Chapter 7

Idon't know why I tried to be nice to Noah. He certainly doesn't deserve it, and I could've guessed that it would come back to bite me in the ass. But something about his sad, pitiful face made me want to fix it—to fix him, which is utterly ridiculous. I am not the type of girl to fix a boy.

Ugh.

His dumb, dumb, dumb face. His dumb, perfectly proportioned, between-green-and-brown eyes full of sadness and tears. His dumb, shaggy, perfect, honey-blond hair framing his head like a freaking halo. His dumb dimples when he frowns?—

Oh God, the dimples.

A prick like Noah should not be allowed to look so boyishly handsome. It's got to be a trick to make me feel guilty. He's evolved to look so cute that I can't stand to hate him.

Well, the joke's on him; I learned my lesson. I am above his charms. No matter how deep the little crease between his brow becomes or how sparkly his eyes—that are actually a bit more pale green than brown in the right lighting—look. I am strong. I am brave. I am Lucy Marino, and I will notbe manipulated by any man—especially not Noah Laurier.

The flight attendants make their way down the aisle one-by-one, offering some complementary food and drinks while assisting any guests who may be confused about this whole "stuck" situation. One of the male flight attendants a few rows behind me is in the middle of a one-sided argument with an older gentleman who seems determined to make it to Providence by morning. I don't think I can stand to listen to the poor flight attendant try to explain that he can"t control the weather for another second. I start to put on headphones with the intent to drown out this miserable night, but one of the female flight attendants stops by my row, and since Noah is off pouting somewhere, I'm the only one here to talk to her.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" she asks me, her smile bright and unbothered, her tone pleasant. "Your husband left in quite a hurry. He's not feeling sick, is he?"

"Husband?" I echo, my face subconsciously scrunching up in disgust. "Noah? No, no, he's not?—"

"Oh, good, I'm glad. I was worried for a moment" She smiles. "Can I get either of you a beverage?"

"Um…n-no. No thank you."

"All right. Let us know if you need anything. We'll do anything we can to make this situation more pleasant for the both of you." She starts to walk away but pauses and turns back to me. "Oh, and, we would really appreciate it if you and your husband could possibly keep any...serious conversations to a lower volume. We've received some complaints from the other passengers."

"Oh, right, right. Yeah, of course." My cheeks heat up as she walks away, and I'm consumed yet again by the urge to kill Noah. Other people don't usually get under my skin so easily, but there is something about him.

If he wasn't so damn infuriating, we wouldn't have given the impression to the entire plane that we're one spat away from divorce. Though, I guess I didn't help that.

I decide to text Nora and update her on my current situation. She's the only person in my contact list who gives sound, trustworthy advice—and I just know she's going to think this is absolutely hilarious.

Flight got diverted to Charlotte and we're stuck here at least overnight

And my seatmate is this sexist dick I knew in college

He's been arguing with me all night and people keep complaining to flight attendants about how loud we are :')

She texts back almost immediately. If it was anyone else, I would be worried about why they're answering texts in the middle of the night, but that's just Nora.

NO!!

Oh my gosh how does this stuff happen to you lol

Truly what are the odds???

What are u gonna do?

I don't even have to think about the answer to that question. My thumbs fly across the screen without hesitation. I know good and well what Noah Laurier will be to me after we get the hell off of this plane.

NOTHING!

He can whine and mope around all he wants to but the second I make it to Providence, I have no intention of ever seeing him again

He's honestly the most insufferable man I've ever met and I can't wait to go back to being strangers

Oh yeah, and people keep thinking we're husband and wife

Again, another almost-instant reply from Nora.

Ok but is he cute???

Because you and I both know it's been a hot minute since you had any action

One night stand material perhaps????

I scoff at the question. Never in a million years would I even think about seeing Noah that way. I start to type out a lengthy paragraph of no's, but another message from Nora comes through.

And be honest

Like if he wasn't your arch nemesis and you met him in a bar, would you wanna go home with him???

Ugh. Okay, so maybe—objectively speaking—Noah is kinda...sorta...okay-ish. The first time I saw him in class, I perhaps stared a moment longer than I should have. He was different then, though. He still looked about seventeen with honey-colored curls and glasses always falling down his nose that he'd have to push up again and again. He always wore graphic tees—stupid, stupid graphic tees that perfectly encapsulated nineteen-year-old boys in college who still haven't quite grown into their age. He was as scrawny as could be and couldn't even grow a beard. Now, though? Noah is like a boy trying to look like a man. The barely visible scruff on the bottom half of his face. His grown-out curls falling straight down to the nape of his neck. The several tattoos he's acquired that accentuate the obvious muscle and body mass he's put on—he's wearing a stupidly tight t-shirt that shows everything.

Would I say he's hot, though?

No, absolutely not

In my peripheral vision, I see a silhouette approaching. I look up, locking eyes with Noah. He appears nearly as miserable as I feel. If he was anyone else, I might feel bad for him. But, alas, it's Noah, so I have little to no empathy.

I power off my phone and shove it in the seat pocket, reaching instead for Little Women. I have no intention of talking to Noah. In fact, I downright refuse to. We clearly can't get along, so I'm not going to waste my energy trying. Instead, I'll spend my time more productively: reading.

I get through a dozen or so pages without any issues.

Then a dozen more.

Then another.

