Famished, Meghan O'Flynn [free ebooks romance novels .txt] 📗

It had been hours since the police came to their office, but Noelle was still unsettled. She assaulted her fingernails with her teeth and winced when she drew blood.

Through her windshield, barren maple trees cast clawing shadows on snowy lawns that rolled up to neat, uniform houses. The homes were red or gray brick behind small cement porches and topped with aluminum-sided second floors.

Thomas’s house was in a cul-de-sac at the end of a winding asphalt road. Bay windows protruded from brown brick on either side of the entrance. It was a nice home. A family home. But you couldn’t just take a house and magically make a happy family any more than you could take just any self-centered jackass and make him a good father.

He opened the door before she knocked, his smile wide. “Hey! You found it!”

“I did.”

He grabbed her hand and led her into the house. “You smell good. What is that, lemons?”

“Orange-mango.”

“I like it.” His lips were frozen in a permanent grin. “Come on in. I was just feeding the cat.”

Noelle’s boots squeaked over the light oak floors. The foyer walls were painted a deep green. A narrow table sat against one wall of the entry, topped by a small, sickly plant. Brown leaves littered the tabletop.

Thomas saw her staring at it. “Wolverine’s kind of a jerk to plants.”

They entered a large, cheery kitchen with matching white appliances and light oak cupboards. He opened one and grabbed a bag of cat food.

She followed him through to the living room. “Holy shit.”

“Oh, yeah. I forget that not everyone is a fan.”

The entire room was painted a deep electric blue, making the light floors and suede couches seem larger. Small wooden tables topped with glass sat on either side of the sofa, and a leather chair faced the television on the wall to her left. The TV on the wall was at least sixty inches, flanked by large black speakers that looked as if they could blow the house apart if Thomas got carried away. Behind the couch, the far wall was entirely covered in a stretched canvas painting of a huge, muscled-up green giant charging into the room, fist outstretched as if in attack, face twisted in a grimace. Droplets of cartoon saliva flew from his half-open mouth.

“It’s…interesting.” Violent and angry, but interesting. “I didn’t even know you could get art like that.”

He laughed. “I painted it. It was that, or tack up a poster.”

“You painted it?” She studied it more closely. He’s kinda good.

“Yeah, like I said the other night, I needed something to do with my time instead of football. Plus, the Hulk is more reliable companionship for a geeky kid than school buddies anyway.” Thomas stooped and poured the cat food into a glass dish. “Hey, there he is!”

A fat orange tabby entered the room from a hallway in the back corner and slunk toward them, staring at Noelle with suspicious green eyes. Thomas scratched him behind the ears. Wolverine purred like a rumbling motor.

Thomas righted himself and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

She took it. “Lead the way.”

He is never picking the movie again. Noelle glared at the screen. Seriously, who cares about this superhero bullshit? I mean, except…

Thomas’s face was a mask of childlike excitement. Even the way he wiped fake popcorn butter on his khakis was endearing. What was wrong with her? Was she falling for him? Maybe it was the way he just seemed so damn happy all the time. He had probably had the perfect childhood outside of that whole being-small-and-bullied thing.

Maybe that’s why he likes this stuff. She pictured him as a small, dejected boy in a Spiderman T-shirt, poring over comic books, losing himself in another world where he was more…well…super.

Noelle’s phone vibrated with a text message. She pretended not to hear it, though it seemed impossibly loud in the sudden quiet. On the screen, a guy in a neon blue leotard pressed himself against a brick wall. Very incognito.

She yawned and rested her head against Thomas’s shoulder. He smelled like shampoo and something that could only be cat hair. She sneezed.

“Bless you,” he said.

“Thanks.” Her phone vibrated again.

“Do you need to get that?”

Noelle shrugged, fumbled in her purse for the phone, and checked the messages.

You’re such a bitch.

She sighed. Ralph had been going back and forth from I hate you to Please forgive me for whatever I did to upset you for weeks. He had even left her a six-minute voicemail telling her that he knew she lied about having a brother like she gave a shit.

“Everything okay?” Thomas whispered.

“Everything’s fine.” She turned the phone off and vowed to change her number tomorrow. He’d get tired of harassing her soon if he was anything like the others. Their anger never lasted forever. She wondered if anything did.

Thomas put his hand on the armrest. She covered it with hers, leaned her head back against the chair, and closed her eyes.

“You’re missing the best part,” he whispered.

She dragged her lids open. “Oh, I was just—”

“I know, resting your eyes.” He chuckled. “Hey, there’s no accounting for taste. Or for people staying home because they’re afraid of a little snowstorm in the forecast.” He nodded to the nearly empty theater. “I think the reviews were pretty bad, though. That’s the first thing Jim said when I told him where I was taking you.”

Noelle glanced at the screen, where two guys were engaged in a seemingly intense conversation about what it takes to bring down a superhuman. She rolled her eyes. Maybe next time Jim would get through to Thomas and save her from this nonsense.

“How’s he been? Jim, I mean.”

“Good. On a blind date. I get the impression he’s just wasting time until Hannah is ready to go out with him. Every time I mention that I’m seeing you, he asks about her.”

Poor Hannah. Noelle’s stomach roiled. An explosion lit the room as the hero threw a car. Then he tripped over a fire hydrant and went sprawling, his blue leotard making him look like a flattened smurf. Noelle laughed, and her stomach settled. Okay, this isn’t all bad.

Thomas beamed at her, teeth shining in the light from the screen. “Maybe we can double with Hannah and Jim, once she’s ready. I’ll let you guys pick the movie.”

Her stomach gurgled again, hot, with equal parts guilt and fury. She had been glad when Jake and Hannah split, excited that her letter had the desired effect. She had not been sorry when he died.

But—

He was not supposed to hit her. She hoped his death was horrific. And slow.