I usually wouldnât mind this. Not one bit. I canât imagine that anyone would, unless they, too, were tortured by the temptation that is Nora while also knowing that nothing could come of it.
Her skin is a few shades darker than mine and I canât tell her ethnicity by simply looking at her. I do know, though, that sheâs a mix of something beautiful and unique. Iâm not sure what it is specifically, but the almond shape of her eyes is striking, and so are her dark brows and the thick lashes that shade her high cheekbones. That shirt sheâs wearing looks perfect on her, just like every trendy outfit Iâve seen her in. Her hips are full, and the way her white cotton pants cling to her ass is hard to look away from.
Did I already say that?
I allow myself a few seconds to look at her, really look at her. It wonât hurt just to stare for a second or two . . . right?
Sheâs so oblivious to my gaze, to my longing to run my fingers along the bare skin of her back. My thoughts take me there, to a world where Nora is lying next to me, my fingers moving their way across her tanned skin. I would love to see her fresh out of a shower. Her hair would be wet, wavy at the ends, and her skin would be dewy, her dark lashes even blacker against her skin when she blinksâ
âThat bad, huh?â Nora asks.
I shake my head. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didnât respond to Tessaâs question about my workday. I tell her it was the same as usual, crowded and fast-paced. The first few weeks of college are a busy time for coffee shops, even across the bridge in Brooklyn.
I donât bore them with the details of the nozzle on the sink breaking off, spraying water all over Aiden. I canât say I didnât laugh when he wasnât lookingâhe was so pissed that his hair got messed up. It was all the funnier because it had been his idea to toy with the nozzle in the first place, claiming that he knew how to fix the leak.
Draco . . . foiled again.
Tessa tells me that she picked up extra shifts for the next two weekends, and I know that by mentioning her work schedule sheâs also really itching to know when Hardin is coming so she can keep her distance. I should tell her that heâs coming next weekend, and I intend to, but Iâm going to wait until Nora leaves so Tessa can have some time alone to get used to the idea and figure out how to prepare herself.
Iâve watched the light in Tessa drain away with each day sheâs in the city, alone, all the while that sheâs hearing about how Hardin is thriving under the influence of his new group of friends and the advice of his therapist. I truly think heâs getting better and that this time away is necessary for him, even if he loathes it.
If the two of them donât end up married with a bunch of stubborn, shaggy-haired children, I will lose all my faith in love.
I hate the word therapist. It adds such a stigma to someone who spends their life attempting to heal others.
Somehow itâs been deemed inappropriate to talk about your therapist at the water coolers at your day job, yet spreading gossip about your co-workersâ lives is completely acceptable. Sometimes the worldâs priorities are really messed up.
âHave you heard from your mom?â Tessa asks me.
Nora moves comfortably around the kitchen again. She washes the cooling racks and wets a sponge to wipe the countertops clean while I explain to Tessa that my little sister is using my momâs belly for soccer training. âShe swears that little Abby will be first pick in the MLS superdraft,â I tell them.
My mom says her body aches and aches at night, making room for the baby growing inside. She isnât complaining, thoughâsheâs awed and fascinated by the changes her body is undergoing at her age and sheâs eternally grateful to have had a healthy, uneventful pregnancy.
âYou lost me at MLD super-something,â Nora chirps, her lips quirking up to one side in amusement.
Slight amusement. Her eyes always seem to have a touch of boredom, like her life prior to the current moment was much more exciting in some important way.