Hard Pass by Sara Ney Page 0,50

mostly because I’m not the kind of girl guys hit on.”

There. I said it.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t dress sexy or go out and get drunk. If I was being hit on, I wouldn’t have known it. Guys don’t like the girl next door. They want the girl who wants to bang.”

“Those guys were idiots. You’re gorgeous—who wouldn’t want to date you?”

He’s not looking at me, he’s staring into the takeout container as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the room, but the insides of me melt at his words just the same. There is nothing placating or pandering about them and he’s bashfully hiding his face as he says it, so endearing and sweet.

Noah Harding is a big softie.

“Plenty of people haven’t wanted to date me.”

“You don’t sound upset about it.”

I shake my head slowly. “I’m not. I’ve always thought the right guy would come along when he came along.”

“It’s that easy, huh?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just mean that…” I pause to think about it before putting it into words. “I’m young—we are young. Everyone—and by everyone, I mean my girlfriends—puts pressure on themselves to find someone, to be in a relationship, and they’re willing to settle for the first asshole who pays them any attention. Then it’s nonstop drama and arguing.” I feed myself and chew. “Sometimes they break up then get back together, then break up, and everyone around them develops whiplash from the back and forth.”

I mimic my head whipping side to side.

Digging a fork into my dinner, I say, “My mom always told me, ‘When you know, you know.’”

And when it comes to Noah—I know. I just do. He’s a great, caring guy, and no matter what he wants to believe, he gives me flutters and butterflies—a few key ingredients in the early stages of puppy love.

I’ve never been in it before.

“You feel no pressure to meet someone?” he asks me after a moment of silence.

“Not really. Do you?” I glance up and over at him, cross-legged on my living room floor and smile.

The shake of his head is terse, definitive. “No.”

“When was your last relationship?” It’s a fair question, although to be honest, I once read an article saying it was against the rules to ask this on a first date, dismissing it as completely irrelevant.

But I disagree. His relationship history has everything to do with me. It can tell a lot about a person—if they’re a stayer or a goer.

“I’ve never had one.”

“Never had a relationship?”

“No.” He lets the answer linger before asking me the same question. “What about you?”

I lift a shoulder. “Eh. Briefly, in college. Not anyone I brought home to meet my parents. Just a guy who was fun to hang around with.” My friends hated him, so there was that. Newsflash: when Claire or Emily or any of my other friends didn’t like a guy, didn’t approve of him, or thought he was a douche? It became impossible to date him, like him, or bang him.

Bye-bye Brad.

Hello single life.

Claire introduced me to my first vibrator our junior year of college and I haven’t worried about dicks since. I miss dicks, but I didn’t sleep my way through my graduating class to satisfy my lust for one.

Noah clears his throat as if he can see my inner thoughts, including the dicks now on my brain, even though I spent the last few seconds convincing myself I couldn’t care less about them.

He knows.

And now I know he knows and both our faces are bright red, leaving me no choice but to reach over and trace my hand over his strong jawline—the one dominated by dirty blond stubble—letting my thumb brush beneath his bottom lip.

His body goes still. Rigid almost. And for a second my heart stops beating, afraid I’ve done something wrong—like that night at Rent when he bolted and didn’t come back to me.

Don’t leave, Noah. “I’m sorry, I…”

He repositions himself, sitting up again, fingers reaching out to circle my wrist, gently.

Pulls me closer.

When our lips meet, I’m not surprised—we have chemistry and have been wanting to kiss since the minute he picked me up for our date tonight.

My body sags with relief and a bit of shock, honestly.

He actually did it. He made the first move!

Hallelujah! I was worried he had no interest in jumping my bones, which is something my grandmother used to say, and now I feel old.

Ugh.

I have just enough time to put my own dinner container