Page 72 of Dollhouse

Sighing, my eyes flick to the corners of the ceiling. I just know he’s up there watching, and it doesn’t even bother me. That’s just Noah. And even though he’s as overbearing as they come, I don’t mind. It’s impossiblenotto feel his obsessive brand of love. “Yeah, I do.”

Her soft smile inspires my own. “Good. I’m glad to hear that. You can call me anytime, but I’ll be back next week. I want you to use some of these exercises until then to help you with starting to help yourself feel reconnected. Detachment can be tough if we let it become a habit. Try some of these, and be easy on yourself, okay?”

I take the handwritten list she offers, scanning it. “Thanks, Amy.”

Gathering her things, she opens the door to the office we’ve taken over for our sessions and almost runs right into Noah. “Thank you,” he offers politely, eyes already pinning me down.

She scurries off and he winds his way around the desk and takes a seat in the large chair opposite me, hands curling over the armrests. The slight flex of his arms distracts me for a moment before I remember I should be upset with him for waking me up at the crack of dawn.

“How was it?” he asks, voice low. Always studying me, watching and learning and assessing.

“Good.” It’s vague and he narrows his eyes.

“Good?” he repeats back, waiting for me to continue. I simply shrug, refusing to elaborate.

“What’s that?” He nods at the paper in my hands and I crush it in my fist.

“Nothing. Just something from Amy.”

He huffs, frustrated with me. We stare each other down until he can’t handle my insolence a moment more. "You're being difficult.”

Popping a brow, I relax in my chair. I know I am, but I’ve found I like the curl of anticipation lately when I resist Noah a little bit. Something I didn’t really do before, but this newer version of medoes. “I just wish you’d stop pretending you don’t know everything I said already.”

He leans forward, pinning me to my chair with those unyielding eyes of his. I love when I have his full, frustrated attention. “You said you don’t understand us still wanting you. You told her that.”

I knew it.“Shouldn’t eavesdrop if you don’t want to hear things you don’t like.”

He glares at me. “You’re the only person in this world I’ve ever wanted. That’s never changing.”

“It’s not about how you feel, Noah. It’s about howIfeel.” I argue, turning to look out the window.

He snaps. “Hey. We’re talking. And that’s bullshit. You can feel however you want, but you donotget to decide if I want you or not.”

I roll my eyes because it makes him crazy. “Why are you so bossy all the time?”

“Because I’m the boss,” he says simply, leaning back in his chair with a smug smirk on his face. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll let you sit here and make it extremely clear how much I still want you.” He rests his hand on the edge of the desk in front of him, fingers playing across the wood.

My muscles clench at the picture he paints. Me, legs spread in his office, and him on his knees in front of me. Worshippingme.

My cheeks flush, but I try to play it cool. “That’s not on my doctor’s list of things to try this week. Sorry.”

A grin cracks across his face, body leaning forward as if to spring across the desk at me when I hear Jesse in the hall, calling Noah’s name. His voice slurs and I quickly catch Noah’s playful moment melt away; gone before I could even appreciate it being there.

“Noah!” Jesse rounds the corner, throwing the door wide open. Flinching, I blink up at him, caught off guard by the frantic energy rolling off of him without him seeing that it makes my heart race.

However, Noah never misses anything and is at my side in a moment, squeezing my hand and holding his other up to Jesse. “Calm down, what’s going on?” His eyes narrow. “Are you drunk?”

Jesse shakes his head, waving away the valid question. “Barely. I think I found him. Bo. I think I know where he is.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

I’m taskedwith occupying Jesse while Noah checks out the accuracy of the information and his large hand grips mine while we head back to his room.

It’s a mess, although that’s kind of normal for him. The unmade bed still has Bo’s plaid pillow resting against the headboard, his things scattering the surfaces like he’s never spent a day away from here.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Jesse mutters, sitting down at the edge of the bed. His hood is pulled up, the messy ends of his hair sticking out in all directions. He nervously tugs on his lip ring, rolling it back and forth. “I just got excited. I know we need to check it out first.”

I rub his arm, leaning my head on his shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. I’m sure Noah will be able to tell if it’s good.” We stare at the rug in silence, our inner thoughts screaming. “What are you going to do if it is?”