Tate and Emily drove me home. I didn't have any more of the cinnamon schnapps after dinner, but I'd had a glass of wine while I was eating and I was in no shape to get behind the wheel, even if I was only going a few blocks.

The jingle of my ringtone cut into the dark car as we pulled out of the parking lot. I checked it, curious. The number was unfamiliar. Normally, I’d let it ring through to voicemail, but I was just tipsy enough to answer.

“Hello?”

“Ella? Ella, it’s Phillip. How are you? It’s been a while.”

“Phillip Martin?” I hadn’t spoken to Phillip Martin in almost two years. Not since he’d sued Noah over the alleged stolen code. He’d called me once, right after the suit was filed, but I’d been so upset I’d hung up on him.

“Yeah. Long time no talk,” he said in a jovial tone more suited to a conversation with a good friend, not an out of the blue call to someone he hadn’t seen since college. Odd. “Listen, I heard that Noah was back in Atlanta and I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay. Has he tried to see you?”

“Um, why are you asking, Phillip? Are you keeping tabs on him? Doesn’t he have a restraining order against you?”

“That’s old news,” Phillip said, blowing off the restraining order and sidestepping my question. “No, we’re going up for some of the same contracts, and I’ve been keeping an eye on him. When I heard he was going to be back in Atlanta, I was worried about you. I know you had a tough breakup.”

Phillip’s voice was heavy with sympathy, but something about it was off. My brain was mildly pickled on schnapps, but I knew enough to distrust Phillip Martin.

“We did,” I said evenly. “But I’m fine now. Like you said. Old news.”

“I heard you had a job with Vance Winters. Noah show up there?”

“Phillip, I’m sorry, but I have to go. My friends just showed to pick me up. It was nice talking to you. Take care.”

I tapped the phone to hang up and stared down at the screen, the time of the call blinking at me.

What. The. Fuck?

“Did Phillip Martin just call you?” Emily asked in an incredulous voice. “I didn’t think you knew him that well.”

“I don’t,” I said slowly. “We were acquaintances in college, but that’s it. He’s never called me before. Except—”

“When did he call you before, Ella?” Tate asked, his voice low and dark. Belatedly, I noticed we were pulled over in the alley, not far from the parking lot behind his building.

“Right after he brought suit against Noah,” I said. “I hung up on him, and he never called again.”

“What did he want?” Emily asked, sounding worried.

“To make sure Noah wasn’t bothering me. He knows I work for Vance. He wanted to know if Noah had met with Vance.”

“I don’t like you in the middle of those two,” Tate said. “That lawsuit got ugly before Noah settled. I’m not surprised Phillip Martin is watching Noah, but I don’t like that he’s watching you. How does he know you’re working for Vance and Maggie?”

It was a good question.

“If he’s watching Noah and found out he was talking to Vance, he might have looked into Vance. There was that picture last month,” Emily pointed out.

I’d gone to the park with Vance and Maggie, playing with Rosie in the sun while my employers enjoyed a run together. Someone had snapped a picture of the happy family and caught me in the background. At the time, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. Now I wondered.

“He’s going to try to mess up Noah’s deal,” I said, awareness dawning in my tipsy brain. “That’s why he was checking to see if Noah met with Vance. That asshole.”

“Maybe you should come back to our place,” Emily said. “I don’t like this guy watching you. Not with Noah trying to get to you, too.”

“I thought you wanted me to give Noah a chance.”

“I do, I think,” Emily said hesitantly. “I want you to be happy. But this is getting weird. Whatever is going on with Phillip and Noah, you don’t want to be in the middle.”

“We’ve got plenty of room, Ella,” Tate said. “So do Vance and Maggie.”

“No,” I said. “Vance has plenty of security on the loft. And Phillip is in California. He’s not really interested in me anyway. He’s all about Noah.”

“And what about Noah?” Tate asked, pulling the car back into the street. “What are you going to do about him?”

“I don’t know.” I wasn’t worried about being in the middle of Phillip and Noah. Their situation didn’t have anything to do with me. I was worried about Phillip spying on Noah. Noah could take care of himself, but Phillip’s fixation was unsettling.

We pulled up in front of Vance's building to see Noah leaning against the door.

Shit.

"Is that him?" Emily asked, her eyes wide. When I nodded, she said, “Damn, Ella, he's hot."

"I know," I said mournfully.

Though to be honest, when I looked at Noah, I didn't see what everyone else saw. I didn't see the hot young tech billionaire. I didn’t see the notorious player. I just saw Noah.

Noah at nineteen with a bad haircut, still gangly, his dark eyes bright with intelligence and humor.

Noah at twenty-one, finally grown into his frame, his hair in a shaggy cut that made me swoon when the dark strands fell into his eyes.

Noah, naked beneath me in bed, his eyes wide with wonder and lust as I rode him.

I blinked hard and looked away.

