?”

  My smile fell. I searched the large arrangement for a card and found one stuffed deep in the back—not from Micah. I majorly screwed up. “Oh, no…”

  “Did you find one?”

  “I’m so sorry, Micah. I made a mistake.”

  He was silent for a beat. “Apparently, I have some competition. I’ll have to send something more impressive than flowers next time. I assume you have another call to make.”

  “I’m sorry, Micah. I just thought—”

  “No need to apologize. It was an honest mistake. Enjoy your day, love.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  How embarrassing. I should have identified the sender before assuming. Now, Micah… Ugh. I lowered my phone and stared at the card.

  * * *

  Dinner tonight.

  This time open the door.

  ~Noah

  * * *

  I wasn’t going.

  Of course, I wasn’t going.

  This was crazy. Noah’s persistence had very little to do with me, and everything to do with not getting what he wanted when he wanted it.

  He left a phone number on the card, so I texted him because, yes, I was too chicken to call.

  * * *

  Thank you for the flowers.

  * * *

  I hit send, sat my phone on the table, and stared at it, waiting for a response. My heart jerked the second the screen flashed.

  * * *

  You’re welcome. We’re going out tonight. Be ready.

  * * *

  Ready for what? It didn’t matter. I texted him back.

  * * *

  I appreciate the invitation, but I can’t. I have plans.

  * * *

  Cancel them.

  * * *

  I scowled at the phone. This was the problem with arrogant men. They constantly wanted their way, and they didn’t bend easily. Every ego had a price, and I was tired of paying it.

  The men in my life who wanted to tell me where to be and how to dress also understood the expectation of paying me handsomely for every demand I let them get away with. They were jobs, and I didn’t want Noah to be a job. I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to be. Everything was getting messed up.

  I couldn’t let him bark out orders and assume I owed him anything. That wasn’t how real relationships worked—not that we were in one—especially the sort of relationship I gravitated toward.

  * * *

  No. I wouldn’t ask you to call out of work, so don’t ask me to miss an appointment. Thank you for the flowers.

  * * *

  That was all I intended to say, and while the flowers were lovely, they changed nothing. End of story.

  He texted a few more times, but once I stopped responding, he gave up. So long as we had to continue living across from each other, we had to figure out a way to be civil and respect each other’s boundaries. But part of me feared the short friendship we found would get destroyed in the process of building necessary walls.

  That night I met with Josh, and the next evening was Christopher. Micah had kept his word and sent a beautiful Louis Vuitton bag to my apartment. It was gorgeous and smelled of fine leather, but I hardly enjoyed it.

  Carefully keeping the custom wrapping intact, I took a few pictures and uploaded them to the auction site. Regardless, it was an incredible gift, and I graciously thanked him.

  He took me out to dinner on Thursday, to celebrate the end of the semester. It was a lovely evening full of champagne and oysters and chocolate desserts that were rich enough to make any woman’s toes curl.

  “Thank you for tonight, Micah.”

  “It was my pleasure.” He walked me to my door and smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ll be graduating soon.”

  I couldn’t hide the pride that bloomed in my chest at the thought. “Can you believe it?”

  “Yes. I always knew you’d succeed. There’s something special about you, Avery. Something that doesn’t know how to walk away without a fight.”

  I thought of the various people I met through Micah, the social circles he introduced me to. Every ounce of class I owned resulted from our association and his gentle guidance. “I never would have made it this far without your help.”

  “Nonsense. There’s always a way.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss on my cheek. “Get some sleep. It’s a school night.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Once I had the door locked behind me, I heard his steps drift away. I refused to accept money for tonight, and that actually made me happier than getting paid.

  Micah was crossing into tricky territory. I didn’t want to let him go. He was my mentor, and I liked having him in the background of my life. I think he sensed my fear that we would soon part ways and, for
his own reasons, objected to not paying me.

  Maybe in his mind, the money guaranteed my time. Money secured our association, sure. But so did our friendship, I hoped.

