Chapter 7

"Fuck!" Noah shouts.

"Oh my god!" I scramble off the bed.

The fire alarm screams to life, so shrill and high-pitched I can't even think straight.

Noah yanks the comforter off the bed and throws it over the fire. But the flames have spread to an area bigger than the blanket. I grab a pillow and try to stamp it out before it reaches to the door.

Smoke starts to fill the room.

The sprinkler heads in the ceiling rattle and then water pours down on us with a hiss.

"We've got to get out of here," Noah says. He gestures for me to follow him to the door, but I turn back to get my robe and phone from the other side of the bed.

Just as I snatch them up, Noah's tattooed arm snakes around my waist and he hoists me up over his shoulder. I shriek, clutching the robe against my body as my phone slips under my arm.

I lunge for it, narrowly catching it before it falls, but as I do my whole side smacks into the door frame as Noah carries me out of the room. There's a sickening thwap and crunching sound as I yelp.

My scream is drowned out by the blaring smoke alarm.

Macy runs out of her room, hair a mess of ringlets around her face as Noah rushes me out of the apartment.

"What is going on?" she yells when we get out into hall.

Noah sets me down as I frantically try to put my robe back on.

Macy averts her eyes.

"It's not what it looks like," I say, tying the robe tight, my face hot.

Noah runs off to the end of the hall, then darts back into the apartment wielding a fire extinguisher while Macy stares at me with crossed arms.

"There was an incident with the solvent for my oil paints and a candle," I say.

The alarm shuts off and Noah comes out, breathing heavily, soaking wet.

"It's out," he says. "The sprinklers had it mostly out and kept it from spreading."

Neighbors are filtering into the hallway, grouping up and starting to talk and point.

I shiver. The thin material of the robe clings to my wet skin, between my thighs to the valley of my breasts and my protruding nipples. I cover my chest with my arms.

"Fuck," Noah mutters under his breath as he undoes the buttons of his flannel shirt. He wraps it over my shoulders and closes it over me, brows furrowed, scowling.

I look up at him, not sure if I should say thank you or sorry.

And now he's standing here, shirtless, all long, lean muscle covered in black ink.

"I'm glad no one's hurt," Macy says, her voice shaking. She looks at me. "But you're not even supposed to be living with us. There are going to be questions. I'll get it sorted out but might be better if you're not around."

"We'll go to my place," Noah says.

"I'll text Bex," I add.

Macy nods. "I'll stay with Spencer tonight. You better get going before management shows up."

I don't know what I expected Noah and Wood's apartment to look like, but it's not this. Not an industrial loft that looks like it came out of Architectural Digest.

The walls are weathered red brick that contrast against the sleek, concrete floors. The kitchen is a wall of flat, modern black cabinets with professional grade appliances and a huge stainless steel work island in front of them.

The living room furniture is all arranged perfectly in front of the giant black arched iron windows that stretch from floor to ceiling—which is at least twenty feet tall. A black metal staircase is silhouetted against the back wall, leading to a loft area above the kitchen.

It's dark except for the nightglow coming in from the three large arched windows. They overlook downtown Seattle to the left and Puget Sound to the right. The city lights barely compete with the reflection of the moon off the water.

Wood comes out of the hallway as we walk in.

"Hey." He stops abruptly, looking us up and down. "Wow, you two look…rough. What happened?"

"We'll explain later," Noah says. "The girls are going to be staying with us, at least for tonight."

"The girls?" Wood's light blue eyes widen. "Macy, too?"

"No, just me and Bex. Macy's staying at Spencer's."

Wood's shoulders droop. "Right. Yeah, that makes sense."

Noah places his hand lightly on the small of my back and leans in. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes and cleaned up. Do you want a shower?"

"That'd be great," I say. Not only does my hair have a slight smokey scent, but the water in those sprinklers had a distinct stale smell that I can't wait to wash off me.

