Chapter 6: The Shirt Incident

Leighton woke up to her phone buzzing. A text from Chloe.

*Emergency at work. Can't do dinner tonight. Rain check? I'm so sorry!*

Disappointment settled in her chest, followed quickly by relief she didn't want to examine too closely.

*No worries. We'll do it another time.*

She set her phone down and stared at the ceiling. Another day in this house. Another day of avoiding Noah while simultaneously wanting to find him.

This was getting ridiculous.

She needed to do laundry. She'd been rewearing the same few outfits all week, and everything was starting to smell like desperation and bad decisions.

The laundry room took twenty minutes to find. Of course it did. This house was designed to make her look stupid.

She threw everything in. All her clothes, her sheets, towels. Might as well do it all at once. She added detergent and started the machine, then headed back upstairs in the tank top and shorts she'd slept in.

An hour later, she went back down to move things to the dryer.

The machine was still running.

She stared at it. Checked the settings. Heavy wash cycle. Two hours total.

Perfect. Just perfect.

She trudged back upstairs. She could wait it out in her room. Except her room was freezing. The air conditioning had kicked into overdrive, and she was already shivering in her thin tank top.

She needed something warm. A hoodie. A blanket. Anything.

Her eyes landed on the door across the hall. Noah's room.

Absolutely not. That was literally rule number three. Stay out of his bedroom.

But he wasn't home. She'd heard him leave an hour ago, talking on the phone about meetings and contracts. He'd be gone for hours. He'd never know.

Just in and out. Grab a sweatshirt or something. Put it back before he got home.

She opened his door slowly, half expecting an alarm to go off.

The room was immaculate. King-size bed with dark gray sheets, perfectly made. Modern furniture, all clean lines. The space smelled like him. That expensive cologne or body wash or whatever it was that made her brain go fuzzy.

His closet was huge. Rows of suits, dress shirts, perfectly organized by color. She pushed past them to the casual section. Found a white button-down shirt that looked soft and worn.

Perfect.

She pulled it on over her tank top. It fell to mid-thigh, the sleeves hanging past her hands. She rolled them up and headed back to her room.

Except her room was still freezing.

The kitchen, she decided. She'd make tea. Wait down there until her clothes were done.

She padded downstairs in Noah's shirt and her bare feet. The house was quiet. Peaceful, even. She could almost pretend it was hers. That she belonged here.

She put the kettle on and rummaged through the tea selection. Someone had expensive taste. Everything was loose-leaf and imported and probably cost more than her old grocery budget.

The front door opened.

Her head snapped up. No. He wasn't supposed to be back yet.

Footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer.

Noah appeared in the kitchen doorway and stopped dead.

His eyes traveled down her body. Slowly. Taking in the white shirt. Her bare legs. Her bare feet. His shirt, hanging off her shoulder where she'd apparently missed a button.

"Hi," she said weakly.

He didn't respond. Just stared at her, his jaw tight.

"I can explain."

"You're wearing my shirt."

"My clothes are in the wash. Everything. I didn't have anything clean and I was cold, so I..." She trailed off. His expression hadn't changed. "I'm sorry. I know you said not to go in your room. I'll take it off right now."

"Don't."

The word came out rough. Almost harsh.

She froze. "What?"

"Don't take it off." He set his briefcase down by the door, his movements careful. Controlled. "Not here."

"Oh." Her face burned. "Right. I'll just go upstairs and..."

"How long until your clothes are done?"

"An hour, maybe?"

He nodded once. Then he moved into the kitchen, giving her a wide berth. Like he didn't trust himself to get too close.

He went to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle. Drank half of it in one go. His hand gripped the bottle tight enough that his knuckles went white.

The kettle whistled. Leighton jumped, then turned to grab it. She poured water over the tea bag, hyperaware of Noah behind her. Of the way his shirt shifted as she moved. Of how little she was wearing underneath it.

"Why are you home early?" she asked, just to fill the silence.

