Page 49 of The Love Bus

THIN WALLS

F or the record, I did not go to Noah’s room for the reasons Tay had insinuated. I actually did have a perfectly legitimate reason to knock on his door. I mean, I needed to return his shirt, right? Couldn’t hold onto that forever. Because that would be weird.

And also, the souvenir I’d picked up.

Still, I stood there stalling for far too long. Any minute, someone else was gonna pop into the hallway and look at me like I was a crazy person—or worse, Noah would open the door and ask why I was just standing there like an idiot.

But Tay’s words were ringing in my head.

I was on vacation. If I was gonna have a fling with anyone, it ought to be a good guy.

And Noah was actually a great guy. Not that I intended to have one.

So, finally, I knocked.

And I didn’t have to wait long for him to answer.

He stood there barefoot, in gray sweatpants and, uh… nothing else. Had I already seen him bare-chested? Yes. Was I tired of seeing him bare-chested?

As if.

His eyes dropped to the bag in my hands.

“I forgot to give this to you,” I said, my voice too bright. I held it out like a peace offering. Or maybe a distraction.

He didn’t take it. Didn’t move. Just looked at me in that Noah Grady way that made the air feel tighter. Like the space between us was already shifting.

“Want to come in?” he asked, almost carefully.

I nodded before I could overthink it. When I’d decided to bring the bag, I hadn’t exactly figured out what would happen after I knocked. It had felt spontaneous at the time. Brave. But now, standing at the edge of his room, with that memory of his mouth on mine, I suddenly felt exposed.

The room was quiet. Dim. Just the soft hum of the AC and the quiet click of the door closing behind me. I hovered awkwardly at the foot of the king-sized bed, still holding the bag like it was a shield.

“What is it?” he asked, nodding toward it.

He didn’t reach for it, just watched me. His posture was easy, but something about his eyes told me he was feeling at least some of this—whatever it was.

I crossed the space slowly and handed it over. He pulled out the shirt first—soft, familiar—and then the bottle of peach rosé.

When his eyes met mine again, I caught pleasure, but also, a hint of…uncertainty?

“You said you’d have what I was drinking,” I reminded him. “Last night. When you texted me. This is what I was drinking. I meant to give it to you this morning, but…”

There was no but. Only a feeling of not knowing where we were now.

Or what we were.

He looked back down at the bottle, turning it slowly in his hands.

“It’s not much,” I added. “Just a souvenir. Since you missed the tour.”

A long beat passed. Long enough that I almost said, okay, well, enjoy it—goodnight. But then he tilted his head, and his gaze kind of…flickered. Like he’d decided something.

“If we put it on ice,” he said, “we could drink it tonight.”

Oh! My pulse jumped.

“Here?”

He gave a soft, almost rueful laugh. “Yeah. I mean…we could watch a movie or something. Unless?—”

“No,” I cut in quickly, my voice coming out squeaky sounding. “I mean, sure. Yeah.”

He nodded. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, then added more softly, “I’ll go find some ice.”

I was about to say thank you, or maybe offer to help, but then I blurted, “Like that?”

His steps slowed. He looked back at me, a grin spreading across his. “What? Afraid all this…deliciousness might give someone heart palpitations?”

Cheese on a biscuit . So he’d heard that after all.

“No,” I muttered, heat blooming in my cheeks. “Well, maybe.”

He smoothed a hand slowly down the center of his chest, toward the waistband of those low-slung sweats. “Just maybe?”

“You’re horrible,” I managed, flustered and dying.

“You’re lucky I have pants on,” he called, already halfway out the door.

“Barely,” I mumbled, recalling how low they hung on his hips, but the door had already clicked shut behind him.

But then I glanced around, smiling.

He’d said to make myself comfortable. I could do that. Sort of.

I kicked off my sandals and perched on the edge of the bed, then thought, screw it , and pulled my legs up, hitching my skirt up so I could sit cross-legged as I grabbed the remote.

By the time he returned, I had the TV on and was scrolling through channels. And when I glanced up, there it was again.

That gaze...dropping, just briefly, to my legs before snapping back to my face like he hadn’t been caught. But he definitely saw me, watching him watching me.

He didn’t look embarrassed.

My stomach flipped.

He crossed the room and set the bucket of ice down on the dresser, then reached for the wine bottle, giving it a thoughtful look.

“If you don’t want to wait,” he said, “we could just pour it over the ice.”

There was a tiny flicker of hesitation behind his words, like he knew it wasn’t the right way to serve wine, but was offering anyway because he didn’t want to make me wait. He was overthinking. Trying to make it easy. Or maybe…trying to impress me?

Which was ridiculous. He didn’t need to try.