"Do you want me to get rid of him?" Tate asked.

I shook my head. "I'm fine. You can just let me out here. I'll get my car tomorrow."

"I should at least have a word with him," Tate said, his voice hard as he pulled the car to a stop at the curb. "I don't like him just showing up here."

"It's okay, Tate," I promised. "Noah isn't dangerous."

"He is if he upsets you," Tate argued.

I leaned forward to squeeze his shoulder and said, "You're a good friend, Tate Winters. I'll be fine. I don't think he's going to leave me alone until I give him a chance to talk."

"I'll call you tomorrow," Emily said as I got out. I gave her a wave, grabbed my purse, and stepped out onto the curb to face Noah.

"What are you doing here? Are you stalking me now?" I asked, sounding more irritated than I felt.

I was annoyed, but I was more confused. I just wanted Noah to go away. If he kept coming around like this, I wasn't going to be able to keep my distance.

"I don't know," Noah admitted. "I definitely don't want to be creepy stalker guy, Ella. But I haven't seen you for two years. Now, you're only a few blocks away, and I couldn't just sit in my hotel room and wait until tomorrow."

"I don't know what you want from me," I said.

"I want you to give me a chance."

"I'm not agreeing to anything," I said, unlocking the door to let us in. "But you can come in for a little while. We'll have a cup of tea. Then you're leaving."

"That sounds great," Noah said, following me inside.

As we rode up the freight elevator, I tried to think of what I should say. What was there to say? He wanted to try again. I wasn't sure that was a good idea.

Understatement.

I was very sure that wasn't a good idea. Noah had shattered my heart the first time we’d broken up. I couldn't handle that again. Or maybe I could handle it, but I didn't want to.

I dropped my purse and keys by the door and went straight to the kitchen to make tea. Dinner had helped, but my head throbbed from the schnapps and then the wine. I wasn't drunk, but I wasn’t entirely sober, either. I made tea automatically, choosing what I knew was Noah’s favorite, oolong, and my own preferred Earl Grey.

I handed Noah the mug of tea, shoving it into his hand roughly enough that hot water splashed on his skin. He hissed in pain but took the mug. I snatched it back and set it on the counter, quickly wetting a rag with cold water and pressing it to his hand.

"Noah, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Did I burn you?"

Noah pulled his hand back and examined the pink skin where the tea had splashed his hand. “It wasn't that hot," he lied.

My shoulders slumped. I was a jerk.

"I'm sorry," I said again. "And I'm sorry I punched you yesterday. I shouldn't have hit you, especially while you were in the middle of a meeting with investors. That wasn't okay."

"It was a little awkward, I’ll admit. Did it make you feel better? Hitting me?"

“Am I a total asshole if I admit that it did?" I asked, avoiding his eyes.

Noah took the wet rag from my hand and dropped it on the counter before picking up his tea.

"Not an asshole, Ella. Never an asshole. Just human and angry. You have a right to be angry. Looking back, neither of us handled things very well. We were too young."

"We were young," I agreed. Young enough to think that love solved all problems, healed all wounds. I was old enough now to know that love was a gift, a beautiful, essential gift worth any sacrifice, but it wouldn't solve my problems.

In my experience, love only ended up making everything more complicated.

“Are you willing to consider it?” Noah asked, shaking me out of my reverie.

“Consider what? Getting back together?” I asked.

“I miss you, Els,” he said. My heart squeezed when he called me ‘Els.’ I hadn’t heard that nickname in forever.

“How would that even work, Noah? You’re in California. I’m here.”

“You could come to California,” he said.

I stared at him, heart sinking. Had I really hoped we could make this work? I must have, just a little, to feel so let down.

“Noah, I can’t. I have to finish school.”

He stared at me, not saying what we were both thinking. I wasn’t in school. I was working as a nanny and freelancing on the side. Even when I managed to save up the money to go back, I still had over a year left.

Stating what I thought was obvious, I said, “I can’t move across the country, Noah. What would I do?”

“There are graduate programs out there. Carnegie Mellon has a program right in the valley. You could—”

“Noah,” I interrupted. “Stop. Please. It’s not the same. You know it isn’t.”

How could he not get it? He knew how hard I’d worked to get into my program at Tech. It was unique, just like Oliver’s project was unique. If I transferred to another school, I could get my degree, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Noah cradled his mug and took a sip, his shoulders set, eyes hard. I knew that look. Noah wasn’t going to give up. The worst thing was, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.

“I’ll wait for you. We can do long distance. Would you be willing to come to California when you finish school?”

“Maybe,” I hedged.

“Is it California you’re not sure about, or me?” Noah asked, meeting my eyes.

“You,” I answered honestly. California sounded great. Thousands of miles away from friends and family if Noah flaked on me again? That part wasn’t as appealing.

Noah set his half-empty mug on the counter and crossed the kitchen.

