Chapter Sixteen

 

Libby went into the restroom and took care of her business, then washed her shaking hands and looked at her reflection.

Why had she flirted with those guys? It wasn’t like she was interested, but if she was going to act on this impulse to sleep with someone, it would be better to do it with a stranger she’d never have to see again than to sleep with Noah and lose him forever.

But it made her feel slimy and unworthy of Noah’s friendship.

She wasn’t sure why his reaction to those guys had surprised her. She couldn’t ignore what was right in front of her face. Noah wanted to sleep with her. There was no misinterpreting that. She wasn’t sure she could be strong enough for the both of them.

He was waiting at a slot machine with a bowl of nachos and a couple of bottles of water.

She sat down next to him, grinning. “You realize how ridiculous this is, right? I’m wearing this dress and you’re in a tux, but we’re sitting here eating chips covered in processed cheese in front of dollar slot machines.”

He grabbed a chip and took a bite. “It’s kind of more us, don’t you think?” He held up the container toward her. “The nachos, not the machines.”

She took a chip and leaned over the container so she didn’t drip cheese on her dress. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“How come you’ve never read my palm?”

The question came out of nowhere and caught her off guard. “Uh . . . I don’t know.” But that wasn’t true. She realized that now. She’d been worried about what she’d see, or more aptly, what she wouldn’t see.

He took another chip and looked into her eyes. “You’ve read the palms of just about everyone we know, yet you’ve never asked to read mine.”

“First of all, we hardly have any friends in common, and second, you’ve never asked me to read your palm.”

He set the tray of nachos down and held out his palm to her. “Libby,” he said in a husky voice. “I want you to read my palm.”

Her heart began to race, and she fought to keep her breathing even. She started to reach for his hand, then stopped. What was she so afraid of? Confirmation of what she already knew? Noah McMillan wasn’t the man destined for her. “You don’t believe in it.”

“Maybe I do. You do. And you were right about Josh.”

“I thought you said it was a lucky guess.”

“What difference does it make if I believe or not? I want you to read my palm.”

She took a deep breath and grabbed his hand, the contact sending a jolt of desire straight to her core. Trying her best to ignore it, she cradled his hand in hers, using her right index finger to trace the lines.

“What does it say?”

Her nerves were on edge and she could hardly concentrate on the grooves in his hand. “You have a deep life line. You’re very healthy.”

“True.” Her eyes were still on his hand, but she could hear the grin in his voice.

“It’s also very long. You’ll live a long life.”

“So you’re saying I can take up dangerous sports without fear, like sky diving or rope-free cliff climbing.”

She grinned and snuck a look at him. “No.”

His eyes held hers and she felt a new connection to him. What was it? It was at once deep and unnerving and . . . comforting. Then it hit her.

Love.

She loved him.

Not just you’re my best friend love. She was head over heels in love with him.

“Go on,” he coaxed softly. “I want to hear about my love line.”

Oh, God. This was terrible. What did she do with this knowledge—this yearning for him? Noah was bound to freak out if he knew she felt anything for him other than friendship and primal lust. If he even got an inkling, he was sure to take off running. That’s what he’d done with all of his past relationships.

Get it together, she told herself. Don’t let him see anything’s wrong. She took a breath, trying to steady her nerves. “I’m not done with your life line.”

“All right.”

With great difficulty, she tore her eyes from his and looked down at his palm. “There are several hash marks on your life line indicating major life events.” She lifted his hand closer to her face. “The first was in your very early twenties.”

“My father’s death,” he murmured. “When I took over the company.”

“Another in your mid- to late thirties.” She paused and took a closer look. “Several, actually.”

“Bad things?”

She pursed her lips. “No, not necessarily. The way some of these are smaller and close together suggests they might be marriage and children.”

Nausea stirred in her gut as she thought about him with someone else. A wife who wouldn’t understand their relationship . . . and would be right not to.

She took another breath, hoping her hands didn’t start to shake, and decided it was safer to move on. “This is your head line.” The pad of her index finger rubbed over the line running above his life line. “You’re very intelligent.” She glanced up at him through her lashes. “But we knew that already.”

A gleam of reassurance filled his eyes. He always joked about being an idiot and a fool. It shocked her to realize that part of him actually believed it, his academic achievements in his teens and in college notwithstanding.

