Page 4 of Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

CHAPTER TWO

NOAH

“ H ot damn, guacamole!” I grab a taco chip from the bowl on the dining room sidebar and am one second away from dunking it into the bowl of avocado goodness when Elliot slaps my hand away.

“Are you five? Wait for everyone to get here. And when they do, use a plate.”

“But I’m starving,” I complain. “I was in surgery for, like, eight hours, and I just got home. I need to replenish all the calories I burned using my genius in the OR.”

“How much genius could you possibly need to pull some teeth?” Jordan asks, smirking at me from his perch on the couch.

“Fuck off, I was…” I pause, looking at his amused expression, and reconsider my course.

A few months ago, I found out that Jordan and my younger brother Cooper had a bet going to see how many times Jordan, who is a pediatric surgeon, could piss me off by ribbing me about being an oral surgeon.

I fell for it every damn time and probably made Jordan hundreds of dollars, but no more .

“You know what? No. I’m not falling for this.

Not again. Never again, in fact. You’ll have to earn your money some other way.

Besides, I wasn’t pulling teeth. I was doing the most complex cleft palate surgery I’ve done in my entire residency, and it was on a baby.

A nine-month-old baby who will now be able to hear and eat and live an entirely normal life because I helped her.

I’m sure you would know something about that.

Except no, you wouldn’t, because regular pediatric surgeons don’t repair cleft palates.

They call in the big guns for that. The big guns being me,” I say with a satisfied nod, crossing my arms over my chest.

The room is silent for a beat before Elliot and Jordan burst into hysterical laughter.

Fuck. I did it again.

“It’s fine, Noah,” Cooper says, chuckling and slapping me on the shoulder before taking the seat next to Jordan on the couch. I didn’t even see him walk in—I was too wrapped up in my rant. “You are who you are, and who you are is dedicated to your job.”

“And to beating me at shit,” Jordan mumbles, glancing at me, probably to see if he can get me to rant again. Asshole.

“I love my job,” I say, grabbing a beer from the ice bucket Elliot has set out in the dining room before slumping down on the other side of Cooper. Fuck, I’m tired. Twenty-four-hour shifts are a killer.

“I know,” Jordan says, taking a pull on his own beer. “You know I know that, right? I really am just fucking with you.”

“I know, dude. I seriously do. We’re cool.

” I settle back into the couch and kick my feet up on the coffee table, eying Elliot to see if he knocks them down.

You never do know where the lines of etiquette are in his freakishly organized, extremely clean apartment.

But his back is turned, and when he walks back into the living room, he’s carrying a plate of guacamole and chips that he hands me with a smirk.

“Here. Refuel. Wouldn’t want you perishing from starvation on my living room floor.”

I take the plate, immediately eating a guacamole covered chip, and of course, it’s perfect because Elliot is the best cook of all of us. Fuck, brothers really are awesome.

“The girls coming?” Cooper asks, catching the beer Elliot tosses him.

“Yeah,” Elliot says, taking the chair next to the couch with his own beer. “Jo and Amelia went up to see if Hannah wanted to come.”

“Why did they have to see if she wanted to come? Everyone comes to Saturday dinner.” I try to keep my voice casual. But when I glance at my brothers and see all three of them giving me knowing looks, I think casual and I have barely even made a passing acquaintance.

“You know, you could just shoot your shot.” Jordan makes his way over to Elliot’s bar cart, pouring margarita ingredients into a cocktail shaker.

“It’s not exactly a secret that you have a thing for her.” Elliot stands and takes the seat Jordan vacated next to me on the couch, kicking his own feet up on the table and taking a sip of his beer.

“Have a thing for who?” I ask, eating another chip.

Cooper snickers. “Noah, I love you, but you have never been subtle a day in your life. You have a thing for Hannah Evans. You have for months. Maybe even longer than that, although I still can’t figure out how the obsession started since, before she moved to Boston, you had only spent, like, a grand total of an hour with her in your entire life. ”

I practically clamp my mouth shut to keep from telling my brothers that while I may not have spent that much time with Hannah before she came to Boston, our interaction at the bar the day I met her three years ago is burned into my brain.

And so is the one a few months ago when she showed up at my parents’ house with bruises on her wrists.

