Chapter Eighteen

 

Noah was stuffing his phone into his pocket when Libby emerged from the restroom. He must have noticed her questioning glance because he said, “Gram. I told her about dinner. They’ll meet us at the restaurant.”

“Okay.” But Libby’s anxiety was making her skin feel too tight. Noah seemed more reserved as they made their way to the poker tables, yet his eyes never left her, making her more and more anxious.

Don’t blow this, Libby. Don’t lose him.

She still had no idea what he wanted. A fling? Something more long term? Their earlier conversation had insinuated he was interested in the latter . . . maybe even in marriage. But this was Noah, a man who’d informed her months ago that he was allergic to marriage. She would have chalked her confusion up to the alcohol she’d consumed, but she couldn’t do that since she’d barely even had a buzz all night. The drinks here must be watered down.

She knew she should just ask him, lay all the cards on the table, but when she started to ask, her throat squeezed tight.

They sat at a table with another couple and a middle-aged man with a Texas drawl. Noah was right—she hated poker—but you couldn’t really talk to your tablemates, so she had some time to think. But half an hour later, she was a hundred dollars poorer, totally sober, and ready to move on.

“What do you want to do?” he asked. “Tomorrow is your birthday.”

“My birthday,” she sneered. “A pox upon my fucking birthday.”

He looked amused. “Someone’s been binge-watching Game of Thrones.”

She curled her upper lip and looked for another waitress. Getting drunk sounded like an even better idea than before they sat down the poker table. She’d gotten sidetracked with her plan by the game.

“Turning thirty’s not so bad.” He shrugged and grinned. “I survived it with very little scarring.”

“I was supposed to have my life together by now, Noah.”

“What do you think is missing?”

“I wanted to have an exhibit.”

“You’re working on it. You just need to get back on track. Once you get to Seattle, you’ll be able to devote all your time to it.”

Seattle. Over the last few hours, she’d forgotten about moving to Seattle. If she moved to Seattle, what if they tried this and it epically failed? She couldn’t bear watching him sleep with woman after woman.

Now she was even more depressed and confused.

“What else you got?” he asked.

The pact. The curse. She knew it was stupid and juvenile, but she’d thought it might mean someone would love her enough to stick around.

“Libby.” His voice was gentle and coaxing. “Why are you so upset about turning thirty?”

“My life sucks giant donkey balls.”

He chuckled. “How giant? Anything like the Czechoslovakian egg? Because those would be some impressive balls.”

She swatted his lapel. “Don’t make fun of me, Mr. I-have-my-life-together-and-I-had-a-fucking-girlfriend-but-I-don’t-need-her-because-I’m-sexy-and-all-the-women-in-the-world-throw-themselves-at-my-feet.”

“That’s a very long name,” he murmured. “It’s really weird that I don’t remember changing it. And where’s this line of women? It’s the men who are lining up for you, Libby St. Clair.”

“Who cares?” She didn’t want to talk about all the women he’d screwed. Then she had an idea. “It’s my birthday. I want to play a game.”

Hesitation filled his eyes. “What kind of game?”

“A drinking game.” She grabbed his hand and led him to the counter of a nearby bar. As soon as she had the bartender’s attention, she ordered six shots of vodka.

Noah cringed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re planning to get totally shit-faced, huh? At least it’s not tequila.”

“Vile stuff.” Back in college, she’d lost a few nights to tequila.

“So what’s this game?” he asked.

She laughed at the fear in his voice. “Truth or dare.”

His eyes widened slightly before focusing on her. “Okay.” He didn’t sound any less fearful. “But I have to warn you that this seems like the wrong place for it. It’s kind of a classy joint. Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

She shook her head. “Nope. This is us. All dressed up fancy but keepin’ it real.”

The bartender started to pour the shots, and when he finished Noah stopped him before he walked off. “Can we have some shot glasses with water? Say six? And a draft beer.”

“Sure.” The guy shook his head muttering something about weirdos as he left to fill the glasses.

Libby was about to pounce on him, but Noah held up his hand in defense. “Since I’ve turned thirty and become an old geezer,” he teased, “I’ll pass out after three shots. Let’s make it last longer.”

“Where’s the fun in drinking water?”

“We’ll mix them up so we won’t know if we’re drinking vodka or water. Like a drinking Russian roulette game.”