“Then let’s see what I can do to change your mind.”

It had been a while, but Noah still knew me better than anyone.

His hand slid along my chin, fingers curving around the base of my skull to bury themselves in my hair, sending shivers cascading through my body. His thumb grazed my cheek, and he tilted my face up to his.

One glimpse of the molten heat in those bittersweet chocolate eyes and I was lost.

His lips hit mine in a rush, his mouth taking control of the kiss before my brain realized what was happening. This was the downside of drinking too much. I wasn’t drunk, but I was just tipsy enough that my limbic brain was in control.

I didn’t want to think.

I didn’t want to hurt.

I just wanted to feel.

My long-neglected body roared to life under Noah’s hands. My fingers dove into his hair, holding him close as I kissed him back with everything I had.

Letting out a low growl of triumph, Noah lifted me, sitting me on the counter and making space for himself between my legs.

I leaned into him, pasting my torso against his, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. Dropping my hands, I found the bottom of the fabric and slipped my fingers beneath, laying my palms against his warm, silky skin. I’d always loved the feel of his skin; the softness stretched over lean muscle.

Noah had been working out in California. The ridges of his abs tempted me. Before I could think better of it, I yanked his shirt up, trying to push it over his head.

Noah ripped it off, breaking our kiss for only a second before his mouth found mine again. All that smooth skin and hard muscle. I touched him everywhere—those broad shoulders, his corded arms.

Noah's hands closed over my hips, yanking me into him, the hard bar of his cock pressing into my heat.

Why was I wearing jeans?

Too many clothes were between us.

Hands streaked up my sides, coming together in the center of my back. A flick of his fingers and my bra fell loose. When he drew my shirt over my head, I lifted my arms. A rush of fire hit between my legs at the touch of his chest to my bare breasts.

Skin to skin.

The rasp of his chest hair on my nipples. The chill of the loft and the heat of Noah’s body. I nipped at his neck, smelling him. Ocean and fresh grass. A hint of lemon and mint.

Breathing deeply, I let Noah's scent fill me.

This was Noah.

My Noah.

He lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. "Where’s your bedroom?" he growled in my ear.

"Down the hall," I said.

I didn't question it. Didn't wonder if I should be doing this. It was stupid. He'd broken my heart. He might do it again. But for the first time in two years, I felt whole.

I wanted more.

We were moving, and then we were in my room. Noah set me on my feet and efficiently stripped my jeans over my hips and down my legs. I stepped out of them and fell backward on the bed, bringing him with me. He resisted long enough to grab a condom out of the back pocket of his jeans and shove them off before he joined me.

"Ella," he whispered. "Ella. You feel so good. I missed you so much."

I was dizzy, still a little tipsy, my head spinning from Noah. His hand was between my legs, stroking me, one long finger filling me. He groaned at the clasp of my flesh on his.

"Fuck, Ella. You're so wet." A second finger pressed inside, stretching me, making me ready for him. It had been two years, but I remembered Noah’s size. No matter how wet I was, after so many months of celibacy, even his fingers were too much.

The ball of his thumb pressed into my clit, and I gasped, my hips jerking up, burying his fingers deep as pleasure splintered. I was so close. So fucking close.

"Noah, please."

"I've got you, baby," Noah said into my mouth as he kissed me and pressed his thumb again, rotating it in a slow circle as he thrust a third finger inside me. The orgasm exploded in my brain, in my body, like a bomb. I rode his hand, kissing him frantically, every part of me waking up, remembering.

I gasped for breath, still riding the wave of orgasm when Noah withdrew his hand. I keened in disappointment for just a second before he was there, his cock pressing into me.

This. This was what I wanted.

He filled me slowly, sending sparks of bliss through my body. Bracing himself on his elbows, he began to move, the motion so slight he was almost still. The invasion of his thick cock and the teasing rock of his hips were enough to kindle the beginnings of a second orgasm. I arched my back, brushing the tips of my nipples into his chest, and wrapped my legs around his hips.

Nothing was as good as this.

Nothing had ever been as good as Noah.

He kept up the same gentle rhythm, teasing me, ushering me deeper and deeper into pleasure, leaving me gasping and moaning and begging for more. When he hooked a hand behind my knee, opening me wide, and thrust harder, I screamed. The second orgasm took me like a tidal wave, building so slowly and then falling all at once, dragging me deep beneath the surface of pleasure and memory.

I'm sure I didn't pass out. Pretty sure. But it got a little hazy after that. Noah got up and then came back. He slipped into bed beside me, pulling me into his arms, and said, "Ella.”

I rolled into him, snuggling my head into his chest, the familiar thump of his heart beneath my ear. "I don't want to talk,” I murmured, “I just want to stay like this."

He kissed the top of my head, stroked my hair, and said, “Okay, babe. We don't have to talk."

Content for the first time in two years, I drifted to sleep.