“See how it curves and is so long?” she asked, waiting for him to look. “That means you’re a creative thinker and problem solver.” Creative thinker, but not necessarily creative. What did she make of that?

“And my heart line?”

“Why are you so insistent on your heart line?” She was scared to study it.

“I want to know what my future holds.”

“Sometimes surprises are good.”

“What does it say?” he prodded.

She dragged her gaze from his again. She’d looked into his eyes for months without feeling this way, though she’d noticed from the start they were the perfect color—a warm golden brown. Why was she so drawn to them now? “It says . . .”

Noah’s phone rang and they both jumped, caught by surprise. He groaned and reluctantly pulled his hand from Libby’s. “I better check to see who it is.” Then he groaned again and rejected the call.

“Anything important?” she asked.

He frowned. “No, just some work thing.”

“Shouldn’t you take it?”

“No.” His answer was firm as he held out his hand. “Are you going to finish with my love line?”

She gave him a sad smile. “We both know how that one goes.”

“No, Lib. You don’t.”

Was he right? Could they really work? Because she knew that’s what he meant. The real question was what he wanted. A quick fling or something more? What if he didn’t run away from her if she told him she loved him? Could she really take the risk? She was terrified. She’d lost so much. She couldn’t lose him too.

“Why did you propose to Mitch?”

“What?”

“Libby.” He was more insistent. “I know about the curse.”

She looked up at him, blinking in confusion. “What?”

“The curse. You told me about the pact, but Josh told me about the curse.”

Humiliation burned her face. “What do you know?”

“I know you want to uphold the pact you and your friends made when you were girls, and I also know you believe you were cursed by a fortune teller.”

She closed her eyes. “And?”

“I’d rather hear it from you.” His voice was soft and understanding.

Her eyes opened. “You want to hear that I asked Mitch to marry me so the guy I was supposed to marry would show up?”

“Who was supposed to show up, Libby?”

Tears filled her eyes. “It’s stupid, I know. But the fortune teller said our weddings would be disasters and each of us would marry someone other than our intended.” She sucked in a breath. “It worked for Megan and Blair, so why wouldn’t it work for me? Especially since I was the one who believed in the curse the most. So I proposed to Mitch, expecting him to show up.”

His eyes hardened. “Who, Libby? Who did you expect to show up?”

Her voice broke. “I don’t know.”

His shoulders sagged, then he took her hand and cradled it between both of his.

She gave him a half-shrug. “Megan met Josh on that plane and Blair never thought she’d see Garrett again. Neither of them expected to marry the men they married. Megan didn’t even know Josh.” She paused. “I thought something like that would happen to me.”

“So that’s why you let Mitch plan the wedding and wouldn’t let him pay for it.” He seemed to be saying it more to himself than her. “You never wanted to marry him?”

“You must think I’m a total bitch.”

He slowly shook his head. “No, Lib. I love that about you.”

“That I intentionally hurt Mitch?” she asked in disbelief.

“No. That you believed in something so much you risked everything to make it happen.”

“Fat lot of good it did me. Tomorrow’s my birthday and look where I’m at.”

“You’re with me.” He studied her face as he wiped a tear from her cheek. “Libby, did you ever really think about who you were supposed to marry?”

She shook her head, but a little voice inside her head was screaming that the answer might be right in front of her. But her palm told her differently. Which did she believe? The curse or the lines on her palm? Could she believe in one without the other? She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It doesn’t work that way. I wasn’t supposed to know.”

“Think about it now. Tomorrow’s your birthday. Who are you supposed to marry?”

Was he saying what she thought he was? “The curse isn’t real, Noah.”

His gaze held hers. “I think it is.”

“You’re not superstitious,” she whispered.

His finger lightly traced her jaw, sending shivers of need down her spine. “I am now.”

She wanted this more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life, but now that she might actually have a shot at it, the fear that she would screw it up terrified her. She jumped off the stool. “I want to play poker.”

His eyes widened. “Poker? Right now?”

“Yes.”

“You hate poker.”

“I want to play anyway, but I need another drink first.”

She flagged down a waitress and ordered another mojito. Noah watched her for a moment before ordering another gin and tonic.

Her life was shit. She might as well get drunk.

She knew it was stupid and irresponsible, yet that’s what she was. Irresponsible. Just ask anyone. No wonder the curse hadn’t worked for her. She didn’t deserve it.