10. Ten
Ten
Noah
“ A nother one?”
Lennon sprawls across my couch as the credits run across the screen, casting my living room in dim light and nothing more. The sun descended on the horizon a while ago, and in the darkness, I migrated closer to her, her socked feet propped on my lap.
While I’ve uncovered certain layers of Lennon’s life–pieces I’m not entirely sure she wanted me to see–there’s still something so open about her. Without hesitation, she relaxed into my space. The blush on her cheeks, her expressiveness, the way she asks for what she wants? It all feels so refreshing.
With Alexis, I spent plenty of time guessing, but with Lennon, I don’t feel the need to guess. Even the layers I haven’t uncovered don’t feel secretive, just private–sacred. It leaves me longing to remain in her orbit–if only for the small chance she’ll offer me a small piece of herself.
“Another movie?” I clarify, nodding once in agreement. “Sure, what are you feeling?”
Sitting up, she withdraws every part of her that made contact, and I hate it. “Another one nobody has heard of before,” she says. “It’s more fun that way.” When she smiles, it’s warm–genuine–revealing yet another side to the woman who has been popping in and out of my life for the past nine months. When Griffin and Ellis started dating, we ran in the same circle. Seeing each other in passing–the art show. It’s weird to think I’ve waited this long to have a genuine conversation with her.
I look at the nearly empty plate of food sitting on the ottoman and snag a cracker before speaking. “I need to get you some blankets,” I say. “And maybe change, first. Did you want anything else to eat?”
Her smile widens as she leans forward, plucking a cherry from the small bowl sitting on the plate. “This was fine, thanks.” When her head tilts to the side, she asks, “Do you cook or just prepare charcuterie boards for every meal?”
I chuckle, relaxing a bit more at the casual conversation. “I cook a bit.” I shrug. “My mom loves cooking. She’s from Vietnam. Her adoptive parents were white, so she took up cooking as a means to reconnect with her culture.” Headlights from a passing car leak in through the curtains, highlighting Lennon’s wide green eyes. She leans forward slightly as if she’s listening with her entire body. “I like that.” I shake my head. “That my mom does that, I mean. At first, she practically forced me to help, claiming it would be important. Now, I actually enjoy it. My dad, on the other hand, can’t boil water.”
“What are your parents like?” she asks. “Aside from the cooking. Just…” She waves a hand. “In general.”
Lennon hugs her knees to her chest, resting her chin there. Her hair falls in a curtain around her shoulders and legs, making her look so at ease. I like her this way, and maybe that’s why I don’t mind offering up pieces of myself as the night creeps in from outside.
I don’t typically sit on my couch with women I’ve kissed and talk about my family. That’s a no-fly zone. I don’t invite them to my house, offer my couch, watch movies with them, prepare charcuterie boards, or let them use my lap as their own personal footrest either. But somehow with Lennon, it’s all different. It’s easy.
“A very standard parent situation,” I say. “Or maybe not so much, since my parents are still together and very much in love. I don’t think that’s the norm.” My chest tightens, and I clear my throat.
While working on my doctorate, I’d thought I had what my parents had. It felt like it, anyway. Alexis and I were engaged, en route to a happy marriage complete with kids, a dream home, my career–
When everything crumbled, I’d felt wholly inadequate–as if my incompetence contributed to our demise. I questioned my parent’s ability to stay in love–their effortless way of existing with one another. During different periods in my childhood, they’d leaned on one another. When my father lost his job, my mother stepped up. When my mother had been unhappy with hers, my father carried that burden.
It felt… right .
Being an only child, there were moments I’d felt alone. The idea of joining my life with another person, supporting one another, enjoying one another–it felt like a good existence. Maybe I romanticized it because that kind of life never found me, and Alexis had made sure to let me know it had been my fault.
But things with Alexis started to feel hard . I spent a lot of time guessing what she wanted or how she wanted me to behave.
I’m not thinking about those things with Lennon. If I piss her off, she’ll tell me. If I make her feel uncomfortable, I’m certain she’d let me know. She enjoys privacy but not secrecy.
I find myself wanting to tell her.
