6. Six
Six
Noah
S taring at the ceiling fan in the darkness of my bedroom, my thoughts race.
The house Lennon bought has a lot of potential. And while I know nothing about running a business or fixing half of the shit that’s gone wrong there, I have no doubts that she’ll be successful. She doesn’t seem like the type to take no for an answer.
Except for tonight.
I knew the girl had been picked up. I was just looking for an excuse. Making out with Lennon after everything that happened would have been idiotic–reckless.
In the bathroom, I’d heard her giggling with the girl on the steps. Eloise, was it? They’d finished baking their cookies–the ones I did not get to try. Lennon had woven a tale about the fairy who lived beneath the steps, hidden away from the world. That is until a little girl who used to live in the house bribed the fairy with peanut butter cookies for a chance to meet the fairy.
Eloise had been enraptured–deciding to save some of the cookies for the fairy.
I’m fairly certain the story had been in an effort to keep the girl from eating too many cookies, and something about the way it was done, the way Lennon had made the world so magical, tugged at something within me.
I’d once thought my life would look like that–telling stories to children on the steps of a house I owned, and that wasn’t what I wanted anymore.
Plus, it was weird–seeing Lennon in that light. I couldn’t make out with a woman who so clearly has relationship potential.
Driven, confident, a homeowner, enjoys children.
I’d ruin that woman.
But as the ceiling fan continues spinning above me, all I can think about is the way the air thickened between us–the soft curve of her mouth. When her green eyes flicked down, that need wound tighter.
Loose strands of hair kissed the sides of her freckled cheeks. Everything I could have needed to entertain myself for the night was within my grasp, and when she asked me to kiss her–no–make out with her, I knew exactly what I wanted.
It took everything in my power to force the word no from my lips.
I've spent years saying yes—to women, to distraction, to momentary escape.
I couldn’t say yes to her.
The complications that would arise from getting involved with Lennon were too numerous to count. Are too numerous.
For starters, there are the mutual friends, the memory of Charlie’s look of disappointment tonight. I couldn’t do that. Not to Lennon. I barely know her, but something about her makes it seem wrong . It could be how our lives are now tangled. As long as Ellis and Griffin stay together, Lennon and I are connected.
There’s no way in hell I would have kissed her despite desperately wanting to.
Fuck.
The light from the clock flickers in my peripherals. It’s way too fucking late for me to still be thinking about touching her. And yet–
All my mind can seem to conjure is the image of Lennon sprawled beneath me–red hair fanning out over my pillow as I sink myself into her.
She’d probably insult me while we did it–tell me I was terrible in bed despite the little sounds sneaking past her plump and parted lips.
I can’t touch her–not really. I won’t touch her, but after scrolling through the numbers in my phone, trying to think of anyone I could find to relieve this ache, I’m at a loss.
My hand slips beneath the waistband of my joggers as the image plays out in my mind. Wrapping my fingers around my hardened flesh, I move–stroking–pressing–sliding my hand in time with the imaginary thrusts.
Fuck .
Her body would be pliant–lips soft as she worked her way down my neck–my chest. If I got lucky, she might go lower–wrapping her mouth around where I needed her most and gazing up at me with that judgmental fucking stare.
My breath comes out in harsh pants as I pick up the pace, still imagining Lennon’s full lips, thinking about the way she’d pop off the tip, sliding her body forward until I was nestled at her entrance.
When I picture her sinking down on my cock, my entire body tenses, my hand working in rhythm with the fantasy.
“ Fuck. ” The word is whispered into the dark as I feel the tension in my body release, the orgasm crashing through me like a fucking freight train.
I suck in a lungful of air and try to recover–center myself.
The worst thing I can do is imagine what it would be like to taste the one woman I can’t be with. The worst thing I can do is lay in my fucking room as a grown-ass man and picture her while I stroke myself to completion. The worst thing I can do is show up at her stupid house to fix a fireplace when I have no knowledge of how to even go about that.
Spending time with Lennon is dangerous. That’s for sure.
After cleaning up, I grab my phone, unable to stop myself–like she’s a siren leading me to my death–and type out what could be the most dangerous message I’ve ever sent.
Me: I’ll be there at eight to check out the fireplace.
Lennon’s gravel driveway stretches for what feels like a mile, something I’m sure will be a fantastic selling point when she finally gets the business off the ground.
The white house stretches toward a gray autumn sky. The last time I’d been here, Lennon had a small child running around, baking cookies, and completing puzzles on the living room floor. I’d thought Lennon to be somewhat harsh–certainly not the type to enjoy children. But the woman can make an old, run-down house a home.
I like that about her, I guess.
Possibly too much if last night indicated anything.
I tap the steering wheel aimlessly, trying to diffuse some of the buzzing energy I can’t seem to get away from. Everything I did last night did nothing to alleviate whatever feelings have awoken.
I can chalk it up to lust–an annoying desire that needs to get out of my system. Despite confessing the history of my love life to Lennon and seeing her in a new light, we hardly know each other. The details she has of my past are vague–just a loose outline of what happened with Alexis and how it related to the art show last spring.
There’ve been no heart-to-hearts, no dates–nothing. This is all just a hopeless attraction that I can’t seem to squash–a desperate need to get closer to her. Playing with fire, I suppose.
When I put the car in park, I notice the quick closing of the living room curtain and chuckle.
She was waiting for me.
The door opens.
“About time. You’re five minutes late.”
Lennon stands leaning in the doorway, hair loose and wild, a cup of coffee in her hand. I can’t help but remember the images I conjured last night.
Fuck .
“Sorry,” I say, stepping up onto the porch. “I had to become a chimney expert overnight.”
One eyebrow quirks up as she pins me with those green eyes, her coffee cup hovering close to her lips. “Think you got it figured out?”
I offer her a cocky grin. “Most definitely.” I look around, noting the puzzle tucked neatly beneath the coffee table. “No special guests this time?” I ask.
Lennon rolls her eyes as she turns away, striding toward the fireplace. “I was just helping Ellis and her aunt out since I have time off to deal with all this.” She waves a hand when she says it before taking another sip of coffee.
“You seemed to enjoy it,” I comment. “The cookies smelled good.”
She chuckles. “They were contaminated. Caught Eloise eating peanut butter right out of the jar. I’m now short the most common of all the nut butters.”
I cough, turning away to hide whatever may be written across my face. Walking to the fireplace, I stare at it. I have the vaguest idea of a plan. “I heard your story about the fairies under the stairs.” I kneel, noting the black soot caked on the inside of the brick.
“I like stories,” she admits. “I’ve been trying to figure out what stories this house holds. It’s older, and I’m certain there’s something . However, nobody documents the everyday lives of everyday people. So, I figured I’d make something up.”
I turn back to look at her, still standing with her eyes narrowed as if she’s assessing my skill level for this particular job. “You added fairies,” I point out. “That’s not exactly everyday lore.”
Lennon raises a shoulder. “It is for a five-year-old.”
I smile, turning back to the old brick. “Yeah,” I say. “I suppose you’re right.”