Authors: Clare James
Christ.
“You saw that?”
She chuckles.
“I only laugh because I did the same thing freshman year.”
I smile. There’s something that makes me feel at ease with Jules
. She’s so different from the girls I hung out with in Illinois with her complete ensemble of black clothes, red glasses, and colorful streaks woven into her long locks.
Then again, I’m different than I used to be. Especially without the shield of my little dance clique.
Still, Jules is so tiny
she
could be the ballerina. A point made perfectly as a very tall (and very hot) guy picks her up, takes her seat, and plops her on his lap. I’m thankful for the disruption.
“Hey, beautiful.” Th
e guy kisses Jules on the cheek.
“Stop manhandling me
, you Neanderthal.” Jules punches him in the arm.
“Come on, baby. You know you like to be manhandled.”
“That may be.” Jules slides off to the other side, leaving the Neanderthal sitting in the middle of us. “But not by the likes of you.” She leans over his lap now and makes introductions. “Tabby, Foster. Foster, Tabby.” Then she pinches Foster’s arm. “Behave,” she warns.
“Hey, Tabby.” Foster turns to me, deliberately shutting out Jules. “You a friend of little Wednesday Ad
dams, here?”
“Watch it, Fester,” Jules yells over his shoulder and I can’t help but laugh.
“Charming, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” I say
, honestly. “She really is.”
F
oster is on the thin side, but he looks like he’s in shape, a runner maybe. His black hair is short, showing off huge brown eyes. They twinkle as he leans back and puts his arm around Jules.
“I know,” he says. “
That’s why we love her. So how do you guys know each other?”
“Just met tonight
,” I answer. “But we’re in the same poly sci class.”
I lean
into Foster so I can also talk to Jules. The two of them tell me how they’ve been friends since high school and how they have a love/hate relationship with the paper. Jules loves it. She’s a photographer and has won all kinds of awards. Foster hates it because he’s a reporter and Noah only gives him fluff assignments.
“Seriously, Tabby.” Foster lowers his voice
. “Last year he made me write a piece on college fashion. Fashion, Tabby.” He stands up to illustrate his point, showing off his black jeans, beat-up sneakers, and orange hoodie. “Does that sound like something I’d even be remotely interested in? That is Jerk-him-off Jenna’s domain if there ever was one.”
“Wait.” My st
omach clenches. “Jenna Peterson?”
“Yep,” Foster says. “The one and slutty.”
“Why?” Jules asks. “Friend of yours?” She looks worried.
“No,” I say a little too fast. “It’s just
—”
She had something going
on with Noah and I don’t like it.
Jules reaches for my arm. “Don’t worry, Tabby. She rarely shows. She just comes in when she absolutely has to. Our kind
editor-in-chief pretty much gives her a free pass.”
“I
don’t really know her but have two classes with her and she gives me a bad vibe,” I finish.
Not to mentio
n she scares the living crap out of me.
“She gives everyone a bad vibe,” Foster says. “Unless you have a big dick
, or bigger bank account.”
Jules pats Foster’s shoulder. “It’s okay, hun. You can’t have it all and you, my friend, have a big…
personality
.”
“
Watch it, fun-size.” He laughs.
Engaged i
n their banter, I don’t notice Noah walk in. But suddenly I feel his eyes on me. The group quiets down and Noah leans against one of the computer tables. His expression is strained. His eyes are narrowed on Foster until he reluctantly glances in my direction.
Gauging by the reaction of everyone in the room, there is no doubt Noah’s in charge of the entire operation. He sits on the edge of the table in my favorite pair of jeans—I can’t believe I have a favorite—and navy V-neck sweater, welcoming all the newbies. The staff started working before the semester began, so now it’s Noah’s decision where to put the new crop of interns.
He exudes confidence as he describes our roles, gives a rundown of upcoming stories and schedules, and hands out assignments.
It works for him. In so many ways.
“Tabby,” Noah calls on me. “I’d like you to post the stories for the daily online edition. The reporters will have their articles in by five each evening, so that means you’ll have to work on layout once they’re in. It’s not a lot, but it will take a few hours each night. Will that work for you?”
“Yeah, of course,” I tell him. It’s not like I have a booked social calendar or anything, and I need the credits.
“Good,” he says, moving on to the next intern with hardly a look my way.
At the end of the meeting, Foster bumps me in the shoulder. “We’re going to get a drink at Sasha’s. Wanna come?”
The crazy thing is, I do. I open my mouth, ready to accept, before Noah walks over to us.
“We’ll need to start working tonight, Tabby,” Noah says, standing behind me.
“Oh, come on Adler,” Foster says. “Tia has it under control for tonight. Everyone else is starting their new positions tomorrow.”
Noah swings around me. “I need
her
tonight, Foster. So stop wasting your time here and go hit on one of the other interns.”
What?
There is some definite animosity between these two, but I have no idea why. All I know is that I don’t want any part of the drama.
“Whatever, boss,” Foster huffs. “We’ll catch you later,” he says to me.
Jules shrugs and calls out. “See you in class!”
“Tabby,” Noah snaps, and then continues walking toward the back office.
What an ass!
Still, I follow.
NINE
Noah leads me to the editor’s
office. His office. It’s clean and simple, filled with shelves of books and photos. There are pictures of him with visiting politicians, as well as authors, and a few sports heroes. Prominent in the middle of the shelf is the Mark of Excellence Award from The Society of Professional Journalists.
