Just. Just. Judgment wasn’t cool.
But.
Neither was alienating someone you liked.
God, this noodle stuff was awesome. Way better than the cups you microwaved that produced a soup-like product but required one to pick the peas out. Dry-frozen peas did not rehydrate well. They were like little pea zombies. Nasty. This, though, this was like real food.
As he gazed delightedly into his bowl, he realized Jay was half done with hers already. He picked up his chopsticks and brought a load of ramen to his lips. There was an egg in here, too! Would wonders never cease? Well, whatever her rants, the girl knew food.
And books. The girl knew books. That was hot. Almost as hot as she was. ’Cause she was definitely smoking. He dished up a piece of pork before she noticed he couldn’t stop staring. Because despite that little moment of hatefulness, she was a girl with a big heart. And luscious red lips. And adorable hair that made it really, really hard to keep his hands from raking through it.
The pork went a little dry in his mouth as he contemplated. Was she too clever for him? Then he realized he wasn’t actually chewing. Once that resumed, everything got better. No. She was perfect for him. He just needed to convince her of that.
“Are you almost done?” Her eyes widened over the bowl she was slurping from genteelly. Who slurped genteelly? She was awesome. He quickly slurped as well. Really, he wanted to stay in that spot with their weird kicky footsie, but they weren’t going to make out in this plastic booth. And Noah definitely wanted to kiss her. Ideally, as soon as possible.
He tossed some bills on the laminate table and pulled her up by her hand. She was a little damp, which was goddamn adorable. For that whole femme front, she was totally getting nervous around him. Him, Noah Harrison. That was ridiculous. And sexy.
He wasn’t going to bite. Not until he had her tied to his bed, anyway. And they weren’t remotely there yet. But once they were … Well. He’d bet his entire next paycheck that that feisty little feminist would love the way he was going to tell her what to do.
In the meantime he had absolutely no idea how to get home.
“Should we start heading back?” he asked, grabbing her hand again, hoping she’d lead.
She did. It was pretty clear she loved to be in charge. He’d let her, for now. He didn’t even say anything when she grabbed the rooster sauce and the chopsticks and stuck them in her jeans. He did slap a few more bucks on the table, though.
She steered him down a few streets quietly.
“Noah?” It surprised him, once he’d grown used to the sounds of their flats slapping the ground in rhythm.
It only took a few beats for him to answer. “Yeah?”
“This was nice.”
It took a few more beats, but this time because he was wondering, was she ready for the night to be over? Was this the last time he’d see her? This was pretty early to be summing up the evening. He needed to make a grand gesture.
What sort of a grand gesture would a girl like her require?
“It was nice. It is nice. Can we spend some more time talking books? I haven’t met that many well-read women.” Nice one. Books were what they’d bonded over in the first place. Books might keep them going.
“Is that a female thing? Are you being chauvinistic?” No, nothing was going to be easy with this woman.
“No, Jay. I think I just don’t meet many girls like you.” He spun her around so she could see his eyes. They were sincere, and he wanted her to see that.
Lies. He wanted to look at her amazing eyes. But, he’d pretend it was the opposite.
“Huh.” What was that supposed to mean? “What’s your favorite style?”
“What?” The conversation had lost him and he was the one who had been doing the talking. He was blaming it on her eyes.
“Like, I love the South Americans. Márquez, Saramago. My best teacher friend is into the Japanese—Marakumi and such.” She elbowed him.
He guessed it was meant to be a prod, but every time they touched it gave him shocks. He tried to ignore the path they traced up his arm and down his spine.
At least their dialogue was back to something he could handle. “Classic American. Salinger. Steinbeck. Fitzgerald. I like sparse prose, and definitive themes.”
“Male themes.” She elbowed him again. He elbowed her back. She had no idea how bad she was going to get it once he finally had her.
“American themes. Money. Power. Class. That isn’t male or female.” To keep her from more elbowing, he wrapped his arm around hers, their fingers interlocked. He was overpowering her, even though he bet she had no idea. Any move she made could have him on top of her in two seconds flat. The thought was arousing.