Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 6

Noah

I knew I’d screwed up the second the words left my mouth.

“Careful going through the door. Don’t want your thick thighs getting stuck.”

It was meant to be a joke. Just another jab in the endless back-and-forth I had with Jessa Lombardi. Something to get her riled up, to see her eyes spark with that fire I secretly loved provoking.

But the way she froze, the flush crawling up her cheeks, the way her grip on her books went white-knuckle—yeah, I’d crossed a line.

And instead of being smart enough to shut up, I doubled down. I smirked. I played it off. I let the guys laugh.

Because what else was I supposed to do? Admit I didn’t mean it? Admit the truth—that I notice her way too much, that half my insults come from watching her too closely?

No way.

So I stayed leaning against the wall, cool and untouchable, while inside my chest something twisted tight.

Jackson caught up with me after practice. We were sitting on the bleachers, helmets off, sweat cooling on our skin. He was chugging water like he’d just crawled through the desert, and I was trying not to think about the look on Jessa’s face earlier.

Jackson grinned between gulps. “Man, you’re brutal to my sister.”

I forced a laugh, tossing my helmet onto the bench. “What, that door thing? Come on, it was funny.”

“It was,” Jackson agreed easily, like there was no room for debate. “You should’ve seen her face though—” he cracked up, slapping his knee. “She looked like she was about to explode. Classic Jessa. Sensitive as hell.”

He said it like it was nothing. Like her being sensitive was just some family inside joke.

But it wasn’t nothing. Not to me.

Because I’d seen more than just sensitivity. I’d seen hurt.

The kind of hurt you don’t laugh off later. The kind that sticks.

I leaned back on my elbows, staring at the empty field as the sun dipped low, painting the grass gold. “Yeah,” I muttered. “She’s something, all right.”

Jackson didn’t catch the edge in my voice. He was too busy scrolling through his phone, still chuckling to himself. “Don’t let her get to you, man. Jessa acts tough, but she’s always been like that. She’ll be fine.”

And maybe he was right. Maybe she would be fine. Jessa wasn’t fragile, not really. She could handle herself better than most people gave her credit for.

But that didn’t erase the knot of guilt lodged in my gut.

Here’s the thing: I never wanted to hurt her. That was never the point.

The point was distraction.

If I kept her mad, kept her snapping at me, kept her eyes blazing with irritation, then nobody could see the truth simmering underneath—least of all her.

That I liked it when her attention was on me. That I liked pushing her buttons because it meant she was looking at me, thinking about me, even if it was in anger.

That half the time I was teasing her, I was really covering up the fact that I wanted to grab her face and kiss the fight right out of her.

The table laughed, the conversation shifted, and once again, no one thought twice about it.

No one except me.

I picked at my food, pretending not to care while sneaking glances at her across the room. She was talking quietly with Mariah, her expression tight, her shoulders hunched like she was trying to make herself smaller.

And damn it, that guilt twisted tighter.

I wanted to go over there. I wanted to say something—anything—to undo the damage. To tell her I hadn’t meant it, that she shouldn’t listen to me, that if she only knew how I actually saw her, she’d laugh at how wrong I got it.

But I couldn’t.

Because what would I even say?

“Hey Jessa, sorry for being a jerk. By the way, I can’t stop noticing your legs—not because they’re thick, but because they’re strong and distracting as hell, and it makes me crazy.”

Yeah. No. Not happening.

So I stayed where I was, cracking jokes with the guys, hiding behind my usual armor of sarcasm.

But every time I caught a glimpse of her across the room, that armor felt heavier.

Like maybe, just maybe, it was starting to crack.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep holding it together.