“Okay.” She had to admit it was a good idea. “And the beer?”

“Hey, beer goes with everything. So how’s this work?”

“We get to ask each other a question. If you answer my question, I have to drink the shot. If you pass, you do.”

“What can we ask?”

“Anything.”

He pondered it for a moment, then the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “What about the dare part?”

“Drinking the shots is the dare.”

He shook his head. “Nope. I’ll only play if daring is an option.”

What was he up to? What did it matter? She was the one who’d suggested the game, and she’d done it because she wanted answers.

After the bartender delivered Noah’s draft and their shot glasses of water, Noah mixed up all the shot glasses, then gave her a wink before he took a sip of his beer.

She squared her shoulders. “Okay. I’ll go first.”

Noah grinned. “I’m ready.”

“Truth.” She gave him a sexy smile and leaned forward. “Why did you break up with Donna?”

She studied his eyes, but he gave nothing away as he rested his forearm on the counter. “Many reasons. She was a bitch. She tried to change me. She hated my apartment. She wanted me to get another job, preferably investment banking . . . and she hated you.”

“She hated me? She didn’t even know me.”

“She was jealous of you. I think she knew that she and I would never be as close as you and I are.”

The giddiness she felt over Noah’s misfortune filled her with guilt, yet it was undeniable. But she could understand why Donna hadn’t understood their friendship. Right now she struggled to understand it herself. Better to focus on the other reasons. “She wanted to change all those things about you? What a bitch.”

“She had her moments,” he said with an air of self-deprecation. “My turn.”

“Okay.” She picked up a glass and drank, feeling it burn down her throat. Vodka. 

“Do you have any birthmarks or interesting freckles?”

She set the glass on the counter. “Really? That’s your question?”

“Hey, we’re just getting started. Gotta start with the easy ones and work my way up. So? Do you?”

“You already know I have that brown spot on my leg.”

He leaned forward, his hand resting on her exposed right knee. His fingertips made a slow path up her inner thigh, then under the hem of her dress and up a couple more inches. “Right here?” His hand stopped, his fingertips gently caressing her skin. “I saw it last summer when you were wearing that pair of jean shorts you love, the ones with the frayed ends. The ones that make your ass look amazing.”

He’d checked out her ass that long ago? Focus, Libby, but it was hard with his hand so close to other parts of her that wanted to be touched. “You said it looked like a map of Australia.”

“For the record, I was referring to your birthmark at the time, not your ass. Any more marks?”

“One.”

His fingers stroked a lazy pattern on her inner thigh in the area of the mark. He must have studied it extensively to find it so accurately without looking. The thought that he’d spent time studying her legs turned her on even more.

“Go on.”

“It’s on the underside of my left breast. A red spot.”

His gaze dropped to her cleavage. “You know I want proof.”

“Maybe later.”

His eyes smoldered with desire. “I’m going to hold you to it.”

What were they doing? They were ruining everything. “That’s all of them,” she forced out as she slid a shot glass toward him. He removed his hand from her leg to lift it to his lips. 

This is a dangerous game, she thought to herself. But she was tired of fighting the way she felt for him. This wasn’t just untethered lust she felt—she wanted to sleep with him. Alcohol would give her an excuse.

He downed his shot. “I want a dare.”

She laughed. “Nope. I get to pick. Truth.”

His gaze drifted to her lips, making it hard for her to concentrate. 

“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Sixteen, in the back of my car with Penny Lindquist.”

“Was she your girlfriend?”

“For about a week. Apparently she had a crush on me, and when she found out I was graduating early to go to college, she propositioned me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Thus began a long line of women in my life.” For a moment it looked like he was about to say something more, but then he grinned. “My turn.”

“I have to drink first.” She grabbed a random glass and gulped it down, regretting the move. Vodka.

Noah turned his smoldering gaze on her. “Dare.”

“I don’t want a dare.”

“You get one anyway.” He leaned forward again, his eyes hooded and darker than normal.

She sucked in a breath, sitting back on her stool. “What is it?”

“Kiss me.”

Her gaze landed on his lower lip and her heart pounded against her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this nervous about kissing a man, but this was Noah. There were so many reasons to think this through more, but the alcohol was beginning to cloud her judgment.

“Are you sure?” she asked him quietly.

“Very. But only one kiss.”

