Good Girl Page 67

Amber. I bet you anything my best friend got him all fancy for me.

I knew that bitch wasn’t really sick! God, I love her.

“You don’t want to be my boyfriend,” I blurt out.

His eyes narrow as he steps even closer. “And yet here I am.”

“Why?” I ask, having to raise my voice to be heard over the increasing noise of the crowd. “Why are you here?”

Noah reaches for my hand, and I let him take it, although when he squeezes my fingers, I don’t squeeze back.

“Here’s the thing, Jenny Dawson. I think I’m in love with you.”

There’s a collective gasp of shock in the crowd, but there’s no way in hell their shock overtakes mine.

I try to pull my hand back, my eyes watering. “Don’t,” I say. “Don’t do that.”

He doesn’t release me but steps closer, his eyes going darker, his voice getting more urgent. “There are things I need to say to you. Apologies, explanations, all of that. And I know you told me that I don’t get to just say and do terrible things and then say sorry and make it all okay, but I’m asking you—I’m begging you, princess—for just one more time. Give me one more time.”

I shake my head. “There’s too much crap between us, Noah. Preston. Whatever. You tried darn hard to push me away, to break me, to convince me you were a jerk. And congrats, because it worked.”

Noah dips his head, and I see him swallow. He nods once, and when he lifts his head again, I swear his eyes are a little shinier than they were before, and my heart feels like it will rip in two.

“I get it, princess. I do. There’s just one more thing I need to try. Last-ditch effort.”

“Fine,” I whisper as I try to tug him along down the line so we can get out of the spotlight and do this later.

“Nope, sorry, has to be right here,” he says.

Noah steps all the way toward me, his hand slipping behind my head, destroying all Amber’s hard work on my hair, his other arm wrapping around my back.

And then he kisses me.

Noah Maxwell kisses me long and hard and sweet in front of hundreds of people, every last one of whom has a camera.

I consider pulling back for exactly zero point two seconds before I give in, my arms winding around his neck as the crowd cheers.

I could kiss him all night. Forever.

But even through the ecstasy, a part of me remembers where we are, and we slowly pull back, breathing hard.

“That was…mildly inappropriate.”

His thumb touches my cheek. “You did say I shoulda kissed you.”

I smile. “You heard the song.”

“I did.” He smiles back. “And I seem to remember it saying there was something you would have told me if I had kissed you.”

I purse my lips in feigned puzzlement. “Hmm, no, not ringing a bell, sorry.”

I start to drag him forward, because we’ve really caused a backup now, although nobody seems to mind. He stays rooted to the spot, his eyes teasing, but also begging a bit too. “Princess…”

I bite my lip and take the plunge. “I think I love you too.”

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, as though in relief, before opening them, and this time I’m definitely sure I’m not imagining the moisture. “You think, huh?”

This time when I pull him forward, he lets me, linking his fingers with mine.

“What, you’re allowed to be unsure, but I’m not?” I tease, feeling a little bit vulnerable.

“Let’s just say it didn’t come out the way I practiced. I got nervous in front of the audience.”

“How did you practice?”

He pulls me around once more. “I love you. All the way. No ‘I think.’ ”

My eyes fill. “I love you too, all the way. But Noah, you know there’s always going to be an audience, don’t you? I know the life you want, and this…” I wave my hand in the direction of the crowd. “This isn’t it.”

“No,” he says slowly. “I don’t want all that. But I want this.” He touches a hand to my face. “And you’re worth putting up with all that.”

He kisses me again, and it’s starting to hit me that we might be front-page news tomorrow, what with all the kissing and stalling and more kissing.

Noah pulls back, wrapping an arm protectively around me as we get closer—finally—to the inside of the theater. But a reporter, one from a major network, steps in front of us just before we make it to safety.

I brace for the question, but the woman surprises me by addressing her question to Noah.

“Mr. Maxwell, Amanda Taylor here with CBC Evening. You two have caused quite a scene tonight, and I just have to ask, because you make such a surprising couple…when was it you knew that America’s redeemed sweetheart here was the one for you?”

I expect Noah to ignore her, but to my surprise he smiles and glances down at me. “You know, Ms. Taylor, it’s a little hard to say exactly…but I think it was the zip ties.”

I let out a startled, horrified laugh and let Noah pull me inside, where he tugs me close for another kiss. Slow, lingering. Sexy.


That’s a definitely on us being front-page news tomorrow.


I’m in the newly remodeled kitchen mixing up a pitcher of my now famous—or at least tolerable—whisky sours when Noah gets home from the grocery store.

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