It’s a confusing mixture of attraction and protectiveness, and I’ve never been able to shake it .

I don’t think Hannah told anyone about the day three years ago, including her sisters.

Or who it was who put the bruises on her wrists months ago.

She may not have told me outright it was Brett, but I could read it all over her face, even if no one else could.

I may not be great at keeping secrets, but I’ll always keep hers.

“She hasn’t moved to Boston,” I say without thinking. “It’s temporary.”

I wish it wasn’t.

“Is it though?” Cooper asks, grabbing a chip from my plate and dragging it through the guacamole. “She’s been here for months, and she hasn’t said anything about leaving.”

“I mean, she still has a boyfriend at home,” I grumble.

Jordan is suddenly very interested in what he’s doing, studying his margarita ingredients like they hold the secrets to the universe, and Elliot reaches for his empty beer bottle, pretending to take a sip.

I guess he’s hoping I don’t notice, but joke’s on him because I notice everything.

“What do you know?” I demand, gaze bouncing between the two of them long enough that I see the look they exchange.

“Nothing,” Elliot says casually, setting the empty beer bottle back on the table.

“Uh, that was definitely not nothing.” Cooper glances at Elliot and Jordan, curiosity painted all over his face. “If subtle is what you two are going for, your routine needs some work.”

“What he said.” I point at Cooper, leveling a glare at my older brothers.

Jordan shrugs. “It’s not ours to tell. You don’t get to know everything.”

I roll my eyes. “I always know everything.”

Elliot laughs, ruffling my hair like I’m a little boy trying to sit at the big kids’ table. “You just think you know everything. The amount of things you don’t know could sink a ship.”

I scowl, shoving his hand away. “You know, the two of you found girls and fell in love and shit, and it’s like we’re not even brothers anymore. Where’s the loyalty?”

In actuality, I’m thrilled for Jordan and Elliot, and I love seeing them so happy. Jo and Amelia are the coolest girls in the world, and having them around is a blast. But it’s my duty as a younger brother to give my older brothers shit whenever possible, and I take that duty very seriously.

Also, let’s be honest. If there’s something they know, I need to know it too.

Elliot drapes his arms over the back of the sofa, leaning back and grinning lazily like he’s king of the world or something. “I mean, my loyalty is to my girl, but I guess I can reserve some of it for you.”

“How magnanimous of you,” I drawl, eating my last chip and handing him the empty plate. Instead of taking it, he gives me a bland stare.

“You’re kidding, right?”

I grin at him. “Just wanted to see if you would take it.”

He rolls his eyes but gives me an amused smirk. “You know Mom would kill you for making someone else deal with your dirty dishes.”

I snort out a laugh because he isn’t wrong. One thing about Pam Wyles is that she raised self-sufficient men, and she is very, very proud of that fact. “Let’s not tell her I asked. Is she coming to dinner?”

Elliot’s tiny dog, Killer, comes bounding over, and Elliot bends, scooping her up and letting her curl into his lap.

I swear he loves that dog more than he loves some people.

“Nah, she and Dad were at some barbecue with friends today. She said she was entirely peopled out and was spending the night with a book, talking to absolutely no one. But she has requested that Saturday dinner next week be at her house, because by then she’ll be feeling family withdrawal. ”

I laugh because that kind of contradiction perfectly explains my mom. “Sounds about right. ”

Pushing up to stand, I head to the kitchen and stick my plate in the sink.

I’m about to walk away before my conscience gets the better of me and I turn on the faucet to wash it.

I’m just flipping off the water and turning with the wet plate in my hand when the apartment door opens.

Elliot’s apartment is an open concept, so I can see the girls as they walk in.

Jo heads straight to Jordan, grinning at him when he bends to kiss her and hands her a margarita.

Amelia plops herself down in Elliot’s lap, and he kisses her like it’s been weeks, instead of less than an hour, since he saw her last.

And then Hannah walks in.

She freezes just inside the open doorway, looking around the way she always does when she walks into a room filled with my family.

Her expression is the mixture of bewilderment and longing that I see on her face a lot, like she’s not quite sure what to do with herself but wishes she did.

Almost like she’s checking to see if she belongs, waiting for someone to tell her to come in and stay a while.