My smile curled before I could stop it. “Isn’t that sort of…sacrilege?” The words slipped out before I could catch them.

Leo would’ve said so. With a whole lecture about water melting ice and diluting the taste profile. But…Leo wasn’t here. “Works for me. It’s sweet enough to be a spritzer.”

Noah flashed a smile, but then, holding up two plastic-wrapped coffee cups, grimaced. “No wine glasses. Let me call downstairs.”

The idea that he actually cared? That he wanted to do this right?

It hit me unexpectedly.

“Paper cups are fine,” I said, a little softer now.

He met my eyes over the bottle. “You’re sure?”

I nodded. Having opened the door to an uninvited guest, Noah Grady was doing a pretty good job making me feel special.

Wanted.

“Good thing it’s a twist-off,” Noah murmured, cracking the bottle open before scooping ice into the paper cups. He poured the wine with a little flourish—nothing too showy, just enough wrist flair to make it feel intentional, flashing me a grin that I couldn’t help returning.

It was ridiculous how much I loved watching him.

He handed me a cup but then held up a hand. “Wait. Don’t drink yet.” He poured the second cup and joined me on the edge of the bed. “We need a toast.”

I liked that.

“To…?” I asked.

“To the Love Bus.”

“May she rest in peace.”

We clinked—paper cups and all—and took a sip.

The wine was chilled just enough from the ice, fizzy and bright, with a splash of peach and oddly enough, a hint of nostalgia.

Noah glanced at me over the rim of his cup. “She’s toast, then?”

I nodded. “Tay says they’re sending a new one over.”

A pause.

“Love Bus Number Two,” he said.

He held my gaze for a beat, his grin tilting sideways.

“Out with the old, and all that…”

We clinked again, softer this time, and drank.

“What do you think?” I asked, staring into my cup.

“It really does taste like peaches.”

And it really, really did. But also, everything else? The ice, the paper cups, the half-dressed doctor beside me on a hotel bed?

It all tasted like exactly where I wanted to be.

“You don’t hate it, then?” I wasn’t going to say it, but I knew Leo would have hated it. It wasn’t traditional. It wasn’t to his standards.

“Why would I hate it?”

I didn’t really have an answer for that, not one that I wanted to give anyway. I was tired of Leo popping into my mind when he had no right to.

So, I just shrugged. Noah stared back at me for a disconcerting second and then leaned back against the pillows. “What are we watching?”

Like we were just friends, hanging out.

Like we hadn’t kissed under a waterfall. Like his leg hadn’t just brushed against mine.

I scrolled through the options, pausing on one of those slick, over-the-top action movies— John Wick , with Keanu Reeves in a black suit and blood on his knuckles. “What do you like?”

Noah glanced at the screen, then gave a small shrug. “Whatever you want.” His tone was even, but something in his jaw ticced—so fast I might’ve missed it if I hadn’t been watching him so closely.

“Not this one?” I asked.

“Not really in the mood for it,” he said simply. Not dismissive. Just…honest.

I nodded, the remote still in my hand. There was something tender in the way he kind of just sidestepped around it.

Could the other part giving him troubles at work possibly have something to do with violence? Before I could tailspin on that, he turned on me with a crooked smile.

“Maybe something more like The Grumpy Millionaire ?”

I blinked. “You…you’ve been spying on my book?”

He gave me an exaggeratedly innocent look. “Impossible not to, and way more interesting than some of the scenery. Has he bent her over the desk yet?”

I gaped. “Doctor Grady!”

His grin deepened. “And here I was thinking you were a nice girl.”

Nice girl . The way he said it made my chest feel tight and tingly all at once.

“You’d be surprised,” I said—way too fast. And way too flirty.

Our eyes locked, and suddenly everything in the room felt warmer. More electric. Like we were holding our breath, waiting to see who would lean in first.

But then I laughed—too loudly, maybe—and reached for my wine like it could cool the flush crawling up my neck. “Okay, but for the record, it was after hours.”

He bumped my shoulder with his. “Nothing wrong with a happily ever after.”

Then, with an ease that made my heart thump, he took the remote from my hand. “It sure as hell beats watching people beat each other up.”

“Right then. No guns, no blood,” I agreed, grateful for the shift.

“What about this one?” he offered, pausing on Leap Year .

I didn’t tell him I’d seen it a million times. It was perfect.

“As long as you don’t mind,” I murmured, curling my legs beneath me again.

I wasn’t sure which felt more dangerous—the wine, the way he looked at me, or the slow, delicious undoing of all our rules.

He tossed me one of the pillows and then got up to pour us both a little more wine. When he climbed back onto the bed, he was closer than before.