Page 9 of Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

CHAPTER FIVE

HANNAH

T he banging yanks me right out of a dream featuring wavy brown hair, piercing blue eyes, lean muscles under a fitted white T-shirt, and very dirty things happening on a very dark rooftop patio in the middle of the night.

I may be trying to ignore my obvious attraction to Noah while I’m awake, but clearly my subconscious brain did not get the message.

It apparently wants Noah, and it won’t be denied.

My entire body buzzes with the kind of arousal I haven’t felt in months.

Okay fine, years. Let’s not pretend the asshole who should not be named had any idea how to get me off.

I slide open my nightstand drawer, rummaging through my expansive collection of toys.

When you’re a romance author whose long-time boyfriend can’t find your clit with a map and a magnifying glass, sex toys are practically a business expense.

I’m just reaching for my favorite neon pink vibrator when the banging I completely forgot woke me up reverberates through my apartment, making me yelp and drop the vibrator like it’s on fire .

“Han, you up?” The muffled voice coming from my front door clearly belongs to Noah, and my clit throbs in a Pavlovian-type response to the deep, gravelly tone.

“Shit,” I mumble, taking a deep breath to settle that bitch down and wondering what the fuck Noah Wyles is doing at my front door at…I glance at the clock and see it’s not even seven in the morning.

“Hannah! Hannah, Hannah, Hannah, wake up!” Noah knocks on the door in time to his singing of my name, and I roll my eyes at the cheer in his voice. My current half turned on, half annoyed at being woken up situation is really not working for me right now.

I drag myself out of bed and pad to the living room, looking down at my pajamas covered in cartoon books and catching a glimpse of my wild bedhead in the entryway mirror. Fuck it , I think. If Noah is showing up at my door at the crack of dawn, he gets what he gets.

“What the fuck do you want?” I yank open the door, and whatever else I’m about to say dies in a sea of regret that I currently resemble a swamp creature because Jesus Christ almighty, does this man look good in the morning.

His brown hair may be sticking up in a million different directions, but it works for him.

His jaw is lightly stubbled, like he hasn’t bothered to shave yet today, and he’s wearing another one of those fitted white T-shirts, athletic shorts, and flip flops that I would think are ridiculous on any other man but for some weird reason, on him, they have me going a little weak in the knees.

Clearly, I didn’t get enough sleep.

“My eyes are up here, Gorgeous.”

Fucking hell .

I snap my gaze up to Noah’s face, finding him smirking at me, a knowing glint in his eye like he’s all too aware my mind took a detour straight into the gutter.

I narrow my eyes at him. “What could you possibly want from me before seven in the morning? ”

He gives me a lazy grin, not affected in the slightest by my tone, which is more than a little bratty to make up for the fact that he just caught me eye-fucking him like he was the last man on earth.

“Coffee?” He hands me a massive mason jar with a cork lid and a glass straw, but I don’t take it. Instead, I just stare at it.

“What is that?”

“Uh, coffee?” He shakes the glass a little, and the ice cubes clink together. “I thought that would be kind of self-explanatory.”

I glance up at him, and he’s looking right at me. “You brought me coffee?”

He smiles, and I hate the way it makes my stomach flip. Except do I actually hate it? I’m honestly not sure. My brain is having trouble making thoughts right now.

“I mean, I couldn’t exactly wake you up before seven in the morning and not caffeinate you. That’s not logical. It’s an iced latte. I asked Jo for your coffee order.”

I keep staring at him as I realize that this may be the actual first time a man has ever brought me coffee in the morning.

My brain does a quick scan of my entire relationship with Brett, and I can’t think of one single time he ever handed me a cup of coffee.

He was more of the wake up later than me and then ask if we had any coffee in a way that was actually a subtle request for me to make it for him kind of guy. And I did. Every damn time.

God, I was such an idiot.

“What kind of coffee shop puts coffee in mason jars?” It’s all I can think to ask right now.

“Uh, the one in my kitchen?” He says, voice confused, like he can’t understand what part of this interaction is tripping me up. Well, me fucking either.