Only one? Was he testing her first? Did he want to see if she was a good kisser before deciding whether she was worth the risk?

Did it matter? She wanted this too, so what was holding her back?

He sat on his stool, his right forearm draped along the counter. His legs were separated, so she spun to completely face him and tucked her legs between his. She leaned toward him, her face inches from his. “You didn’t say what kind of kiss. How do you know I won’t give you an innocent peck?”

“I don’t. The anticipation of what you’ll do is part of the thrill.”

She touched his lower lip with the tip of her finger, skimming it lightly while she held his gaze, their lips inches apart with only her finger separating them. His tongue darted out to lightly lick her finger and an electrical current shot to her core.

He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingertip before pulling it down to his lap. “Are you going to torture me all night, Libby?” he asked, his voice deep and husky. “Or are you going to kiss me?”

“Is this torture for you, Noah?” she asked in a whisper.

“You have no idea.”

She moved her hand to his cheek and lowered her mouth to his, her tongue resuming the path her finger had taken. He gasped into her parted lips before she pulled his bottom lip between hers, raking her top teeth across it. He tasted of beer and vodka and the promise of so much more. His hand was suddenly on her neck, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, and her seductive playfulness vanished, replaced with want and raw need.

And then he pulled back, his breath coming in quick pants, his eyes wide with wonder. “That was by far the best dare I’ve ever given.”

She had a new appreciation for the dare aspect of their game too. She picked up a shot glass and held it out to him.

A grin lit up his face. “We are so going to regret this in the morning.”

Was he talking about the kiss, the drinking, or both? But they’d just boarded this runaway train, and she didn’t see any way off at this point. “We’ll worry about that tomorrow. I want my twenty-nine years of living to go out in a celebration. Truth.”

“I want a dare. Just like the one I gave you.”

“You don’t get to pick either. Truth.”

His eyes danced with playfulness at her response, relieving her anxiety that he’d be upset with her. “What deep dark secret do you want to know this time?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

His playfulness faded slightly. “Once.”

That surprised her. From what he’d told her, he’d never been with a woman long enough to fall in love. “Who was she?”

He shook his head.

“You’re not going to tell me? Why not?” Was it Donna? Had he cared for her more than he’d let on?

He picked up the shot glass. “I haven’t had near enough of these to tell you yet.” He downed the drink, slammed the glass down and pounded the counter, then turned his attention back to Libby. “Have you ever been in love?”

She didn’t need to consider her answer. She just picked up a glass and downed it. Vodka. There was no way she was admitting she loved him and only him.

“Damn,” he murmured, his gaze drifting from her mouth down her neck and hovering at her chest. “That bad?”

“Not enough of these.” She waved the empty glass and set it on the counter.

The whole thing was making her sad and she didn’t want to be sad. Tomorrow would be sad enough. She tilted her head to the side and grinned. “I think it’s time for a dare.”

His eyes lit up, which didn’t surprise her. He was more a dare man than a truth man. That thought sobered her. Man after man had lied to her, but she’d always counted on Noah to not be on that list. But what if she’d gotten that wrong too?

“Do you tell me the truth?” she asked, surprised the words blurted out without a filter. Maybe this drinking game had been a bad idea after all.

His head jutted back in surprise. “What do you think I’m lying about?”

She waved her hand wildly. “Nothing. Anything.”

“So you’re not accusing me of lying about anything in particular, or just in general.”

She was ruining their fun again, but she had to know. “Everybody lies, Noah. Parents lie to kids—the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus. People tell little white lies to make someone feel better—yes, your singing voice is beautiful. Your baby is the cutest thing ever. But I’m talking big lies.”

He took her hand in his. “I have never lied to you, Libby. At least not intentionally.”

That didn’t make her feel any better.

He grunted and pulled her hand closer. “I told you I was coming to the wedding . . . and then I said I wasn’t. Maybe you saw that as a lie, but it wasn’t. I truly intended to come when I said I would. I simply changed my mind.”

“Then you changed it back again.”

“So you could actually say I lied about not coming.”

She shook her head. This was so confusing. What she really wanted to know was if she could trust him, but she couldn’t ask him that. What was he going to say? No? But he’d always been there for her—the late night calls. The long talks. The encouragement with her photography. Maybe she should just trust the feeling in her gut. The one that told her she could rely on him.