I wish she would stay a while. Forever, maybe, minus the asshole boyfriend, so I could start to work out my feelings for her. Because Elliot wasn’t wrong before. I definitely feel some kind of way about Hannah Evans.

She’s been stuck in my head for three years, and I have no interest in getting her out.

I’m just about to open my mouth when her eyes meet mine. I catalogue the familiar shimmer of attraction when I lock on to her gorgeous greens, but when I see that her eyes are slightly red-rimmed, her cheeks a little blotchy like she’s been crying, that attraction mixes with concern.

Setting the plate down on the counter, I head straight for Hannah, my gaze never leaving hers.

Her eyes widen slightly, like she knows exactly what I’m seeing, but before she can say anything, I’m at her side, tossing an arm around her shoulders.

There’s a little buzz of electricity the second my body touches hers, and I know she feels it, too, because she jolts slightly, and I don’t know why, but for some reason that just entirely delights me.

“Hey there, Han. So glad you could make it to our little Saturday night get together. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“I’m sure you would have managed,” she mumbles, scowling at me. For some reason, she doesn’t shove my arm off her shoulders the way she usually does, and that delights me too.

“Never,” Jo says, handing Hannah a margarita and following Jordan to a chair.

He pulls her into his lap and wraps an arm around her waist, tugging her back against him.

Their ease together is really beautiful.

It makes me wish, just a little, for that kind of ease with someone.

A partner. Who am I even kidding? With Hannah.

I want that kind of ease with Hannah, which mostly just sucks since she has a boyfriend, and she doesn’t seem to want that kind of ease with me.

Yet my arm is still around her shoulders, and she isn’t doing anything to shake me off. With Jordan and Elliot focused on their girls, and Cooper tossing a computer-shaped dog toy to Killer, laughing when the dog spins around and catches it in her mouth, I take the opportunity to focus on Hannah.

“You okay?” I murmur, turning slightly so I can look at her.

She rolls her eyes, taking a casual sip of her drink. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrug, focusing on her still-red rimmed eyes. “Because it looks like you’ve been crying.”

Hannah stiffens, and this time she does push my arm off her shoulder. “I haven’t. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” I say casually. “But if there’s ever a time when you’re not fine, and you need someone to talk to, you know you can talk to me, right?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Have I given you the mistaken impression that I need to be saved or something?” she sucks in a quiet breath, and somehow, I know we’re both thinking of the last time she told me she didn’t need saving .

I grin, trying to lighten the mood a little, find the banter with her I love so much. “Can’t help it, Han. It’s just who I am.”

“An oral surgeon with a savior complex?”

“Doesn’t every doctor have a savior complex? That’s kind of what we live for.”

Hannah gives me a sly smile, and I kind of love it. “I wouldn’t think oral surgeons need a savior complex. It’s not like you’re saving lives. Just teeth.”

I groan, clutching my chest dramatically. “You too? You wound me, Hannah. Do I need to tell you about the time I operated on a woman whose face got mauled by a dog? I may not have saved her life, but I definitely saved her face, and faces are pretty important.”

“Ribbing Noah about being an oral surgeon?” Cooper calls from his spot on the floor with the dog. “You really are part of the family now, Hans.”

If I wasn’t focused so intently on Hannah, I would have missed the flash of pure longing on her face, but since I was focused on her, I saw it perfectly well. I’m not sure exactly why, but the expression makes me understand her a whole lot better than I did five minutes ago.

Hannah is looking for a place.

I think I’m just the person to convince her that her place is right here, with us.

With me, maybe.

A guy can dream, right?

Now, to figure out how to show her exactly where she belongs.

“Don’t,” Hannah hisses.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Uh, I think you’re going to need to be a little more specific. Look at you like what?”

Hannah puts her hands on her hips and locks her gaze with mine.

It’s my favorite pose of hers, especially when it’s directed at me.

A little exasperated. A little sassy. A lot sexy.

“Like you can see inside my head.” She slams her mouth shut like she didn’t mean to say that, but she did say it, and I love it.

“Dinner’s ready,” Elliot calls from the kitchen before I can say anything. Hannah doesn’t move from her spot, her eyes still attached to mine.

“Who says I can’t?” I toss her a wink and grab her hand, pulling her to the dining room table, not hating even a little bit that she follows me, never taking her hand out of mine.