Presently Perfect (Perfect #3) (21 page)

One.

Two.

Three.

Fuck this.

I ran to my room, threw on dark blue basketball shorts and orange sleeveless T-shirt, before bolting out the door to get answers.

“Tweet!” I yelled, stepping through the back door.

First stop was her bedroom.

Empty.

The water was running in the shower, so I headed in that direction. Without slowing down, I flung the door open and found a startled Tweet. A big red towel hugged her body while her hair was hidden under a white one. I didn’t allow my focus to linger long on the fact that the only thing she was wearing was a towel.

A towel that was soaking up the drops of water that clung to her soft skin.

Shaking my head, I cleared out thoughts of a naked Tweet, and refocused on being pissed. I stood in the doorway, one hand gripping the doorknob while the other braced against the doorframe, as I glared at her.

Leaning in I growled, “You and me are talking. Now!”

“Can I at least put some clothes on?” she huffed.

Attitude? Really Tweet?
Unbe-fucking-lievable.

“No! You have about ten seconds to get your sweet little ass out here.” I abruptly turned and stomped away, leaving the door wide open.

I stomped to the family room, sat down on the sofa, but immediately jumped up. Too much adrenaline was pumping through me to stay still. I paced back and forth, thinking it would burn some energy. As the seconds ticked by and she hadn’t shown, my agitation grew. Widening my distance, I circled the room several times before ending up in the kitchen. Hoping that by grounding myself I’d calm down, I leaned back against the counter by the sink, crossing my arms in front of me, and took steady deeps breaths while I waited.

The Kelly’s home was an open floor plan. From where I stood in the kitchen I had an awesome view straight into the family room and the front door, so I’d be able to catch Tweet if she made a break for it. Moments later, she rounded the corner into the family room. Her gaze bounced around the space. When she didn’t see me, her chest caved with a sigh and a look of relief washed over her face. I cleared my throat letting her know our talk was still on and happening right now.

She timidly shuffled into the kitchen, landing on the other side of the island across from me. Neither one of us said anything at first. She still had the towel wrapped around her body, but the one on her head had been removed, replaced with damp wavy hair falling down her back. The anger that I had built up lessened while my gaze slowly glided down the length of Tweet’s body. My tongue inadvertently darted out slightly, licking my lower lip.

Remember, you’re pissed off.

Tweet shifted and began to nervously bite on her thumbnail while I waited for her explanation. My anger returned the longer I waited for her to speak.

She shifted a few more times and continued to feast on her nail. At this rate she was going to hit bone at any moment. I’d had enough of her stalling.

My tone was strong and determined when I demanded, “Talk.”

“About what?” She looked up at me with innocent eyes, as she continued the Feast of the Nail.

A low, deep growl escaped me as I shook my head, not believing we were going to play this game. “How many times do I have to tell you not to play dumb? You’re no good at it.”

Releasing her thumb from its torture, she said, “I’m not playing this time. I really don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Okay. How about we start with, why did you leave this morning?”

“I felt icky and needed a shower,” she said.

“You could’ve showered at my house.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Why?” I shot back.

“Because… my shampoo is over here and… I like my shampoo.”

My breathing deepened and picked up speed. The muscles in my arms tensed and relaxed with each flex of my hands. My patience had reached its expiration date.

“You’re a piece of work,” I snapped.

A tremor of anger mixed with frustration ran through me. I needed to get hold of my emotions. If I went nuts and started yelling we wouldn’t get anywhere. Unwrapping my arms, I took one step forward, placed my palms flat on the kitchen island, and leaned in her direction.

In a steady low-pitched voice, I said, “Why did you run out this morning, and don’t give me any bullshit about shampoo.”

“I was having a hard time remembering what went on last night. I knew we needed to talk, but I needed to clear my head first.” She paused. “I don’t remember anything that happened after the tequila,” she admitted.

“You don’t remember a thing after you got drunk?”

She shook her head. “No. Not a thing.”

“You don’t remember me carrying you out of the party and taking you to my house?”

Her head was shaking before I finished the sentence.

“You don’t remember me undressing you? You don’t remember my hands sliding up under your shirt, touching your back? And you don’t remember asking me if I wanted to touch you and then
telling
me
to
touch you?”

A large lump slid down her throat.

“None of that rings a bell?” I questioned, my voice low and gruff.

I held her gaze waiting for an answer.

She was on the verge of passing out last night when I put her in my truck, so I knew the chances of her remembering that she said
I love you, Noah
was slim. But she remembered every minute once we were in my bedroom, even though she still shook her head in denial. She tried to keep her reaction hidden, but I could tell my words affected her. Her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks had turned three shades of pink in the past minute, and her fingers clutched the towel tighter as she shifted from side-to-side. My words and her memory of last night were turning her on. The hair on my arms and legs bristled. Warm vibrations originating from my chest quickly spread over my entire body.

We stayed in standoff mode for a long time, neither of us backing down. I figured Tweet was concentrating on just the right words for her answer. She wanted to be clear, concise, and explain why she left me.

“No,” she said in a low voice.

All this time waiting and
no
was the only word she uttered.

“That is such bullshit and you know it!”

Looking down, I concentrated on the countertop. I blew out a long breath and grunted in annoyance before looking back up at her.

This was exhausting.

My tone reflected how deflated I felt. “Last night, when I saw you standing in the hallway… the way you looked… broke me. You were so hurt and disappointed. I thought I’d lost you for good. I couldn’t think straight after I saw that Smurffucker kiss you. Then you ran to his side. I’ve never felt that out of control before. I wanted to be numb and forget, so I grabbed the easiest piece of ass around.”

