If Only (17 page)

There’s no arguing with her. Because
my God,
it
is
a good torso, trim and smooth, yet no trace of any ink. Must be on his back. When his head finally emerges, I have to grab Victoria’s arm to steady myself.

“Brooks?”

Victoria looks at me, her eyes brown saucers of shock. “You know him?” For a second I’m struck that she has found a sentence she can pronounce. But that second quickly disappears, and I’m back, feet planted, knees ready to give out at any moment.

“Noah,” I say. He’s smiling. Why is he smiling? Fucking hell, that smile! “We’re on our way out.” Still holding Victoria’s arm, I pull her up the stairs and outside, grateful to have already paid for our services. Before she can question my sanity, Noah pushes through the door behind us, followed by whoever the other guy was standing with him downstairs.

“Brooks, wait.”

Can I pretend I didn’t hear him? Better yet, I can rush into a shop with an urgent errand. I spin left to enter the next door I see but stop short before pulling the handle. I thought a place called
Bangers and Mash
would have been a restaurant. How very wrong I was.

“Picking up thomething for the New Year, love?”

In the window I see what looks like a rack of lacey underwear. But it’s missing the important part, the part that gives the garment its name, the part that goes
under
.

I linger at Victoria’s taunt, not sure what’s worse, walking in and purchasing a pair of crotchless knickers out of spite or turning to give her a well-deserved glare, knowing Noah stands there, too. I groan, waiting a beat for the heat to leave my cheeks.

When I turn, Victoria’s cheeky grin is nothing compared to Noah, whose smile bears no evidence of tease or taunt. The heat of embarrassment has gone, replaced by another warmth—one I don’t want to feel, one that is the effect of Noah Keating’s smile.

“It’s good to see you.” He runs a hand through his hair. It’s shorter than when I saw him last. We’ve done so well avoiding each other, while sharing a class, that though we’ve been in the same room, we’ve scarcely been eye to eye since the day we watched
A Room with a View
and the disaster of an evening that followed
.

Now would be a really great time to respond with something simple like, “Good to see you, too.” But that’s not what happens. In the absence of any utterance from me, Victoria steps between us.

“I’m Jordan’th couthin Victoria,” she says, followed by, “
Merde!
Tongue,” after which she sticks out her newly pierced tongue to explain. “And thith ith Hugh.”

Hugh extends a hand toward Noah.

“Noah,” he says, shaking Hugh’s hand. “I’m at Aberdeen University with Jordan. This is my brother, Ethan. He’s visiting from the States.” Both guys have the same dark hair; Ethan’s waving toward the ends like Noah’s used to do. Ethan’s eyes are brown where Noah’s are blue, but their faces share a similar shape. Ethan looks a little older, though Noah is taller, so I can’t be sure.

He looks back at me, his eyes wide and smile beaming. “I can’t believe you’re here. This is crazy.”

Victoria nudges me on the shoulder. “Yeah,” I manage. “Crazy.”

“Your hair is longer,” he says, his tender smile never waning.

Instinctively, I try to pull my growing bangs behind my ear.

“You got yours cut,” I reply. Yep. It’s stand-outside-a-tattoo-parlor-and-make-small-talk time.

“I did.”

Aware of the other three people not talking yet clearly involved in what can only be described as ultimate awkwardness, I try my hand at an exit again.

“We should probably go. It was good to see you, Noah. Nice to meet you, Ethan.”

I start walking alone, not sure what direction I’m supposed to be going, trying to out-walk another confrontation.

“Wait!” Victoria calls after me. I stop where I am but don’t move back into the awkward fold. Instead I wait and listen for her next move. Already tired of her newly acquired lisp, she pulls out a piece of paper and pen from her bag and starts scribbling on it. She hands it to Noah, and he thanks her after reading it.

“Good-bye, Jordan,” he says in my direction.

“Good-bye, Noah.”

Victoria and Hugh meet me, and we all three continue walking.

“What did you give him?” I ask, knowing whatever the answer is, it’s not going to be good.

“My mobile and the name of the club we’ll be at tomorrow night, in cathe they want to meet uth. Judging by that dithplay back there, I’m going to gueth you two have thome thingth to iron out.”

“Oh God, no. No no no no. Not good. Trust me, Victoria. It’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me the thtory, or do I have to figure it out on my own?”

