#Chapter 172: Wanting

Hannah Noah set me down on the carpeted floor of his bedroom and moved to turn on the bedside lamp. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room for a moment, feeling very much like a college student on her first one night stand, and looked around. The guest room that Noah had been occupying as of late had all the markers of him; the scent of his cologne, his rumpled clothes over the back of a chair, his leather loafers—perfectly polished and lined up beside one another—sitting by the door. Speaking of which… For a moment, as I looked around at the small room, my eyes flicked over to the exit. I should walk through it, I thought to myself, scratching my head. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t… “Hannah?” The sound of his voice, still gravelly and thick from sleep, pulled me out of my daze. I snapped my head around to see him standing beside the bed, the sheets rumpled. “Are you coming?” he asked, gesturing to the bed. I hesitated for a moment, but