  A soft knock sounded, and I peeked through the peephole, not prepared for the ragged face on the other side.

  “Oh, my God.”

  I pulled open the door, and Noah looked at me from under low brows and glassy eyes.

  “Your doorknob does work.”

  “What happened to you?” He looked like death, pallid skin wearing a glaze of pasty sweat, clothed in too many layers for the temperature of the building, bloodshot eyes, and his blonde hair shooting every which way.

  “I’m fine.”

  He was not fine. “Are you sick?”

  I pressed my fingers to his scalding cheek. “You’re burning up.”

  His eyes closed, his face leaning into my touch. “Mmm. Feels good.”

  “Come in.” I pulled him into my apartment, and he dutifully followed. “Sit down. I’ll make you some soup.”

  He collapsed on my couch and groaned. “Your pillows smell like you.”

  I opened a can of basic broth because I wasn’t much of a chef. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “You smell like … cookies … and sunshine. A breeze … on the beach … on a hot August afternoon… Christmas morning…”

  My brow quirked at his ramblings. Though he wasn’t making much sense, he definitely wasn’t sticking to the friend zone with those sorts of compliments. Playing it safe, I ignored his description. “This’ll only take a few minutes to heat up. Sorry, I don’t have anything better than broth.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Once the broth was hot, I added some parsley, because that was always good for the immune system, and poured it into a mug. I carried the steaming cup into the den only to find him out cold, sleeping with his lips slightly parted and his hand curled under his cheek like a little boy.

  “Look at you. You’re not a lion or a wolf. You’re just a sick little lamb.”

  A glassy, blue eye opened and shut. “Tired.”

  I placed the mug on the coffee table and sat in the crook of his hips. My hand pressed to his brow again. He was really hot. “Maybe you should take some aspirin.”

  “I’m fine. I don’t get sick.”

  “You’re such a man.”

  Despite his weak demeanor and exhausted state, he flexed his hips. “Damn right.”

  I sighed. This subdued patient was not the Noah I was used to.

  “Get some sleep. I have things to do.” I stood.

  “Do you love him?” His softly mumbled question stopped me in my tracks, exposing my secrets in a moment of silence.

  I frowned, always uncomfortable with the word love. “Who?”

  “The guy you were with tonight. He kisses you. I don’t think he’s just business.”

  “Noah…” Did I love Micah? He was my confidant and closest … client. But at the end of any day, our association remained defined by business. So why was I dreading the end of said association?

  “Don’t love him, Avery.” His words were quiet and slightly slurred. His face was blank, eyes closed and lips hardly moving. “Love me.” Those last two words came out on an almost inaudible breath.

  My head tipped. “Do you even know what you’re saying right now?”

  “Lay with me.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “Noah.”

  His silence told me I’d lost him for the night. Stepping away, I removed my earrings.

  “I could love you,” he mumbled. “Better than any of them.”

  My heart snagged just as I prepared to escape his presence. “You’re delirious. Try to sleep for a little bit.”

  I quickly moved out of the living room to a place where I’d no longer be able to hear his fever induced mumblings. I changed into pajamas, but couldn’t avoid him forever. He needed to get some fluids in his system. Luckily, he mostly slept.

  By the end of the night, I got him to drink the broth and finish a bottle of water, but he wasn’t much for conversation, so I suggested he crash on my couch.

  Closing the door to my bedroom, I paused, eyeing his still form and suffering a strange sense of awareness. It had been years since anyone slept under the same roof as me. I turned the lock and told myself this was just simple charity, nothing meaningful.

  The next morning I was up at dawn and on my way out the door to hit the gym after briefly checking on my sleeping patient. Noah slept in a twisted mess of blankets, one bony foot peeking over the arm of the sofa. I figured it was fine to leave him there.

  When I returned from my workout, he was awake and sitting up, drinking something out of a mug.

  “You’re awake.”

  He watched me but didn’t say anything.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Better. I barely remember coming here last night. Sorry for passing out on your couch.”