"Meeting got canceled."

"Oh."

More silence. She could feel his eyes on her back. Could practically feel the weight of his gaze.

She turned around, holding her mug like a shield. He was leaning against the far counter, arms crossed. His eyes were dark. Intense.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said.

"Like what?"

"Like you're thinking things you shouldn't be thinking."

"I could say the same to you."

"I'm not..."

"You are." He pushed off the counter. "You've been looking at me like that since you got here. Like you want something from me."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Liar."

The word hung between them. Challenge and accusation and something else she couldn't name.

"Fine," she said. "Maybe I do. So what? Nothing's going to happen. You've made that clear."

"Have I?"

"You listed off your rules yesterday. Stay out of your space. Stay out of your head. Stay away from you."

"I don't remember saying that last part."

"It was implied."

He moved closer. Not much. Just a step. But it felt like the distance between them had shrunk by miles.

"You want to know what I was thinking?" he asked quietly.

"No."

"Liar," he said again. "You want to know. You're dying to know."

She set down her mug before she dropped it. "Noah..."

"I was thinking about how that's my favorite shirt. I've had it for five years. Worn it a hundred times." Another step closer. "And now I'm never going to be able to wear it again without thinking about this. About you in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my shirt, looking at me like you want me to break all my own rules."

Her breath caught. "I'm not..."

"Your clothes aren't in the wash."

"What?"

"You heard me." His eyes bore into hers. "You could have worn your tank top and shorts. Could have grabbed a blanket from the linen closet. Could have done a dozen other things. But you went into my room and took my shirt."

"I was cold."

"Bullshit. You wanted to see what I'd do if I found you wearing it."

"That's not true."

"Then why are you still standing here?" He took another step. Close enough now that she could see the muscle ticking in his jaw. "If you really didn't want this, you'd already be upstairs. But you're not moving. Because you want to know what happens next."

"Nothing happens next." Her voice came out breathy. Unconvincing. "You're Chloe's brother. I'm her best friend. Nothing can happen."

"I know."

"So we should stop. Right now. Before we do something stupid."

"I know," he said again.

But neither of them moved.

The air between them felt electric. Dangerous. Like one wrong move would make something explode.

His eyes dropped to her mouth. Lingered there. She could see him fighting with himself. See the moment he decided to leave.

He stepped back. Grabbed his briefcase. "Your clothes should be done soon. You should go check on them."

"Noah..."

"Go, Leighton."

It wasn't a request.

She went.

She practically ran up the stairs, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She could still feel his eyes on her. Could still hear the rough edge in his voice when he'd said *my favorite shirt*.

She stopped outside his bedroom door. The shirt felt different now. Like it was touching her everywhere. Like he was touching her.

She should take it off. Should put it back and pretend this never happened.

Instead, she went to her room and sat on the bed, pulling the collar up to her face. It smelled like him. Like that expensive scent that made her head spin.

She was in so much trouble.

Her phone buzzed. Noah.

*Keep the shirt.*

She stared at the message. Typed back: *What?*

*Keep it. I meant what I said. I can't wear it anymore without thinking about this. About you.*

*Noah, we can't...*

*I know. Trust me, I know. But I'm done pretending I don't notice you. Done pretending I don't want things I shouldn't want.*

*What are we doing?*

*I don't know. But I'm tired of lying about it.*

She clutched the phone to her chest. This was a terrible idea. The worst idea. It would ruin everything with Chloe. Would blow up in both their faces.

But god, she wanted it anyway.

She wanted him anyway.

*Me too,* she typed. Then, before she could overthink it: *I'm tired of pretending too.*

His response came immediately.

*Then stop.*

Two words. Two words that felt like permission and warning all at once.

She lay back on the bed, still wearing his shirt, and wondered how she'd gotten here. How she'd gone from fired and homeless to living in Noah Knight's house, texting him about things they shouldn't want.

Her life was a mess.

But for the first time in weeks, she didn't want to be anywhere else.