wake her. It’s barely seven a.m. on a Sunday, which means it’s the one day Norah’s bakery is closed, and she gets to sleep in, so the last thing I want to do is fuck that up because I demanded to sleep over last night.
Fuck.
I make my way into her attached bathroom and relieve myself, trying to shake off this hangover. I barely had a sip of the drink I ordered last night, so this isn’t an alcohol hangover.
It’s a Norah hangover.
Last night was a lot. Too much. I was mentally prepared for Norah’s mom, but Douche Whacker coming in hot…I did not see that coming.
Fucking Nate aka Captain Douchebag aka The Idiot still stupid enough to be bragging about the girl whose virginity he took when they were kids. Who fucking does that?
I knew as soon as he shook my hand that this dinner wasn’t going to be about two friends catching up. He was letting Norah know straight up that he was available and interested. Fucking prick.
Every time I tried to talk last night, he’d interrupt me with an insipid ‘Norah, remember when’ story that wasn’t even interesting. I have better ‘Norah, remember when’ stories from only knowing her a few years than that idiot does from knowing her most of their lives. He’s fucking pathetic. He’s still living at home with his parents and trying to put the moves on a woman with a boyfriend…nice moves, bro.
And that talk about Norah’s cookie. He was baiting me. No doubt about it. He wanted me to lose my temper in front of her parents so they wouldn’t approve of me. Then he can swoop in with his family connection and all their history and help Norah’s mother pick out the monogram for their bathroom towels.
I played right into his hand too. I’m glad Norah got me out of there before I made too big of a fool of myself in front of her parents. None of this is real, but I actually like Norah’s dad. I don’t need him thinking I’m some idiot hot head who can’t keep my cool.
Why couldn’t I keep my cool? God, the way Norah and I were fighting last night and how hard we made up afterward…it reminds me of something…
My parents.
Fuck.
Chills crawl up my spine at that disturbing thought. When I glance at myself in the mirror, I hate what I see reflecting back at me:
My father.
I quietly step out of Norah’s bathroom, suddenly very anxious to get out of here. To get away from Norah, away from her bed, her smell, her presence.
I pause at the foot of her bed, watching her for a moment as she sleeps. She looks so peaceful. And innocent. She looks young and trouble-free. She doesn’t deserve my mind-fuck thoughts right now.
I quietly creep out of her bedroom and retrieve my clothes off the floor. It’s a trail all the way to the kitchen, but when I’m dressed, I know I can’t leave without saying something. I need to come up with an excuse.
I search through the kitchen drawers and find a yellow legal pad. When I flip one page over, a familiar list comes into sight:
NO PDA
FRIENDSHIP HOLD
NO STARING
NO BOSSING
NO BUSINESS TALK
NO KISSING
My how things have changed.
We started off so innocently. Now, we’re having sex, holding hands every which way, and sleeping over. And hell, I never stopped the staring thing. Dammit, this is messy.
I scrawl a note, telling Norah I had a tux fitting this morning, and I’ll call her later. As I drive back to my place, my mind races with thoughts. Thoughts about Norah and me together and if this is something I could see doing beyond this fake situation. Beyond Kate’s wedding. The idea makes me highly uncomfortable but the idea of all of this being over in less than a week isn’t much better.
There was a reason I’d been dating women like Lala. They were easily dispensable. They didn’t have anything I was interested in long-term, so when it was over, I literally never thought about them again.
But Norah…she’s…the perfect woman. Mature, natural, sweet-natured, motivated, genuine. A little anal-retentive and naïve, but that’s the icing on top. Plus, she’s the best sex I’ve ever had by a long shot. She’s too good for me. There’s a reason I don’t date women like Norah.
As I pull into my garage, my phone rings in the passenger seat beside me, and I see it’s my mother calling. I haven’t talked to her in a