  I smiled. “It’s fine.” Leaning in, I placed my hand on his head, and he stilled, his sapphire eyes watching me closely. “Your fever’s gone.”

  “I think this is the most you’ve ever touched me. I’m pissed I was too out of it last night to appreciate it.”

  I sat on the coffee table across from him. “Last night you were mumbling some pretty weird stuff.”

  “Sorry.”

  We suffered through an awkward silence. “Noah, I want us to be friends.”

  “I want more.”

  “I know, but all I can be is your friend right now.”

  The arrogant mask was gone, and he looked at me with honest curiosity. “Why?”

  “It’s not about you. I don’t date. I work and go to school, and I just want to finish my degree and move on. Dating complicates things.”

  “It doesn’t have to be complicated. I don’t date either.”

  “I don’t do meaningless sex either.”

  “Who says it has to be meaningless,” he challenged. “We’re both single, and I’m almost certain the attraction’s mutual, Avery. It’s only complicated if you let it be.”

  But it was complicated. He was bossy, and I was bossy, both of us gunning for the upper hand. I tried that before, after Gavin. I couldn’t take it. I needed to be in control, or I couldn’t enjoy myself.

  We bickered like children and, eventually, he’d object to the way I earned a living. He thought he just wanted a shot at sleeping with me, but due to our shared address, if we did it once we’d likely do it again—even if only out of convenience.

  We were too on top of each other here, and there would be no hiding my clients from him. I couldn’t deal with living under a microscope. My life was mine, and I was in the last mile of a marathon. He would only trip me up.

  “I like the way I manage my life. I only have to think about myself and take care of me. I don’t want to change that.”

  Something shifted in his eyes, a flash of hurt or vulnerability. “But you’ll date them.”

  “That’s different, Noah. There’s no emotional attachment.”

  “I don’t believe you. I see the way that guy treats you. I’ve seen you with him before. There’s something there, Avery, and it’s more than business.”

  It was already starting. He was already watching me too closely. “Micah’s special. He takes care of me.”

  “Aren’t you afraid he might stop? Where’s the security in that?”

  “I’d survive.”

  And Micah wouldn’t just vanish out of my life. He wouldn’t abandon me like that.

  He laughed with little humor. “The irony is, if I paid you, like them, I’d get to date you.”

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t accept you as a client.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” I don’t sleep with clients. I wasn’t sure if that truth stopped me because I wanted to fuck Noah or because I wouldn’t. With Noah, there was emotion, and with my clients, it was strictly business. “Because we’re fri
ends.”

  “You’re scared. You don’t know how to give up control. Every little part of your world is orchestrated from the second you wake up to the moment you go to sleep. That’s not living, Avery.”

  “And fucking you is the answer? You think that’s going to make me seem somehow more alive?”

  “Why not? Maybe you need to get laid.”

  “What I need is for you to leave.” Why had I ever let him in? He saw my place and now thought he had me all figured out. “You don’t even know me, Noah, so don’t pretend you’re the solution to my problems.”

  Right now, my biggest problem was him and the fact that he was suggesting things I didn’t want to hear. I stood, hoping he’d do the same and walk his ass out the door.

  “I know you’re uptight. You pretend to be calm and indifferent, but you’re wound so tight you need to run in place for an hour a day just to unwind enough to function.”

  “So what? You jump out of planes to feel alive!”

  “I jump to feel detached. You should try letting go some time. You might like it.”

  “I’ve done the uncertainty thing. I don’t need to fling myself out of a plane to know I’m alive and temporary. And I don’t need to have meaningless sex with random men to prove I can. I like balance and security—”

  “You date a different guy every night! That’s structure, not security.”

  “That’s how I prefer to live. I choose the boundaries, and I determine how long they stay.”

  “None of it’s real.”

  “That’s how I want it.” Real was complicated.

  “Don’t you get lonely?”

  My lips pressed tight. The loneliness was the hardest part, but I was too much of a control freak to rely on others when it came to my happiness. Even in marriages, people walked away, people changed, people died.

  “I manage.”