Winter (Four Seasons #1) (11 page)

Casey turns
back to look at him, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “I see
you’re still fascinated by the macabre.”

“
Casey,
don’t,” he growls, low in his throat. The sound sends vibrations
through me like an earthquake. He stares at me, his eyes never
wavering. I open my mouth to say something and for the longest time
I can’t think of anything. A handful of things rush through my
head, none of them good. I could point out that I have a reason to
be here. It would be simple enough to grab the Macy’s bag and point
inside, but then Casey will know Luke loaned his sweatshirt to me,
and I don’t want her thinking…

God, what
don’t I want her thinking? I stare wide-eyed at Luke for another
second before my legs seem to make up their own minds and I turn
and bolt down the stairs. I’m halfway down when the very worst
thing happens. After all the times Luke has gotten my new name
wrong, he picks now to get it right.

“
Avery, wait!
Avery!”

I choke out a
sob and run.

Nine

Hook, Line
& Sinker

THE LIBRARY is
the warmest place on campus, which means it’s packed. After a full
morning of classes, I met Morgan here to study but so far not much
studying has been done. At least not on her part. She’s been making
out with Tate for the better part of forty minutes and the
librarian looks ready to cause someone bodily harm. I’m in a
terrible mood anyway, so it’s probably a good thing that I’m being
ignored. That is, until…

“
I’m going to
pretend I’m not mortally wounded that you haven’t text me since our
non-date.” Noah slides into the seat beside me, hat pulled down
over his ears, grinning mercilessly. I drop my pen into the crease
of my book and try to produce a smile from somewhere—hard to do
since my nerves are still shot from my run in with Casey Fisher.
And Luke—half naked, mussed, sexy as hell Luke. Urgh. It’s not
Noah’s fault, though. None of this is.

“
Sorry. Aren’t
you supposed to text me? Isn’t that the way it’s done
anymore?”

Noah shakes
his head, still flashing me a full row of pearly whites. “The metro
male is no long the pursuer, but the pursued. I’m gonna need you to
apologize.”

“
Apologize?”

“
For giving me
two sleepless nights in a row. It’s fairly unkind, torturing a man
so.”

“
Noah
Richards!” Tate declares, slapping the study table. He and Morgan
have finally come up for air, and my best friend looks positively
devilish. I don’t need her observing any interaction I have with
Noah; she’ll only interfere, which never ends well. Tate reaches
over and bumps fists with Noah.

“
You got those
books, man?” he asks.

Noah nods,
heaving his messenger bag up onto the table. “Just came by to drop
them off for you. And also I wanted to stalk Avery Patterson over
here, seeing as she’s making me do all the work.” He produces two
textbooks the size of small telephone directories from his bag and
slides them across the table. Morgan places a manicured hand on top
of them and eyes the two of us.

“
She’s making
you do all the work, huh? That’s
rude
, Avery.”

Oh boy. Here
we go.

“
That’s what I
thought,” Noah laughs. “Unless…” he turns to look at me, “I’ve got
completely the wrong idea, haven’t I? I’ve been walking around for
two days thinking you fell for my pathetic attempts to seduce you,
and now I’m here embarrassing myself because you’re not
interested.”

“
Oh she’s
interested, honey,” Morgan purrs. I want to slap her stupid, but
she’s freaking crazy in a fight and I’d only lose. It’s better
keeping her on side, so I just shoot her a foul look. The look she
sends back is completely oblivious—
you can
thank me later.

“
So you
did
fall for my pathetic
attempts at seduction, then?”

I squirm,
trying to avoid the toe of Morgan’s Steve Madden boot under the
table as she does her best to bruise my shins. I’ll hear about this
for weeks if I don’t play along. “Of course I did. Hook, line and
sinker.”

Noah’s bravado
doesn’t slip, he’s a consummate professional when it comes to
flirtation, but I do notice a flicker of relief in his eyes. Tate,
who’s been rifling in his wallet, tosses Noah a wad of cash across
the table. “Thanks, dude. Would have had to pay a fortune to buy
these new.”

“
No worries, I
don’t need ‘em anymore.”

“
What are you
doing today?”

Noah bumps me
with his shoulder, grinning. “Got reading to do later. But right
now? Right now I’m taking Avery Patterson for lunch.”

******

We grab lunch
at the very first diner we come across off campus; we’re too cold
to be picky, and the smell of fresh coffee draws us in off the
street. Margo’s is packed to the rafters, filled with college
students who’ve had the same idea as us, and a small, bird-like
woman is pin-balling from table to table refreshing people’s coffee
mugs. The windows run with condensation, and every time the door
jangles open and a new customer enters the people inside groan and
holler for them to close the door.

Noah and I
find a vacant booth and I order a coffee and some pumpkin soup
straight off the bat. Noah orders a burger and an espresso, and
when the waitress leaves he leans across the table and smiles at
me. I was wrong before: he does have freckles, they are just so
faint they’re barely visible, scattered lightly across the bridge
of his nose. He stares at me without a scrap of shame.

“
What?” I ask,
laughing, slightly nervous under his intense scrutiny.

“
Oh, nothing.
I was just wondering what you were doing for Christmas
break?”

I remember
Brandon’s promise to come back to the city and I make a mental note
to contact the owner of the apartment to see if it will be free.
“Not much. Just hanging out with my uncle again. What about
you?”

“
I’m going to
be on placement.”

“
Over the
break?” Our coffee arrives and I free-pour an unhealthy amount of
sugar into the bitter black liquid. Noah raises an eyebrow but
doesn’t say anything about my sweet tooth.

“
Yeah, my Uni
back in London would only let me stay two semesters if I completed
my placement alongside my time here. Means I have to sacrifice baby
Jesus’ birthday party, but that’s okay. I’ve never been one for
Christmas.”