“Noah…,” she whispered. Sorrow filled her eyes.

The muscles of my arms tensed, bracing myself for what I was about to admit to her. “I always tell her not to talk so I can pretend it’s you. It’s pathetic, I know. I don’t want to pretend anymore, Tweet. I’m trying my damnedest to stay in the friend zone. It’s just hard and I thought after last night in my room… The way you were acting… I knew you had been drinking. I just thought things would be different for us now.”

“Always?” Her voice choked on the word.

It felt as if a huge boulder had been hurled directly into my stomach. I wanted to erase all those times with Brittani but especially the first time. I gave that part of myself away because I thought Tweet had done the same.

“A few times,” I whispered, lowering my gaze.

“Was she your first?”

Tears seeped from her hurt eyes. I was ashamed of what I had been doing. I was with Brittani out of loneliness and spite.

I looked up at her, but couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Besides, Tweet already knew the answer.

Turning her head from me, a strangled sob tried to escape. “I’m sorry I can’t be with you like that.”

Her gaze made its way back to me and I held it with all the strength I had.
Anger, frustration, desire, need, and want all crashed over me. I pushed off from the counter and rounded the kitchen island, headed directly for Tweet. Once in front of her I cupped the sides of her face, tilting her head back, and forced her to look straight into my eyes. We were so close our warm breath mixed together and swept across each other’s lips. Tweet shivered in my hands.

Skimming my nose across her soft cheek up to her temple, I ordered in a whisper, “Stop pushing me away.”

I ran my left hand down her neck and over her exposed shoulder. My lips hovered a hairsbreadth above her skin, sliding toward her jaw, and stopping on her neck. I felt her body give and lean into me. I was on the verge of getting lost in her.

Let go of your head, Tweet, and follow your heart.

“Noah, you promised you’d stay in the zone.” She sounded out of breath.

“That was before last night,” I said against her skin.

My lips glided down the rest of her neck and across her shoulder.

Tell me to kiss you.

Suddenly, her body stiffened as she pulled away from me. I let my chin drop to my chest, and my hands fall away from her body, landing on my hips.

“I can’t do this with you. Don’t you understand that?
Please,
Noah, stop pushing me,” she pleaded.

“You’re my knight in plastic armor.”

“I love you, Noah.”

I straightened, and without another word, walked out the door.

I was desperately trying to be patient and understand Tweet’s thought process but it was almost too much to handle when I was that close to her, especially when the only thing between us was a towel. My body reacted on its own, clouding my judgment.

I decided to go for a run to clear my head and stop my body from craving Tweet, knowing full well it was only a temporary fix.

I went back to my house, threw on my Nikes, grabbed my iPhone, and headed out the door. I shoved the earbuds in my ears and scrolled through my music, finally stopping on Snow Patrol’s “Open Your Eyes”
.
I chuckled, thinking how fitting the song was to my situation. If Tweet would only stop wasting time and open her eyes to
us.
I picked another song. After all, the point of the run was to clear my head of her for a little while. As I flipped through my playlist I realized it was pointless. Every song I had reminded me of Tweet.

I let the opening electric riff of the guitar invade my head. The repetitive rhythm setting the pace of my warmup while I ran backward. As the drum beat joined in, picking up the tempo, I turned and allowed it to propel me forward. Gary Lightbody’s clear lone voice echoed in my ears. I concentrated on my steps, syncing them with the beat of the music. After several seconds my left foot pounded the pavement on the downbeat.

Right foot—up beat.

Left foot—down beat.

Right foot—up beat.

Left foot—down beat.

Repeat.

Sweat burst from every pore, soaking my hair and clothes. My chest pumped to the pulsating rhythm, oxygen and carbon dioxide exchanging places at a rapid speed. Muscles were aching and on the verge of fatigue. A tingling sensation sparked in my chest, intensifying as the music made the steady climb toward its destination. My mind screamed for my body to slow down, but it was too late. The music and my movements had become one, pushing my body faster and faster to its limits. The sensation in my chest erupted into an all-consuming seismic vibration, devouring my body as the song exploded.

Faster.

Faster.

Faster.

Faster.

Faster.

I rounded the corner onto my street. As I approached my house, a break in the music caused me to trip and stumble, landing me in my front yard. I collapsed and rolled onto my back. I was completely exhausted. My mind relaxed and numb from the run as I lay in the grass staring up at the clouds. Then the familiar notes of the song started playing. I jolted back into awareness of all things Tweet as “Everything” drifted from the earbuds. Sitting up, I yanked out the earbuds and walked into the house.

Once inside, I downed a bottle of water and jumped in the shower. The entire time my thoughts were of Tweet—last night, our conversation earlier, what she was doing now, when would I see her again.

I was in the kitchen fixing myself something to eat when there was a soft knock at the back door. I opened the door to find a plate with a piece of chocolate cake floating in midair. I couldn’t help but smile at the
white flag
, her attempt at calling a truce.

I grabbed the cake and teased. “Thanks. I wanted something sweet.” Then I shut the door.

I got a fork from the drawer, leaned back against the counter, and dove into the cake. A few seconds later Tweet walked in and moved toward me. She was trying to hide it, but I could tell she was smirking.

With my mouth full, I asked, “Did you want some?”

Narrowing her beautiful teal eyes, she said, “Not if it’s going to make you cry.”