An all-new friends-to-lovers romance is coming next week from author Melanie Harlow, and I have a little sneak peek for you.
An hour later, around nine o’clock, Chloe pulled up in front of Noah’s house. I still wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to say. I was hoping the right things would come to me spontaneously.
“If it goes wrong, will you come back and get me?” I asked her. My insides were already tied in knots. And I should have used the bathroom at the restaurant before we left—it wasn’t an emergency, but I’d drunk that glass of wine fast, and then downed my ice water.
“It’s not going to go wrong. Don’t even put that out there. Think about what you want, and go get it.” Chloe patted my leg. “Call me tomorrow.”
“Okay. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it, champ.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I opened the door and got out.
There was a light on in an upstairs room, which I assumed was Noah’s. At least he wasn’t asleep yet. As I walked up the driveway, I rehearsed a few opening lines.
I changed my mind.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
Fuck our friendship.
Then fuck me.
Nothing seemed quite right, and I reached the back door without a firm plan. I was surprised to find it slightly ajar, knowing how vigilant Noah was about safety. I knocked lightly and expected Renzo to come bounding over. He didn’t, but I could hear him barking somewhere in the house. Was he shut inside a room?
On high alert, visions of serial killers in my head, I pushed open the door. “Noah?” He didn’t answer, but I heard water running and then pipes squeak, as if the shower was being turned off. I relaxed—he was fine. He was just upstairs taking a shower. And Renzo was in the spare bedroom, where Noah always put him when he showered, or else the dog would follow him into the bathroom. Hadn’t he just told me that last night?
Laughing at my overactive imagination—I really needed to lay off the true crime—I shut the back door behind me and hurried toward the downstairs bathroom. With any luck I could use it quickly enough to arrange myself in some kind of seductive pose on the couch before he came downstairs to let Renzo out one last time.
It didn’t register that the bathroom door was shut. Or that the light was on. Or that steam billowed out to meet me the moment I opened the door.
Which happened to be the precise moment Noah slid the shower curtain aside. And there he stood. Buck naked. Dripping wet. Hot as fuck.
My jaw fell open.
He looked slightly alarmed for a second—after all, I was an intruder in his house—but then he saw it was me.
“Sawyer,” he said, like he wasn’t at all surprised to see me standing there in his bathroom with my lower lip on the floor. “Are you going to hand me a towel?”
A nice girl would have.
She probably would have apologized too. At the very least, she would have covered her eyes. Maybe turned around and walked out.
I did none of those things.
“No,” I said, my body catching fire. “I’m not.”