"What prompted it." I sighed. "That would have to be maternal influence in a nontraditional family structure."
His laughter came instantly, loud and surprising, a sharp burst of sound that had me sitting up straighter. There it was. His elusive smile. Perfect, straight white teeth and lips stretched wide across his face. The lines bracketing his mouth made it look like he smiled often, instead of the reality, which was that it was rare and fast and made you feel fortunate to see one.
"So that's why you left? Talking about Paige's role?"
"No," I said immediately. "No, it was the discussion of how our own mother influenced our family structure by her leaving."
His smile faded. "How old were you when she left?"
"Just turned fourteen. We were so young, you know? And having three younger siblings to look after, plus an older brother who was just getting his footing in his own way, it was almost like ... I couldn't dwell on how much it hurt me that she left because I had so many other things to worry about. I had my sisters to worry about, and they were so much more important than Brooke."
His eyebrows popped briefly. "I never really ... I never thought about why you guys lived with Logan. Where your parents were."
"Most people didn't know. He did such a good job of protecting us. And because he did, we could just be kids. Teenagers who got into trouble and played pranks and were allowed to make normal mistakes because we had him."
"Sounds like you protected your sisters, though, too," he said. The look he was giving me, searching and intense, reminded me of the night on the couch when he was watching film. Like I was something worth studying, like picking me apart would help him understand.
That knowledge was like someone pressed their foot on the gas pedal, but I was stuck in neutral until I could explain something to him in the right way.
"I think what I used to do then, and still do now," I said, leaning forward, my knees almost touching his, "is try to take responsibility for how they feel. And that wasn't my job. I didn't want to impose my will, you know? It wasn't like I wanted them to feel what I felt. I wanted to make sure that everything stayed okay, even if it was to my detriment."
"Even if it hurt you," he said slowly.
"Maybe. I don't know. I wasn't the teenager who threw tantrums for attention, but if I went too long trying to keep the peace among my sisters, I'd just ... burst. Do something stupid."
His eyes drifted to my mouth. "I can't imagine what you mean."
"Liar."
His grin flashed bright again, and it made my skin tighten deliciously.
"I still do it, and that's a big part of what's made me good at my job, yes, but... some of it isn't smart for me," I admitted, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "I was doing it with you."
That had him straightening. "What do you mean?"
It was so hard for me to say things like this and risk what he might think of me, so I stood nervously from the couch and went back to the window. The coffee table creaked when he stood and followed.
"I found myself worrying about how this process, this move, this change was affecting you. Affecting your game, your mood, your frame of mind."
Noah breathed deeply behind me, and I felt his exhale ruffle the hair on the back of my neck. In my mind, I imagined the string connecting us, wound tight around my hips when I turned slowly to face him.
"Is that why you pulled away this week?" he asked.
My eyes stayed focused on the line of his throat and jaw, sharp as a knife’s edge. He swallowed roughly at my unwavering attention. "Yes. Because I need to worry about how this is affecting me too."
"H-how was it affecting you?"
Had he moved closer? Or was that me?
I didn't answer, probably because my mouth went tumbleweed dry at his nearness. My eyes fell shut; my head spun dizzily. No alcohol in the world could've affected me like Noah Griffin's body next to mine.
"Because I can tell you what it did to me," he continued.
Opening my eyes, I had to tilt my chin up to see his face. "What?" I whispered.
"You became the most unreadable offense I’d faced, and you knew something like that would drive me insane. All I could think about was what I'd done wrong or how I'd upset you to make you shut me out like that."
The protestation was on my lips instantly. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"So quick to defend me," he said, his mouth curving in a smile. "And I've done nothing to deserve that from you."
My hands lifted, like an invisible puppet master raised them into the air, and I forced them back down. Touching him wouldn't help. None of this was helping him or me but neither of us seemed motivated to move.
"Why did you invite me here?" I asked.
Maybe Noah had a string wound under his skin too because his hand lifted, and he watched it like he had no control over where it was going, his shaky exhale hitting my forehead in a sharp burst.
"Because you …" He stopped and swallowed, and so very, very carefully, he slid his hand along the line of my throat until he was cupping the back of my neck. My entire body vibrated dangerously at his touch, like the tines of a tuning fork struck with too much force. "You were the first person I thought of to share this with."
He dipped his head, and I sucked in a quick breath. We both froze when my breasts brushed the front of his chest. Noah's eyes searched mine, and I lifted my hands, laying them lightly on his chest. In the span of a heartbeat, I thought about pushing him away, but my fingers curled into the soft fabric instead.
With a tug and a lean, his lips were a mere inch from mine.
Suddenly, Noah shoved away from me, and I swayed forward dangerously. It took me a second to realize why over the roaring pulse in my ears.
"Hey, Molly," Marty said, ascending the stairs with light steps, camera perched on his shoulder like it always was. "Nice place, huh?"
"Hey. Umm, yeah. I l-love it."
Noah rubbed the back of his neck, a safe distance separating us now.
If Marty suspected anything, he didn't show it. "Ready for some yoga?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," I said weakly.
Chapter Seventeen
Noah
It was rare for me to think to myself, this was a terrible idea, but in the first three minutes of starting our yoga lesson, I thought it at least seven times. The first was when Molly rolled out her yoga mat and started stretching forward, brushing her fingers along the ground. Marty was getting his main camera settled on a tripod, his small handheld on his shoulder so he could catch more than one angle at once, and I fought to keep my eyes off the rounded curve of her ass. The way her eyes closed as she breathed deeply. The way her chest lifted on an inhale and the way her waist curved up from her hips.
Muscles I'd never noticed on her before popped in her arms as she moved through her warm-up. When she noticed I wasn't moving, she straightened carefully and gave me a curious look.
"Are you going to join or just watch?"
I swallowed. "Sorry. I'm joining."
This was a terrible idea, I thought again when she laid her hand on my back and guided me to drop my hands to the ground.
"We're just going to doing a basic series here before I start the video I found, then she can guide us through. It's specifically for football players, so I don't think anything will be too challenging for your first time."
I didn't answer. Mainly because I didn't trust my voice not to betray the thoughts tumbling through my head.
I almost kissed her.
I almost kissed her.
If Marty hadn't walked up the stairs when he did, I would've had Molly Ward pressed against the windows and my mouth on hers. I tried to focus on what she was saying, but I couldn't mute the mental images flashing, one after another, after another. My hands on her. Her hands on me. How soft her lips would've been. The way she tasted.
So easily, I’d slipped from a desire to understand her into just plain old desire. Except there was nothing plain or old about it.
"Noah?"
I blinked. "Yeah. Sorry."