His entire demeanor changes in an instant. I want to take an eraser to my question. “What’s there to talk about? You shouted at me in a bar.”
He says it like it’s no big thing, but my hackles go up instantly. “I didn’t shout.”
He shrugs. “You came on to me. I kissed you and then you got mad at me for it. I mean, come on, Audrey.”
I’m leaning toward him now, heated. “I wasn’t upset with you because you kissed me. I was upset with you because of your motives for kissing me!”
I realize belatedly that our voices are starting to carry.
A table of Trinity students is staring at us with wide eyes. Just great.
“See that’s what I can’t wrap my head around,” he continues, leaning closer. “You think I kissed you—”
“Keep your voice down!”
The others are walking back now. They’ll be at the table any second.
“You think I kissed you because I wanted to—what? Hurt you?” he whisper-hisses. “You know that’s bullshit.”
“We got you guys bread pudding!” Ashley singsongs, waving spare dessert in the air before plopping a bowl down in front of Noah and another in front of me. “And you don’t have to thank us, but seriously, this stuff will change your life. Did bread pudding originate in Italy?”
“England, I think,” Gabriella says as she sits back down.
Ashley laughs. “Oh duh, that sounds right. So, what did we miss?”
I push up to my feet. “Nothing. Thanks for the dessert, but one of you can have mine. Stomach issues. I’m going to go lie down.”
This time, I get the satisfaction of leaving Noah to deal with the mess.
When I get back to my room, I immediately regret being hasty about the bread pudding. That was shortsighted. My dramatic exit was not worth the cost of that dessert, but it’s too late now. I can’t go back out there.
I sit on the edge of my bed angry and confused as I replay every word Noah said to me at dinner.
Then there’s a knock on my door.
“Should we finish our fight?” Noah says, sounding almost cheeky.
“No. Go away.”
“Sorry, no can do. We need to go over the plans for tomorrow, so open up.”
Right. Crap. Tomorrow is a big day: beach day. The chaperones need to be on the same page with planning.
He tries the doorknob and I panic. “Can’t. I’m indisposed.”
“How so?”
“Naked. Totally. Pale butt cheeks and all.”
It sounds like his forehead thunks against the door and then I swear he laughs. A real couldn’t-suppress-it-even-if-he-tried laugh.
“Just email me your dumb plans,” I say, trying to wrap this up so I can go back to doing one of my most beloved activities: stewing.
“Stop being ridiculous, Audrey.”
Ridiculous?
I’ll show him ridiculous.
I get my phone and pull up my email app.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Beach Trip Planning - Rome
Per our discussion, we can nail down the itinerary here, over email.
* * *
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Audrey…
Are you trying to get us fired? Don’t use our work emails for this.
“My email sounded professional!” I shout, knowing he hasn’t left his post outside my door.
“It would have devolved quickly and you know it.”
I’m not even going to ask how he has my personal email. He probably knows every detail about me. Bank accounts. Social security number. Starbucks order. Information is power after all.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Great idea
I think you should stay back and book a flight home to the US and I’ll take the kids to the beach. Win-win.
* * *
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Are you going to hole yourself up in there all night?
I wasn’t finished explaining myself in the dining hall.
* * *
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: BEACH PLANS
Ahem, let’s stay on topic. Tomorrow is the beach day. No class. All day fun in the sun. Sea, sand, adventure. Whoopie. Sperlonga is a two-hour trip from Rome. From what I’ve heard, we’re caravanning there in two vans that Lorenzo has arranged. We’ll obviously split up and ride separately. Keep our distance. Pretend the other doesn’t exist. Deal?
I send my email and then pace, waiting for his reply. I chew my thumbnail and refresh my inbox, and still, nothing.
What is he doing? Writing a dissertation?
I wish my door had a little peephole. I want to know if he’s still out there, but I don’t want to embarrass myself by poking my head out.
I decide to give it a few minutes, and when those few minutes pass, a few more.
I change into my pajamas and start to get ready for bed. All the while, I eagerly check my phone. I turn it off silent—a rarity these days—and nearly have a heart attack when my email pings. Leaping for my phone, I unlock it, and then…I see it’s just a junk email from LinkedIn. Audrey, please add to your LinkedIn network.
No! Go away!
When my bladder has had enough of this hostage situation, I eventually do leave my room. I crack my door gently, gently now, but then I feel like a doof when I find the hallway is empty. Noah’s door is closed. I don’t think another email is coming.
Huh.
Normally, in a situation like this, I would feel like I won something. I got the last word. HaHA!
Oddly though, that’s not the case. I just really want Noah to email me back.
That realization freaks me out.
WHAT IS GOING ON?
Everything is turning into a jumbled mess. I’ve lost my grip on the situation.
Up until last night, Noah and I were oil and water. Forever at odds. I knew where I stood with him. It’s why I assumed his kiss was a form of torture, emotional manipulation, a cruel joke, what have you, but now…things are getting messy. What he said at dinner contradicts everything. And the stuff about Lorenzo? About him not being good enough for me? That’s really throwing me for a damn loop. There’s no way to put a negative spin on that. It’s a bald-faced compliment through and through.