“I do tend to make a habit of socializing,” I tell him seriously. “I know. It’s a horrible habit.”
To my surprise, Noah smiles again. Well, sort of. It’s more of a slight tilt of his lips, but I’m learning that’s about as good as I can expect.
“Horrible,” he echoes.
“I don’t want to force you, though, if it’s going to be a complete nightmare for you. I can totally make something up about you being busy or something.”
“No, I . . .” He frowns, thinking. “I can go.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“Did you not want me to?”
“No, no.” I shake my head. “I guess I’d just assumed there’s no way you would want to.”
“Like you said,” he reasons, “I’m sure people will expect it.”
“Right.” I can’t say why, but for some reason, his answer makes me feel some distant cousin of irritation, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. “I guess it’s a date then.”
He’s the one to look surprised now.
“Just kidding,” I quickly correct.
He nods slowly. “Right.”
“To be clear, though, literally everyone is going to be grilling us.”
“You think so?”
“Oh, we are hot gossip number one. My friend Priya is practically foaming at the mouth.”
He grimaces. “Should I be worried?”
“I think we can handle it,” I assure him. “We just have to pretend like we’re a deliriously happy couple, right?”
“Right,” he confirms.
“Oh. Also, we need to be thinking of a story about how we met.”
“How we met?”
He’s still frowning at me like he’s trying to figure something out. Or maybe that’s just his face. Actually, that’s plausible.
“Apparently, it’s a hot topic that keeps coming up. I managed to dodge the question today, but Priya is not one to let things go.”
“Does it need to be overly sensational?”
“That depends,” I say seriously. “How opposed are you to the idea that you wrote me highly emotional poetry?”
His expression isn’t the least bit amused.
“Fine, fine,” I laugh. “It can be simple. I mean, we can stick mostly to the facts, really. We met at work. We could even stick to the simple truth to begin with. That we met when I came to your office for a consult question. Then we start adding the murky bits about hitting it off and falling in love and whatnot.”
“I’m surprised you remember how we met,” he says.
“You asked me why a resident was bringing you a consult.”
“I did?”
“You don’t forget someone saying you look ‘barely old enough to tie a suture,’?” I answer, surprising myself by laughing.
“Wow.” He shakes his head. “I really am an asshole, aren’t I?”
“I used to think so, but . . .” Weirdly, I’m still smiling. “I’m starting to think it’s just part of your charm.”
“Charm,” he echoes.
“I’m surprised too,” I tease.
His grin is still slight, like most of the time he graces me with a smile, but it really is starting to grow on me. Honestly, it sort of works for him. I like how every smile or laugh from Noah feels earned. I wonder absently if there is a possibility that I’m the first person he works with to ever see him smile. It’s a mildly satisfying idea.
“Anyway, I don’t want to keep you. I just wanted to check in and see what you thought about the party.”
“I’ll try my best not to embarrass you,” he deadpans.
I laugh again, knowing that he’s most likely only half joking. “Cool. So I guess I’ll let you—”
“My scent has faded,” he says suddenly.
I go still, one hand on the arm of the chair as I freeze in a position between standing and sitting. “What?”
He blinks, looking as surprised by his sudden outburst as I am. “Sorry. I just . . . I can’t smell it as much anymore. Hardly at all.”
“Oh.” Is this what he’s been brooding over? I press my nose to my coat, inhaling. “I guess you’re right. I hadn’t even noticed.”
“I should . . . I mean, it wouldn’t make sense for it to fade if we were supposedly living together and sharing a bed.”
Now, why does that make me flush? He didn’t say anything about sex, just sharing a mattress. There’s no reason to get flustered. I blame Priya and all her talk about knots. Since my brain apparently now goes straight from Noah to bed to knots when given the opportunity.
“That . . . makes sense.”
Noah scratches at the back of his neck, looking out of sorts, finally clearing his throat as he rises from his desk chair. “Okay. So I’ll just . . .”
I don’t remember going to a complete standing position, and I notice my pulse has picked up a few dozen beats in anticipation. I reason that it is nothing more than a biological response, some hormonal nonsense that I have no control over. I have to remind myself that this is business, just a necessary thing that we have to do to keep up our ruse.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Yeah, you can.”
I sidestep the desk to try and meet him halfway, wanting to get this over with.
It’s a damned hug, I think. Stop acting like a schoolgirl.
I can see Noah struggling with it, the awkwardness of it all, and I try to ease the tension by holding my arms out and giving him what I hope is an encouraging smile. “Lay it on me, I guess.”
“Right.” Yeah, he still looks entirely too serious for my liking. It makes this weirder. “I’ll just—”
He reaches out like he’s approaching a baby deer, hands cautious of where they are touching as his large frame invades my personal space. I feel his fingers at my waist first, his thumbs skimming across the front pocket of my scrubs as his palms apply a light pressure on either side of me, and the sensation of his hands curling around to find the small of my back makes my breath catch. I hope he didn’t hear it.
“Sorry,” he whispers again. “I’ll be quick.”
I think I nod, but he’s too close for comfort now, his scent clouding my senses as he pulls me to him. I close my eyes when my cheek presses against his chest, the button of his doctor’s coat biting there slightly as I feel his face press into my hair. At first, I think I’m imagining the way one of his hands seems to climb higher on my spine, but when it presses between my shoulder blades as if trying to bring me closer, I have to reevaluate that assessment.
I realize I’m waiting for it, suspended in a state of wanting to hold my breath and breathe in deep as I wait for his skin to touch mine and leave behind a piece of himself. I feel it in a brush of his nose first, the faint sound of him inhaling as the tip of it skims along my throat, and I swallow thickly as my fingers unconsciously curl into the fabric of his coat to steady myself. Which is necessary since my knees are doing that stupid Jell-O thing again.
He’s shaved since the last time he did this, his cheek smooth when it presses warm against my neck, and I could be imagining the way he trembles ever so slightly, but I don’t think so. There’s a sound in his chest like a groan but softer when his throat slides across mine, and again there is that all-over tingle that prickles over my skin in response. It’s both pleasant and uncomfortable, like an itch that needs to be scratched, but I can’t reach.