Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 228

Chapter 228

Noah

I woke up feeling like my brain had been put through a blender.

Not because anything bad happened.

Because nothing bad happened.

Which somehow made it worse.

Jessa Lombardi was in my house.

In my guest room.

Because of a blizzard.

Because my mom had insisted.

Because life apparently wanted to throw me into the deep end of awkward teenage romance and see if I survived.

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like bacon and coffee–Dad’s domain. Mom was humming to herself like this was the most normal thing in the world.

I was trying to act normal too.

It wasn’t working.

I poured cereal into a bowl like I’d done a thousand times, except today my hands felt like they belonged to someone else.

Because any second now…

She was going to walk in.

And I didn’t know what version of myself I was supposed to be.

Boyfriend Noah?

Football Noah?

Last–night–I–kissed–you–on–my–couch Noah?

Don’t–think–about–that–too–hard Noah?

The hallway creaked softly.

My spine went rigid.

Then she appeared.

Jessa stepped into the kitchen in fuzzy socks and an oversized sweater that wasn’t one of her usual “hide from the world” ones. It was soft. Red. Like she’d chosen it because she wanted to look nice even in someone else’s house.

Her hair was slightly messy, like she’d run her fingers through it a dozen times.

Her cheeks were pink from the warmth.

Or maybe from nerves.

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Chapter 228

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Or maybe from the fact that I was staring like an idiot.

She hesitated in the doorway, clutching her sleeves.

“Morning,” she said quietly.

My chest did that stupid thing again.

“Hey,” I managed, voice rougher than it should’ve been at eight a.m. “You… uh. You sleep okay?”

She nodded, eyes flicking to my mom, then back to me.

“Yeah. It was… really comfortable.”

Mom beamed like she’d personally invented comfort.

“I told you,” she said brightly. “The guest room is basically my pride and joy. Noah complains it’s too many pillows.”

Dad grunted from the stove. “It is too many pillows.”

“It’s the correct amount of pillows,” Mom argued automatically.

Jessa smiled a little, and it hit me right in the ribs.

She looked… lighter this morning.

Still nervous.

But lighter.

Mom turned to her. “Honey, you want eggs? Pancakes? Toast? We’ve got about ten options because apparently being snowed in makes me a short–order cook.”

Jessa blinked. “Oh–toast is fine.”

“No,” I said too fast. Too firm.

Both my parents looked at me.

I cleared my throat. “I mean… she should have pancakes. Mom makes good pancakes.”

Jessa’s lips twitched.

Mom’s eyes sparkled with way too much amusement.

“Oh, does she now?” Mom said.

I wanted to die.

Jessa moved closer to the counter, and when she passed me/her arm brushed mine.

It was nothing.

Barely a touch.

But it sent a jolt through me like I’d been hit with a live wire.

She glanced up at me, shy.

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Chapter 228

Pure, violent silence.

My face went hot so fast I thought I might actually burst into flames.

“Dad,” I croaked.

Jessa made a sound that might’ve been a choke.

Mom’s head snapped toward him. “Frank!”

“What?” Dad said innocently. “I’m just observing.”

“Stop observing!” Mom hissed.

Dad held up a hand, still looking at me like he was about to give a football lecture.

“I know you two are dating,” he said, tone steady. “And I was young once too.”

I stared at him in horror.

Jessa looked like she wanted to slide under the table.

Dad leaned back slightly.

?

“So let me give you a little advice.”

“Please don’t,” I muttered.

Dad ignored that too.

“Don’t let fifteen minutes of bravery ruin your life forever.”

I blinked. “What?”

Jessa blinked. “What?”

Mom looked like she might throw her coffee at him.

Dad clarified, completely calm.

“I’m saying-”

“No,” I cut in, panicked. “I know what you’re saying. You don’t have to-”

Dad did not stop.

“Just make sure you have protection.”

I swear to God my soul left my body.

“DAD.”

Jessa made a strangled noise and covered her face with her hands.

Mom slapped Dad’s arm so hard the fork clattered.

“Frank Carter!”

“What?!” Dad protested. “I’m being responsible!”

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