𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝

Chapter Thirteen

I blinked a few times. And he couldn't have taken his cup with him?

I shrugged, sipping my latte, and was about to go upstairs, when a thought hit me. Does Noah want coffee?

"Stop," I scolded myself, shaking my head and taking a step closer to the stairs.

But it would just go cold out here.

Rolling my eyes, I turned and grabbed the cup, making my way to Noah's room with nerves swarming my stomach.

Sure, I was always nervous when it came to Noah, but it felt a little weird. Like the energy between us had changed.

I didn't like it.

I took a deep breath before I knocked on his door, painting a neutral expression on my face.

The door swung open and my breath hitched in my throat when I was met with an unexpected sight.

"Oh," I whispered, my eyes lowering to his naked chest.

I had it seen before, of course. That one time I—

But this was different. I couldn't help but stare, study the intricate artwork that covered his chest, and my eyes lingered on a scar on his stomach.

Did he get that in prison? Was he hated there? Loved?

"Can I help you?" he droned, snapping me back to reality.

"I...uhm. Yes," I choked out, holding out the cup of black coffee. "I brought it for Isaac but he was late for work, so..."

I kept my eyes on the cup, rolling my lower lip between my teeth.

"So..." Noah repeated, placing two fingers under my chin and forcing me to look up at him.

"Maybe you want it?"

He retracted his hand, his face unreadable as he looked at me.

"Is there sugar in it?" he asked, crossing his arms.

I shook my head, turning on my heels to go back downstairs. So we were doing this. Going back to the kitchen to put fucking sugar in Noah's coffee.

He followed me down, pulling a shirt over his head. Thank god.

I mean...maybe he'd get cold.

"I can do it," he said from behind me, and I jumped slightly when I felt his warmth against my back.

Then there was this scent of his. Not sure if it was some sort of cologne or that it was just him, but it was intoxicating.

He reached around me and grabbed the sugar, grazing his fingers against mine as he did.

The contact send sparks up my arm, and as if his touched burned me—which wasn't very far from the truth—I turned around and pushed him back.

"Whoa, ok." I felt my cheeks heat up, especially when I looked up at him.

I was surprised he didn't jump from my touch, since it was all he did in the last couple of weeks, but I tried not to read into it too much.

He just looked back at me with raised brows. Now it got weird.

It was hard to describe, but somehow I couldn't look away. I could step away either.

I was glued to the spot, regretting my reflex of pushing him away because all I seemed to want in that moment was him closer.

For the past couple of days I had been trying to fight it, the urge to touch him, be near him. And it angered me that my body betrayed me.