I suppose that finally, Noah and I are peacefully coexisting without wanting to bite each other"s heads off. It's truthfully a bit worrying that he hasn't made a single snide remark, but I remind myself that it's not my job to be concerned about him. It's my instinct to want to comfort the people around me, but I am trying to change that. The last time I was asked to abandon every single one of my principals was when Jace asked me to still be "friends" after he"d cheated. The worst part is that I nearly said yes. I missed him, and still loved him and I still felt the desire to make him happy. I've learned now that it isn't my job to do that. I can't let people in who might hurt me. I must stand by my gut, no matter how sad Noah looks slouched in his seat, staring up aimlessly at the ceiling.

Nearly an hour later, we're finally allowed off the plane. I gather my things and, without so much as sparing him a single glance, crawl over Noah to the aisle. I push ahead of all the people, far too exhausted to care about trivialities such as manners and feel like I can finally breathe again when I make it onto the loading bridge and into the airport. I'm sure the airport is nice and all, but I'm not paying attention to anything but the floor below me as I follow the flow of people to the baggage claim. I cannot wait to get to the hotel, change into clean clothes, and finally sleep off this long day.

As we pass through the translucent, revolving doors that mark the separation of the secured gates from the baggage claims and check-in desks, I notice Noah is following right behind me, entirely too close for comfort. His cologne invades my nostrils. I opt to ignore him, figuring he's just as done with the day as I am and is only trying to collect his bags as quickly as possible.

I wait by the revolving luggage carousel for my suitcase to appear, Noah lingering a few feet away. I pass the time by letting my dad know that with any luck, I'll arrive in time for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow evening. I'm not sure I really believe that, but I'll say anything to keep him from calling me in a panic, worried that I won't make it for the wedding that I so desperately have to be there for. Yeah, right. I'll catch the next wedding, bring two gifts instead of one, and we'll call it even.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Noah has already retrieved his bag, but he doesn't seem to have any intention of meeting up with the shuttles outside. He's just standing there, staring blankly at the carousel spinning around and around. I tell myself that he probably just has another bag that he's waiting for. I shouldn't care. No, I don't care. Whatever the hell he's doing is not my problem.

Only, by the time my bag—one of the last to come through—appears, not only is Noah still lurking, but he's also moved noticeably closer.

My skin tingles at the closeness. Probably just a form of allergic reaction, I tell myself.

"Can I help you?" I ask, sizing him up in one quick glance. His body language isn't at all tense or aggressive. In fact, it's rather lazy and passive.

He blinks at me, and I am sure there's nothing going on in his brain. But, hey—that's not much of a surprise. I could've guessed that back in college, when he was asked to describe the characters in Pride and Prejudice and his response was "prideful."

"What?" He sweeps a curl out of his face, leaning against his case and crossing his arms. I find myself mirroring his posture, my own arms folded across my chest. Realizing what I have done, I immediately uncross them, silently berating myself for subconsciously echoing his body language.

I narrow my eyes at him. "You're following me. What, you wanna get me alone so you can drag me into a dark corner and stab me when no one's looking?"

His eyebrows raise to his hairline and he scoffs in disbelief. "Okay, chill out, Veronica Mars. I'm not following you, and I'm definitely not plotting your demise. I'm waiting for you. So you aren't stuck in this eerily empty airport and on the shuttle alone. I've got little sisters. I've read up about what happens to pretty, young women late at night. As much as you annoy me—which, believe me, is a lot—I'd really rather not see you on a true crime documentary, alright?"

My heart leaps a little in surprise. Okay, so maybe—just maybe—that's a nice sentiment.

As much as I don't need any protection (thank you to my overbearing, yet practical mother for funding six years of martial arts classes), Noah has good intentions, and it is sort of nice to not have to ride to the hotel alone in one of those grimy vans that definitely harvest some incurable disease.

Not that I'm going to cut him a break, though. One nice gesture cannot repair years of bullying.

"Noah Laurier, you think I'm pretty?"

Noah throws his head back in exasperation and groans. "You are impossible! Lucy, just get your bag so we can leave!"

Snickering to myself I go after my suitcase, which has nearly made it all the way to the other end of the carousel in the time I spent talking with Noah. I purposely move without any particular rush, just to annoy him. I know I probably shouldn't get so much amusement from his displeasure, but his dumb frown is just so entertaining. I simply cannot take him seriously.

"Lucy!" he angrily calls out at me after my third time reaching for and "missing" my bag.

"Alright, alright!" I laugh as I finally grab the luggage and stroll back over to him. Side-by-side, with a good amount of distance between us, because, you know, man germs, we walk out just in time to catch the last shuttle of the night to the hotel. I breathe a silent sigh of relief because it would've been just my luck to miss the ride. I never would've heard the end of it from Noah. Especially since I would be entirely to blame for playing around.

He sits next to me in the row furthest from the driver even though there are plenty of other open seats. I don't bother trying to move away from him. As much as I hate to admit it, it does feel kind of nice to have a familiar face beside me, even if he is incredibly good at getting on my nerves.

I look over at him. He stares out the window with an earbud plugged into the ear opposite of me. I don't mean to stare, but I find myself studying how he moves his head to music. It's sort of cute how his hair flops up and down.

But then he catches me watching him and winks suggestively at me.I quickly avert my gaze, annoyed that I had allowed myself to be distracted by his physicality, even for a moment.

Noah Laurier is not my type, I try so hard to convince myself.