I look down at the coffee and back up at him.

“You…made this for me?” I’m horrified to hear the way my voice wavers just slightly as unexpected emotion swells in my chest. I bite my cheek as hard as I can and look back at the coffee because I am su ddenly intensely worried that I’m about to cry right here in the entryway to my apartment.

Fuck, I really should’ve gotten more sleep.

And maybe not have dated a complete asshole for four years.

When I look up at Noah, there is understanding on his face, but he just shrugs casually. “I mean, I’m waking you up at the crack of dawn. Coffee was the least I could do.”

His flippant tone is exactly what I need to get my shit together.

I take the mason jar from him and mumble a thanks before I spin and stalk into the living room, sitting down heavily on the couch and taking a long sip of the coffee in my hand.

Of course it would be the literal best iced latte I’ve ever tasted.

“Good?” Noah asks, flopping onto the couch with his own matching glass of coffee in hand.

“It’s fine,” I mumble.

Noah scoffs. “It’s better than fine, Gorgeous. I take coffee extremely seriously, which is how I know that is latte perfection right there.”

“Ugh, fine.” I lean back on the couch, kicking my feet up on the coffee table. “It’s perfect. You’re the god of espresso. Is that what you want to hear?”

He grins at me. “Fuck yeah, it is.” At another knock on the door, he hops up from the couch like an excitable puppy.

“Donuts!” He strides to the door, opening it and taking a pink box from a delivery guy.

“Have a great day!” he calls, closing the door and coming back to the couch, setting the box on the cushion between us.

This morning is so confusing.

“How did you get a delivery guy to come all the way up here?”

He shrugs, flipping the box open, revealing a dozen of the prettiest donuts I’ve ever seen.

“I know the owner of the bakery. Made a house call when his daughter was having issues after she got her wisdom teeth out, so he owed me a favor. I asked Jordan to leave the door downstairs unlocked when he left for the hospital this morning. You get first pick.” Noah slides the box towards me.

“I prefer muffins,” I say in my brattiest tone, testing him.

Noah just laughs. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

Next time . I find I don’t hate the sound of that. I study the box before picking a vanilla frosted with rainbow sprinkles.

“Good choice.” He grins at me before picking his own donut and setting the box on the coffee table. “So, you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here so early.”

“I was,” I mumble through a mouthful of donut. Swallowing, I take a sip of coffee before continuing. “I care less about the reason now that I have a donut and very good caffeine.”

Noah chuckles, knocking his knee against mine. “Can be bribed with caffeine and breakfast pastries. Excellent information.”

“Are you, like, keeping a file on me or something?”

“Would it be weird if I said yes?”

“One hundred percent it would.”

Noah gives me a look that can only be described as smoldering, and my heart knocks against my chest when he glides a finger over the sensitive skin on the underside of my wrist. “Well, then I’m the weirdest. I want to know everything about you, Han, and I don’t want to forget anything.”

What. The. Fuck.

I’m not an idiot. I know Noah thinks he’s attracted to me or whatever, but he’s never been so…

overt about it. I’m not sure what to do with that right now, and I haven’t had nearly enough caffeine to figure it out, so I change the subject.

“Were you going to tell me why you’re in my apartment at seven in the morning? ”

Noah takes the final bite of his donut, turning on the couch so he’s facing me. “Okay, so I have a really good idea, but I need you to keep an open mind.”

I roll my eyes. “I think I hate it already.”

He shakes his head, disappointment all over his face. “Han, that’s, like, the opposite of an open mind. ”

“Open minds are not my specialty.” Although, neither is telling people my secrets yet I sure managed to do a fuckton of that last night.

He nods, like he’s accepting this part of my personality without question, and I have no clue why that means so much to me. I’m going to need seven to ten business days to recover from whatever is happening right now.

“I respect that. So instead of an open mind, maybe just don’t say no right away. Can you do that?”

“I guess it’s the least I can do, since you brought me coffee and donuts.”