He’s the real deal.
“Have a seat.”
Noah pulls a chair out for me at his big oak desk.
I take it, a little intimidated by this new side of him.
He leans over my shoulder and points to the screen.
G
oose bumps sprout all over my traitorous body.
“This is the login page,” he says
. His voice is cold even though his body is intimate. “We’ve set up an account for you already, you just need to change your password.”
I turn my head and our eyes meet
. I fight to keep control. Yet, I make a silent wish for him to kiss me again. My mind goes back to that first night. The way he had my body buzzing and aching for him. The way he’s looking back at me, I think he might be remembering the same thing.
He’s the first to break our connection,
as he continues to explain my new role. He’s all business again.
Until
his arms snake around the sides of my body to use the keyboard. I can’t help but lean into him.
“And this is the page you’ll need to update each evening,” he says.
“Okay,” I say, quietly. “Looks easy enough.” I try to pay attention to the screen and keep calm, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. The effect he has on me is too much. He’s in complete control right now and I don’t like it one bit.
I slowly turn around in my chair, trapped between his arms.
He smirks. Oh, yes. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and I think it’s about time he gets a dose of his own medicine.
Placing my palm
s on his stomach, I push him back. Then I stand, lightly brushing up against him. His eyes widen, surprised when I’m back at his level.
“I think I got this, Noah,” I keep my hands where they are, desperate to move them a little lower.
“It’s not that complicated.” I tip my head in an effort to get a better look at his expression, so I can try to understand it. “Now, do you want to tell me what this is really about?”
“Tabby.” Noah
sighs. “I’m giving you one of the most important jobs here; I just want to make sure you understand. It’s not a position to be taken lightly.”
“I understand. But there’s a whole instruction manual explaining how to upload each story, you really didn’t need to take the time to give me a special training session. Especially when you’re shooting flaming daggers at me during the meeting.”
“Shooting what?” He runs his hand through his hair ag
ain. “I didn’t mean to, honest.”
“And then there
was all that drama with Foster,” I add. “What was that all about?”
“Why do you care about Foster?” Noah snaps.
“Who said I do? I just met the guy tonight.”
“Well, you looked pretty cozy for somebody you just met.” Noah groans
, his eyes burn into mine.
“What’s this all about, Noah? You’ve gone from trying to get me to reconsider finishing what we started on that first night
, to being just a friend, to strutting around like a bossy-ass editor. And now you’re acting like a jealous boyfriend.”
He continues to stare at me, but I don’t back down.
“Foster is bad news, that’s all,” he says. “I’m just trying to look out for you, Tabby.”
“I think I can handle that on my own,” I tell him.
“Can you?”
He leans in closer.
“
What do you want from me, Noah?” I ask.
“I’m trying to figure that out
,” he says, before cupping my face and running his lips against mine.
I will myself to stay still.
To stay calm. My arms don’t listen. They tangle around Noah’s neck. And as he parts my lips, I open for him and let go.
H
is tongue runs along my bottom lip and then dips inside my mouth, exploring. I barely register what’s happening as he lifts me onto the desk and nestles his body between my legs. My thighs instantly tighten around him. I don’t have to think, my body simply reacts, doing what it’s supposed to. I’m not damaged with him. I’m not broken.
He opens his eyes and smiles.
“Tabby, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that. Having you in class every day is torture. I want to be with you.”
“I know,” I say, wondering if I could go through with it this time. “But not here.”
“No.” He chuckles. “I mean, yes. I want to be
with
you,
with
you too. But I’m talking about
being
together.” He pulls my hand up to his mouth and places a gentle kiss on my palm. “You know. Like dating.”
Oh no.
That
I can’t do.
“I thought I told you,” I say. “I don’t date. I’m not at that place in my life.” I slide off the desk, knowing I have to get out of there.
“I’m sorry, Noah,” I say, walking to the door. “I can’t.”
TEN
Noah wasn’t happy with my answer. Or the way I left him in the office. In fact, he’s given me the silent treatment all week. It’s okay. It’s what I wanted.
So
I continue to make myself invisible, maintain a low profile, float through my days on campus—with the exception of Professor Sands’ class—and try to keep my panic attacks at bay.
By the end of the second week
, I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally spent. After class on Friday, I rush home, climb into my bed with iPod buds in my ears and a chocolate bar in my mouth, and shut myself off from the world. I doze in and out for the next hour.
I’m still in my warm little nest
when five rhythmic knocks on my apartment door give my dad away.
Great. A surprise visit.
“Hey, Dad.” I open the door,
instantly feeling him taking inventory.
Is she eating? Sleeping? Exercising? How’s her mood?
He stands in my doorway with his
button-down shirt hanging open, revealing some obscure ’80s concert tee. He’s humming an old Ramones song. He’s been doing that ever since I moved here. It must calm him before he has to deal with his emotionally disturbed offspring, but he’d never admit it.
We plop on my couch
and Dad leans in to put his lips to my forehead. “Congrats, Tab! You made it through the second week. How it going so far?”
“It’s fine
, Dad.” I try to be as pleasant as possible. Dad’s been through a lot with me these past few months. Not only was I completely silent my entire stay at New Beginnings, I didn’t break out of my protective, taciturn shell until I was here a month. Now I’m trying, and I’ll continue to try. For him.