"Bathroom's this way," Noah says. We walk past the kitchen to the hall. The bathroom is in the middle. "Wood's room is down there, door opposite of the bathroom is a closet, and my room is over here. You can sleep there tonight. I'll take the couch upstairs."

He flips the light on in the bathroom after I enter, his tall frame and broad shoulders filling out the doorway. "I'll get you some clean clothes and a towel. Let me know if you need anything else."

"Okay, thanks."

He backs away, hand on the doorknob.

"Oh, here," I say, unbuttoning his flannel shirt. I peel it off my shoulders and take it off with a little grunt, realizing how tender my side is.

It's wet and heavy and I grimace when I go to hand it to him.

He rushes in, dropping to a knee. "Are you hurt?" He searches my face, eyes wild.

"Only a little. I hit my side on the door when you were carrying me out of the room."

"Fuck." Noah's face goes pale. "I'm so sorry. I was in such a hurry to get you out of there?—"

"It wasn't your fault. It was mine."

"Where are you hurt? Can I see it?"

I hesitate. I'll have to untie my robe to show him.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to?—"

"No, it's okay," I say. I'm being silly. He's already seen me very naked at this point.

But as I untie my robe, it's different. Earlier, it was for art, all business. I was across the room—a room I made sure was very dimly lit. When I dropped my robe four hours ago, it was terrifying but empowering. I was filled with adrenaline and nerves, yet I felt like a goddess. Powerful.

This is another feeling altogether. He's inches from me in the bright white light bouncing off all the shiny surfaces of the bathroom. His gaze is heavy, hot on me as my heart beats hard.

I open one side of the robe, the air chilling my skin, one breast exposed, my nipple hardening instantly.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth.

I lift my arm with a quiet groan. "Here, along my ribs," I whisper.

"Shit." He gets closer, the worry deepening in his forehead. He looks up at me. "Liv," he whispers, "I'm so fucking sorry."

He brings a hand up to where my skin is already darkened and starting to purple, the tips of his fingers stopping just short of touching.

"Can I?" he asks.

I swallow and nod.

He brushes the spot gently. My breath catches.

"Does it hurt when I do this?" He presses the palm of his hand against my ribs.

"A little."

"And this?" He presses more firmly.

I whimper. "Yes."

"Fuck. Is it a sharp pain or dull?"

"Dull."

"That's good, I'd be worried if it were sharp. How about when you take a deep breath?"

I breathe in, filling my lungs, and shakily exhale. "No, not too much."

"Good, I don't think there's a break." He stands, but his fingertips linger on my side. He slides his hand down. Slowly. Barely touching until he reaches my hip bone, caressing over the angel wing. "Your tattoo is healing nicely."

His voice is thick and my pulse is so loud in my head I barely register his words.

"Oh. Right, yeah. They're doing good. Past the itchy stage and not much peeling."

He pulls his hand away, but my hip is burning where his fingers were.

We stand in the quiet of the small space for a moment. Him, still shirtless and me with my robe half open, no words, just eye contact. Fuck, he's so pretty.

His gaze flickers down to my mouth for a second, then lower before he looks away quickly.

"Let me get this water started for you." He turns, pulls back the shower curtain, the rings screeching against the rod, and turns the knob. Water pelts the tub, mist billowing into the air.

I'm anxious to get this sticky robe off. I start to disrobe as he shuffles out of the bathroom, eyes averted, the tips of his ears pink.

I step in as the door latches closed, letting the hot water cascade over my face. I wash my hair and body with his soap. It smells like him.

When I get out of the shower, a pair of his sweatpants and one of his T-shirts are folded on the counter next to a clean towel.

I'm wearing Noah Dixon's clothes, smelling of his soap, in his apartment. It's unreal.

I pad barefoot out of the bathroom to the main living area. Wood is in the kitchen. No Noah.

The doorbell buzzes and Wood opens it to Macy, standing in the hall with frazzled hair and a small bag.

"Mace," Wood says, his voice jumping an octave.