“There is no story.”

How do I explain the train, the past few months, that he knew I wasn’t with Griffin but stayed with Hailey? Seeing him reminds me the only thing that works for me and Noah is distance.

She asks me again later that night, but she can tell the subject of Noah is not open for discussion. But as I try to fall asleep, it all replays in my mind, everything from Duncan’s birthday until now—Noah’s history with Hailey, him asking to be friends when he knew Griffin and I were over. I’ve tried so hard not to be angry at him, but the only success I’ve had comes with avoiding him. Whenever we’re thrust in each other’s presence, I’m right back where I was that first night in the Blue Lantern, seeing Noah with Hailey draped all over him only hours after we kissed. Now I finally get away, five hundred miles away, and he’s here? I pick up my phone from the bedside table and open my photo album, and despite the knot in my stomach, I can’t help the smile spilling across my face when I stare at the picture of us laughing, our first taste of haggis in our mouths. But as soon as I close the photo screen, reality returns.

I can’t want someone who doesn’t want me. So instead I bank on not seeing him again until classes resume in a few days.

Chapter Fifteen

“
Santè!
” Victoria throws back what will be her first of many shots this evening. Miraculously, in one day after piercing, she has regained control of her tongue. Fear of parental retribution has suddenly given her the ability to hide her indiscretion. Mine is easily hidden under a long-sleeve shirt. And Hugh. Well, Victoria’s parents really aren’t concerned with what Hugh does to his body unless it also involves Victoria’s body.

Hugh and I raise our shot glasses with her, but I slam mine back on our table without drinking it, saving it for when Victoria needs another.

“No shots,” I say.

“Not even for the new year?
Pourquoi?
” She pouts, like I’ve suddenly ruined the party.

“Because, in the words of my flat-mate, I’m a
pussy lightweight.
Plus I say stupid shit and do stupid things when I’m drunk, so there’s that, too.”

Victoria giggles, not much of a heavyweight herself, it seems. “Then we’ll let you take it slow. Don’t want you to say anything stupid to a bloke you might fancy.” She giggles again, but I ignore her. The last thing on my agenda tonight is meeting a
bloke
. Instead I slowly sip a pint of cider. It’s ten o’clock. I need to pace myself if I’m going to make it until midnight and beyond.

Victoria’s club is more like a retro swank pub, and I’m grateful for the laid-back atmosphere. The long, dark bar sports a backlit counter displaying the various beverages available. High-backed, black leather booths line the parallel wall. In stark contrast are the neon-lit, hourglass-shaped pub tables. We occupy a pink one. The place is cool bordering on cheesy. What seals the deal for me is the music—nineties Britpop. Right now Blur’s “Girls & Boys” pours through the speakers.

“Time to lose the cardigan, darling.” Before I have a chance to react, Victoria undresses me, revealing the baby-doll tank top hiding underneath. On the way home from Prick yesterday, we passed a shop Victoria insisted we check out.

“Ith the New Year, love. You need to ring it in with thtyle!”

She was still lisping at that point, but it didn’t stop her from pushing me into a fitting room with an armload of tops I never would have thought myself capable of pulling off. Now, as I look down at the beaded black bodice that flares out over my jeans, I’m still not sure. My bare shoulders prickle with goose bumps. I fidget with my hair and then smile when my hand runs over the red rose hair clip that rests above my left ear, pinning back my bangs. Victoria insisted on the top. I insisted on the clip.

“You’re gorgeous, love.
Très belle
. Stop fiddling. Isn’t she gorgeous, Hugh?”

He offers a nod of agreement. I don’t think I’ve heard Hugh speak more than ten words in the past two days. Then again, Victoria has enough conversation in her to keep things going on her own. Her use of the word gorgeous is hardly encouraging. This morning she gave the same compliment to the quiche we had for breakfast. For all I know, I look like a quiche.

A scab forms on my wrist, but I can read the small word under the healing skin. Rubbing my thumb over it, I think of Sam. I’ll call her at midnight her-time so we can start our Chicago new year together.

“She’s right, you know.
Très belle
.” The words come from behind me, the deep rasp flawlessly reproducing Victoria’s French words, and I freeze, rooted in place by his voice. Maybe it’s the cider, or maybe it’s still him, but I can’t suppress the smile as I look down into the pint cradled in my hands.