“What’s the dare?” He took a sip of his beer and then set the glass on the counter, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “I’m ready.”

She grinned. “You have to stand up and sing.”

“What?” he said with a laugh. “There’s no music in here, Lib.”

Her grin turned smug. “You were the one who wanted a dare.”

He shook his head, took another gulp of beer, and stood.

“I want you to sing ‘Like a Virgin,’” she said, laughing.

“Oh, no.” He rolled back his shoulders, smiling. “You only said to sing. I get to pick.”

He grabbed his phone and tapped on the screen. “I’m not really an a cappella singer,” he explained, glancing up at her. “Karaoke’s more my style.”

He leaned over the counter and grabbed an empty glass, then pressed play and tucked the phone into it. She could barely hear the music over the murmur of voices in the bar, but she burst into laughter when she recognized the tune.

“Dog goes woof. Cat goes meow,” Noah belted out in a loud tenor.

“Oh, my God,” she said trying to catch her breath. He was singing “What Does the Fox Say?”

He continued, grinning ear to ear. He nailed most of lyrics in the first stanza and only stumbled over a few animals.

“I have to admit it frightens me that you know the words!” she shouted at him.

He just beamed and launched into the chorus. “What does the fox say?” He shimmied his shoulders and his hips and continued to sing.

Libby could hardly catch her breath from laughing so hard.

The bartender came over with a frown, shaking his head. “Sir, I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Libby continued giggling as Noah feigned indignation. “Why? Are the other guests jealous of my performance?”

The employee’s frown deepened. “There are other places to go if you want that kind of entertainment.” He took Noah’s phone out of the glass and pressed the screen, turning off the music. “The patrons in this lounge prefer a less rambunctious atmosphere.”

Several couples were shooting them condescending glares, but a few were laughing.

“Not a problem.” Noah winked at Libby and stuck his phone in his pocket. The bartender brought the bill and Noah signed for it, still grinning. He picked up two shot glasses and handed one to Libby, then clinked it with his. “To getting kicked out of bars.”

“Hear, hear!” She downed the shot and slid off the stool, nearly falling on her ass. Water.

Noah grabbed her elbow and pulled her upright. He kept her steady as they walked out of the bar.

“Let’s go sing karaoke,” Libby said, holding on to his arm.

Without warning, he leaned over and kissed her, his tongue coaxing her lips open before it plunged into hers. His lips made her almost delirious, and the alcohol only added to the effect.

When he lifted his head, he looked into her eyes. “Marry me, Lib.”

Her eyes flew open. “What?”

“We can go right now. Get married in a chapel. We still have time to do it before your birthday.” 

“Noah . . .” She shook her head. The three rapid shots—or was it four?—were all slamming into her bloodstream at once, making it even harder to focus.

“Just say yes.”

There were reasons she shouldn’t, but damned if she could come up with any right now. She’d never had as much fun with a man as she did with him.

Besides, what if the curse had worked? What if Noah was the man she was supposed to marry? God knew she loved him, but did he love her?

“Yes.”

“Yes?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yeah.”

He kissed her again—much shorter this time, but just as passionate—then lifted his head and shouted, “We’re getting married!” 

A few people stopped to stare at them and a group of women in cocktail dresses started clapping. One of them catcalled, “Snatch him up, honey. He’s hot!” 

“Isn’t that sweet?” an older woman asked the man next to her. “A young couple in love.”

Her husband squinted in disgust. “Them and half the people in this damn town.”

The crowd added to Libby’s giddiness. This had to be a dream. She was marrying Noah. This was happening.

“Let’s go get a taxi.”

He tugged her toward the hotel lobby, but she dug in her feet. “Wait! I need my dress.”

He stopped and eyed her, his hand skimming from her waist down the curve of her hip. “Why? You look absolutely perfect.”

“If I’m getting married, I need my wedding dress. I can’t get married in black. It’s bad luck.”

“The girl needs her dress,” the older woman tsked.

“Lib, it’s ten-thirty. We’ll have to hurry if we’re going to make it by midnight. And we still have to get a marriage license.”

“What?” Of course they needed a license. How could she have forgotten that?

“It’s open late. We can still get it, but we have to hurry.”

He pulled her down the hall to the elevator bank to their wing.

She looked up at him, blinking to make him more in focus. “I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”

“Neither can I.”