“
Huh. You’ve
clearly never done Christmas in New York.” I stir my coffee until
I’m sure I’m not going to get a mouthful of un-dissolved sugar, and
then take a deep draught. “So where are you completing your
placement?”

Noah opens his
mouth and lets out a laugh that sounds a little nervous.
“Uh…Africa.”

“
What?
I thought you were interning at a paper or
something! Africa? Why?”

“
I figured
before I came here that since I was gaining an international
education I might as well make it really interesting. I organized
to go and work for a not for profit agency in Sierra Leone
reporting on the conflict.”

“
But…”
that’s dangerous
, I want
to say. Then again, from what he said about his childhood, Noah’s
used to finding himself in dangerous places. I raise my eyebrows
and hold my coffee mug out to him. He chinks it with his own.
“Kudos to you for doing something important instead of signing up
to sling caffeine at the New York Times.”

He laughs.
“They wouldn’t have me. Heard I made bad coffee.”

Our food
arrives and we make small talk, Noah occasionally tapping me with
his foot under the table, trying to keep his face straight while he
pretends he hasn’t done anything. I somehow manage to adlib my
responses to the questions he asks me about my family, sticking to
the truth as much as I can: my mother lives in New York too, but we
don’t get on; my uncle raised me the past four years; my passion
for journalism comes from hard lessons learned in the past; my
father is dead.

He tells me
about his family back in Ireland, about being an only child, the
pressure he was under to join the family business before he had a
massive blow up with his dad and left home for a while. Our stories
couldn’t be more different. It seems his parents are overly
involved in every aspect of his life, or at least they try to be,
and my own mother doesn’t want anything to do with me
anymore.

The cold is
somehow worse when we leave Margo’s, maybe because the soup has
warmed me and loosened the tension in my bones. Noah chuckles when
I shiver, wrapping my arms around my body and stamping my feet in
the snow.

“
Here,” he
says, pulling me closer. He rubs his hands up and down my arms
furiously, and I laugh as he jostles my body. When he considers me
thoroughly warmed, he stops and looks down at me, his eyes
searching my face. For a moment I think he’s going to lean down and
kiss me, and from the wry look on his face Noah knows it. His eyes
sparkle when he says, “Not yet, Avery,” and pulls me back toward
campus.

******

The apartment
is sweltering when I let us in; Leslie’s left the heater on and I
am so grateful I could kiss her. I pace in and huck off my boots. I
head straight for my room, waiting for Noah to follow. It’s strange
having him here with me, scanning my neat and tidy desk, my
meticulously made bed, hospital corners and all. His gaze roves
over my bookshelf, searching for… I have no idea what he’s
searching for but he doesn’t seem to find it.

“
Your room
looks like it belongs in a hotel. Where’s all your
stuff?”

“
What do you
mean?” I unwind my long scarf and hang it back on a hook in the
closet. Noah walks up behind me and peers over my
shoulder.

“
You clothes
are organized by color.”

“
And season,”
I say, slamming the door shut. “I like…I like things to be
methodical.” I spin around and walk into Noah’s chest. His hands go
to my hips, and he smirks down at me.

“
I am
never
showing you my
room.”

“
Oh?” A hazy
feeling swamps me. Those freckles are a whole lot more prominent up
this close. “And why’s that?”

“
Because you’d
dump me on the spot. I live out of a suitcase for starters. The
rest of my clothes usually end up over the back of a
chair.”

“
Dump you?
We’re not dating, Noah.” I try to sound a little mocking. I totally
fail, naturally. Instead, I sounded breathless and
flustered.

“
You know you
want to go out with me.”

Do I? I don’t
deny it, but how is he so sure when I don’t have a clue what I
want? My eyes flicker over his lips and, as if reading my mind,
Noah licks them and gives me a lazy smile.

“
Not
yet.”

I shake my
head and back out of his arms. “When you’re done messing with me, I
should get those books and we should go. You promised me
study.”

“
We can go
study if you want.” He edges closer again and puts his hands back
on my hips. Even through my pea coat it feels like they’re burning
against my skin. “Or,” he quirks one of his eyebrows, “we could
stay here and find some other way to keep ourselves
busy.”

Goodness knows
how he has the ability to make me blush so furiously, but it seems
to amuse Noah no end. He reaches up and traces my cheekbone with
his finger, watching my eyes go wide. I clear my throat and lift my
own hand up to his head. “How about you show me what you look like
without that hat glued to your head?” I pull the beanie off in a
quick tug and Noah lunges after it, groaning.

“
Lord, woman!
What are you doing to me? Give it back. My hair is a
disaster!”

I hold the hat
high in the air, laughing, the way the kids at high school used to
do to the freshmen. I’m a midget compared to Noah, however, and it
only takes him a second to retrieve it.

“
Trouble,
woman. Pure, unadulterated trouble.” He’s so much closer now, our
bodies pressing together properly for the first time. He slips his
arms around my waist, neglecting to return the beanie to his head,
and sighs. “Okay. It’s out there now. Take a good look. I’m gonna
shave it all off soon.”

I’m almost
embarrassed by the fact that I want to run my hands through his
hair; it’s messy, much straighter than I thought it was going to be
given the way it’s always curling at the ends. Noah’s eyes don’t
leave mine as I tentatively reach up and thread my fingers through
the thickness of it.

“
You shouldn’t
cut it,” I whisper.

Noah tips his
head back a little when I bury my other hand in his hair, and he
closes his eyes. The look on his face makes me want to do something
crazy. When my hands reach the back of his neck, he exhales and
tightens his arms around me.

“
You’re
cruel,” he breathes.