My back still to him I ask, “How can you tell? You can’t even see me.” My shoulders aren’t cold anymore. In fact, every part of me radiates with heat, which is wrong. So wrong. Victoria’s mouth hangs open, the neon light glinting off the silver stud in her tongue. Even Hugh takes an interest in my sudden paralysis.

Noah leans in, his hair brushing the flower clip above my ear, so only I can hear him above Elastica’s “Connection.”

“I don’t need to see you to know she’s right.” I gasp, and he must hear, but he pulls away.

“Thanks for the invite.” It’s Ethan, Noah’s brother, and I finally turn. Noah wears a fitted navy sweater, a collared shirt underneath, the bottom of the button-down hanging out over the top of his jeans. The clothes do nothing to hide the definition of the bare chest and shoulders I witnessed. I’m sure Ethan is wearing something, but whether it’s a tux or a tutu, I couldn’t say.

Though it’s after eleven o’clock, one booth remains open, and Victoria hops off her bar stool and grabs her drink.

“Come on, then. We can all fit over here.”

As always, she leads, and in a bit of a haze I follow to the spacious booth on the wall. Ethan and Noah slide in on one side, Hugh and Victoria on the other. I start to sit on the end next to Victoria, but she slides over leaving me no room.

“Sorry, love. My bag is almost as big as my bum. Sit across from me so I can see you!”

I look at her tiny clutch on the booth between her and Hugh and offer her my best “What the hell?” glare. She smiles and pats the tabletop across from her, and like an obedient cat, I slide in next to Noah, tentative and untrusting.

“You boys need a drink,” she says, waving over a server. “How ’bout a pitcher for the table? It’s getting more crowded. Service is going to get slower.”

“Sounds great.” Noah pulls two ten-pound notes from his pocket. “First one’s on us, since we crashed your party.”

Out of my peripheral vision I see him grin. A kingdom of butterflies dances in my stomach.

It’s getting louder, and Victoria focuses her conversational talents on Ethan with occasional interjections from Hugh. I face her, though she clearly ignores me.

Without turning to him, I ask, “What are you doing here, Noah?”

Above the growing din of the bar, I hear him take a deep breath before responding.

“I’m not sure yet.”

At least he’s honest.

“When I saw you yesterday…and in a tattoo shop? What the hell are the odds of that? I wanted to talk to you. But then you took off, which seems to be a pattern with us. I don’t want it to be like this anymore.”

The heat of anger rushes through me now, making it possible to look at him without losing my words.

“What do you want? Why are you hijacking my New Year’s Eve?”

Distance. I need distance.

I leave my drink and rush to the back of the bar. It’s crowded, and the music plays louder. I try to lose myself in the throng of people who convene under a neon clock. It’s two minutes to midnight.

Noah is next to me within seconds, and I’m furious.

“Jordan, please!” He yells. He has to. The noise builds to crescendo.

He grabs my wrist and pulls me past the mass of bodies and into the hallway that leads to the loos.

I gasp for breath, sure the air is getting thinner. What is he doing here? And why, after all this time, do I still react to his skin on mine. He knows how I felt about him—dammit—how I still feel despite myself. But that doesn’t mean he gets to swoop into my New Year’s Eve and call me beautiful.

“What, Noah? What?” As my voice grows louder, ache gives way to anger, and my eyes burn with tears. Because after thinking I was past all this, in what seems like minutes I’m about to come completely undone.

He runs his right hand through his hair, and I catch a glimpse of the scar on his palm. The sight of it softens my fury enough to listen, if only for a minute.

“Hailey went home to Ohio for the holidays.”

I flinch at the sound of her name. Beyond the hallway, back toward the bar, the countdown begins.

Ten!
The bartenders stand on the bar and yell.

“Why are you telling me this, Noah? So I don’t forget I’m your second choice?”

Nine!
The patrons join in.

“No! Shit. I told you everything comes out wrong when I’m with you. Don’t you see why?
You,
Jordan. I thought safe and familiar was my only choice. But you? You are unending turbulence. I do and say everything wrong when I’m around you, but isn’t that what falling is? It’s messy and difficult, and sometimes it even fucking hurts.” He heaves a few breaths. “I’m not with Hailey, Jordan.”