He grins. “That’s my girl. But also, I didn’t just bring you the coffee—I made you the coffee, so that definitely gives me extra points.”

“Maybe next time keep your extra points and I’ll make my own coffee,” I say dryly, ignoring the little stomach flip at his that’s my girl comment.

“I hear the words coming out of your mouth, but I don’t believe them at all. Especially since you make this little happy hum every time you take a sip of that latte. You can say it. It’s the best coffee you’ve ever had, right?”

Do I make a happy hum? God, I probably do because he’s right that this is the best latte I’ve ever had. “It’s fine.”

He chuckles. “It’s way better than fine and you know it, but we live to fight another day. Anyway, let’s get down to business. I have a proposal for you.”

I take a sip of my latte and I do, in fact, make a humming noise. Fuck.

Noah snorts out a laugh. “Just fine though, right?”

I circle my hand in a get on with it gesture, even though, if I was being honest with myself, I would say that this may be the best morning I’ve had in a long time, Noah is really good company, and I’m not in any kind of hurry to kick him out of here.

Good thing being honest with myself is not where I excel .

“Okay.” Noah puts his coffee down on the table and looks at me, eyes serious. “Last night you told me you can’t write.”

I suck in a breath and clench my fists, my hand tightening so dramatically on the mason jar handle that I’m sort of worried I’m about to break it right off.

I know I can’t write. I live in my head.

But hearing Noah say it so matter of factly has something akin to grief settling in my chest. God, I miss it so much.

“That made you sad,” Noah says quietly.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes. It’s one thing to think it in my own head. Even for me to say it. But something about hearing it from you is a shock to the system. I miss it. I miss it so much, and I don’t know how to get it back.”

Noah nods, taking my free hand in his. His palm is warm against mine, and something about our fingers twined together is so comforting that I leave my hand exactly where it is.

“What if I showed you what a real boyfriend is like?”

“What if you what ?” I exclaim, a little louder than I intended. This time, I do yank my hand away from his.

Noah just laughs and hands me another donut, which I take because if there is ever a time for multiple donuts, this is it.

“Hear me out. You told me you can’t write because you think you’ve never experienced a real relationship.

Your ex-boyfriend was an asshole, and it’s fucking with your head.

What you need is a little reprogramming. ”

“And you want to do that by, what exactly? Pretending to date me? I’m pretty sure I read that book. Fuck, I wrote that book.”

“I know,” he says absently. “It was one of your best.”

Noah’s gaze snaps to mine, and I can see all over his face that he didn’t mean to say that. But he did say it, and I can't unhear it. “You read my books?”

He just shrugs. “I’ve skimmed one or two of them. Anyway, back to you.”

I just stare at him, trying to make sense of this man. He takes advantage of my silence to start talking again, moving straight past his maybe confession of being a closet romance reader. A closet romance reader of my books.

What a weird fucking morning.

“I don’t want to pretend anything. I want to show you how a man is supposed to treat a woman he cares about.

I want to take you places. Make you coffee in the morning and buy you dinner.

Do fun Boston things and have movie nights and hang out together when we all go to Vegas for Jordan and Jo’s bachelor/bachelorette party.

It sounds like you haven’t had the easiest time in the last few months. ”

“More than a few months,” I mumble, taking the last bite of my second donut.

Noah nods like he understands. “You need a reset. You need to have some fun, and I promise you, I am really, really fun. Let me show you how you deserve to be treated, Gorgeous. Then you’ll know what the real thing is like, and you can go forth and write your swoony book boyfriends once again.

At worst, we’ll have some fun. At best, maybe it’ll help your brain make stories again. ”

I think I might be losing what little I had left of my mind, because at the earnest look on Noah’s face and the excitement in his voice while he makes his borderline insane proposition, I find myself wanting to say yes.

Wanting to put my entire career in this man’s hands.

Because nothing else has worked, so honestly, what do I have to lose?

But there’s one thing I can’t figure out, and the question falls directly out of my mouth.

“Why would you help me?”