"Hi." She smiles, eyes shifting. "Um, can I stay here tonight?"

He moves aside, sweeping her inside. "Of course you can, girl."

"Thanks." She tucks a lock of hair behind her ears. "Spencer has an early surgery tomorrow and he really needs his full eight hours of sleep for it."

Wood takes her bag, and she stands in the living room, looking out the windows, her smile unmoving.

"It was silly, really, me bothering him this late at night. I should have known better. He's a surgeon. It's literally life and death. He has to be focused and dedicated. It's really what I love and admire about him."

I'm not sure if she's talking to us or herself at this point.

Noah comes out, hair wet, black sweats, shirtless, towel over his shoulders.

"Oh good, you're out of my bathroom," Wood says. He turns to Macy with a big, lopsided grin, his straight, white teeth bright against his tanned skin. "I'll go make up my bed for you with clean sheets and blankets so you can stay there tonight."

Macy doesn't turn to look at him. "Thank you, but I'd rather just sleep on the couch." Her usual sweet voice flat and filled with exhaustion. I can't blame her.

"Oh, right. Okay." Wood only looks crestfallen for a second before that smile is back, if less lopsided than before. "I'll go get you some blankets and a pillow. Do you like a more firm or soft pillow?"

"Whatever is fine." Macy slumps onto the couch, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples.

Wood rushes off down the hall past Noah.

"Shit, I should change my bedding for you," Noah says, combing his fingers through his damp hair.

How do I say I don't mind sleeping in his used sheets that smell like him without sounding like a total weirdo? Right. I don't.

"I'll help you," I say.

"Nah, you stay here. I'll be right back."

He retreats as Wood reappears, carrying a heap of white bedding, his arms full up to his chin, and goes over to Macy, who's slumped down on the couch.

"I just brought both a firm and a softer pillow, so you have the option. And this heavy blanket is my favorite, but if it gets too warm there's this lighter one?—"

"Wood. Thank you, but I can do it myself." She takes the blankets from him and shoos him off as she gets started laying them across the couch.

His smile droops, his attempts at being helpful foiled—again.

"Can I get you anything else?" he asks her.

"Just some quiet so I can sleep. I'm so tired."

"Got it—" Wood stops himself, then whispers, "Got it."

Macy lies down and pulls the blanket over her head.

Wood tiptoes over to the kitchen, fills a glass of water and grabs a banana then places both gingerly on the table next to Macy as she sleeps.

Wood points at me. "What do you like for breakfast?" he half asks, half mouths as he walks back to the kitchen.

"Um, I don't need anything special. Just whatever you have will be fine."

"No, no I'm putting in a grocery order right now." He holds up his phone with the app open. "What's your favorite? You're our guest."

"Oh. Okay, um…waffles?"

"Nice choice, girl," he whisper-yells and then does a silent, long-distance high five. "Don't leave me hanging, bro."

I complete it with a stifled laugh and he gives me an excited little fist pump.

"Liv." Noah's voice catches me off guard and I turn to him, standing in the hall, half in shadow. He beckons me over to him. "Ready for bed?"

"Night!" Wood whisper shouts as I follow Noah down the hall to his room.

He leads me inside and closes the door behind us.

Dark curtains are drawn over the large, floor-to-ceiling window. Only the light of the moon reflecting off the water shining through the small gap lights the room, washing everything in a hazy shade of gray—the concrete floors, his large bed pushed up against a chunky brick wall.

The bed is done up with light sheets, big pillows, and a fluffy charcoal comforter that's doubled over.

"This okay?"

"Yeah, thank you. I feel kind of bad kicking you out of your bed, though."

"Don't be. I'm the one who started the fire." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing. "Come on."

He folds the comforter back and looks at me through dark lashes, drawing me to him silently in the dark. And I go, slipping in between the sheets while my heartbeat thrums in my chest.

I get in gingerly, trying not to wince when I lie on my left side.

A growl rumbles in his chest.

He pulls the covers up to my chin and kneels next to the bed, tucking the blankets around my shoulders.

His face is so close to mine when he whispers, "Good night." His arm resting against mine.

I study the bump in his nose and the way his lower lip is plumper than the top.

The scent of his shampoo lingers in his hair and in his pillow under my head. I'm surrounded by him.

This is a chance, an intimate moment. It's moments like this I wish Angel wasn't just some internet persona. I wish I was her. She would say something funny, or sexy. Make him smile, lighten the mood, make him want to stay. But I'm not her. I'm me.

And all I can say is, "Good night," and watch him leave.

I blame rolling around in his sheets, on his mattress, snuggling into his pillow, and breathing in his scent all night for my dreams.

Every dream, Noah.

His eyes.

Watching me.

Smirking at me.

Touching my naked body.

And when a warm body slides into bed next to me, in my half-asleep fog, I roll toward him, cuddling up close.

Bex giggles. "Hello, there."

"Oh." I yawn and roll back to my side. "Sorry." I glance at my phone. It's after three in the morning.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she whispers.

"It's okay. I'm sorry about the fire. It was my oil paint?—"

"Don't worry about it." She touches my shoulder. "Macy said it wasn't that bad. The sprinklers actually did more damage than the fire. That's what insurance is for. We'll figure it out. Besides, we were going to be looking for a new three-bedroom place anyway, right?"

"Right."

She's mostly shapes in the dark, but I can make out her blonde hair.

"Oh hey," she says, "we haven't shared a bed like this since we were little."

"We used to sleep together all the time."

"Yep. Like when you were six and you snuck into my room every night for a year because you were afraid ET was hiding in your closet." She laughs.

"Hey, he was terrifying." I still think he is if I'm being honest.

"I always thought he was cute."

"Nightmare fuel."

She shifts on her side to face me. "Speaking of cute… Mark was asking about you tonight at the bar."

Oh, right. Mark.

"He said he texted you after your date, but he hasn't heard back," she says casually.

Yikes.

"Yeah. I meant to reply but I've been busy."

"Date wasn't great?"

"It was…okay."

The bed bounces with Bex's silent laughter. "You're not feeling it. It happens. Don't worry about it. You're young. Date as much and as many people as you want. Play the field. Have fun. You don't owe anybody anything. Oh my god! You know what you should do?"

She scoots closer and leans up on her elbow.

"What?"

"You should totally go out with Wood. He's super nice, and he's crazy hot, and he hooked up with Bethany—who used to work at the bar—a little while back and she said he's amazing in bed. Like, life changing." She waggles her eyebrows at me.

I laugh. "Why don't you date him, then?"

She rolls onto her back and sighs. "Wood would be a fun little fling, but he's still in the revolving door stage of dating. It's fine for when you're still figuring out what you like, and as long as you go in with your eyes open, so you don't get hurt. But I think I'm past that part of my life. Noah started off my rebellion bad-boy phase. Do you remember? Mom hated him." She chuckles softly. "That was half of his appeal. I have love for him now, but he was kind of a shitty boyfriend at eighteen. He hasn't had any long-term girlfriends since we reconnected as far as I know, either, so maybe he still is. Anyway, Wood and I—even if he wanted something serious—I could never."

"Why not?"

She scoffs. "I mean, he's Noah's cousin. You never date an ex's family member, or a family member's ex. That's code."

A heavy feeling settles in my stomach. "Even though you and Noah dated so long ago and are cool with each other now?"

"Yep. There's no statute of limitations on that code. I mean, maybe if they weren't all that close—but they're not just cousins, they're roommates and best friends. It would be hella awkward. What if it worked out, and Wood and I got married, and we'd all know that the bride and best man have slept together? It'd be too weird."

I nod, even though she probably can't see.

She's right. If Noah and I hooked up, it could get extremely awkward. Worse, it might hurt her. He's my boss now, anyway. I really need to let go of this silly crush I have on him and move on.

Noah Dixon is officially off limits.