“My parents met in college during one of their freshman classes and have been in love ever since. My dad is a very stereotypical dad all the way down to the bad jokes.”
Lennon laughs, and I can feel the sound on my skin like a brand. “And your mom?” she asks.
I smile, my chest warming. “Well, she hated my fiancee, that’s for fucking sure.” I chuckle softly. “I’m afraid I have a very boring and generally unproblematic family. My impeccable sense of humor comes from other trauma.”
Lennon laughs again, softer than before, as she grabs another cherry. “You have a pretty good sense of humor, I suppose. The sheer fact that it goes beyond dick jokes is an accomplishment for the male species.”
I grin. “Don’t worry. I can also tell a superior dick joke. I’m a huge success in that regard.”
Lennon raises a brow, the temperature in the room rising slightly. “Are you?” she inquires.
Holding my gaze, her lips wrap around the cherry pinched between her thumb and finger. Now that I’m watching her, I note the way she gently bites the fruit in half. When she brings the fruit back to her mouth and sucks the pit, holding it between her teeth, my heart rate kicks up a notch. It’s overtly sexual–or maybe not. Maybe it’s all in my head, and the blood pumping faster and rushing to my cock is just my own desire awakening again.
When she discards the center of the cherry on the plate and eats the rest, my brain short circuits.
Holy fuck.
I wince, chastising myself for the way my thoughts shifted. “Um–” I think I was about to explain my parents’ college majors, but that seems irrelevant now. All I can think about is kissing her again–tasting the cherry on her lips and running my tongue along hers. The last time we kissed, she tasted like autumn, but I’m wondering if my lips touched hers now, I’d find only summertime. I would love to find out.
Lennon’s eyes widen, her pink mouth gently parts as she stares at me, tracking exactly where my gaze fixes.
But I’d like to be friends.
The biggest fucking lie I’ve ever allowed myself to believe. Apparently, I’d very much like to touch her–something that we’ve established is not happening.
I stand up abruptly. “Let me get you those blankets and go change. You can pick something out.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
I turn, quickly retreating to my bedroom and closing the door. I grab a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt from the closet, trying to reign my thoughts in before they get out of control. If she were anyone else, I’d do something about the way she was looking at me–but it’s Lennon . I need to keep reminding myself of that because, for some fucking reason, I forgot earlier.
I should have never put my mouth on hers. She’s too addicting.
I pull on my clothes and grab my phone, scrolling to a name–any name. I settle on Morgan from the Conference and quickly type out a text.
Me: Hey
God, do I even remember what conference she was from? I know I slept with her. I can picture her face just fine, but how long has it been? Eight months? Nine? I went on a date with her at some point that didn’t work out. It was probably around the time Griffin met Ellis.
Why the fuck am I texting her?
When I see the read receipt and no response, I sigh, feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet. I leave the bedroom and grab a flannel blanket from the hall closet.
I’m a mess.
“Here,” I say, handing the blanket to Lennon once I’m back in the living room. She has some movie pulled up on the TV. I don’t care to look at what it is, but I also can’t look at her again.
I check my phone–nothing.
Throwing myself onto the couch, I toss my phone on the ottoman and adjust the hood of my sweatshirt. If Lennon saw this fucking text message, what would she say?
I’m briefly brought back to the moment she thought I was sleeping with someone’s wife . That kind of judgment from her made my chest feel tight–like I didn’t want her to know how royally fucked I am when it comes to relationships, as if she doesn’t already know.
When I finally look at her, she wears a questioning look, and my stomach flips. Caught red-handed. Did she see the text?
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head and chuckles. “Nothing,” she says. “I’ve just never seen you in anything but dress pants.” Picking up the remote, Lennon turns on the movie, and I’m thankful for the welcome distraction from the raging hard-on I had ten minutes ago. I need to lose myself in another film full of jump scares and plot twists. I need to stop thinking about the woman in my house–in my head.
“I thought you slept in fancy sweater vests and slacks,” she quips while unfolding the flannel blanket I gave her and settling in. “Possibly a full suit.”
My mouth quirks up. “Hardly.”
Loud panting fills the room as the movie opens with a graphic sex scene that is not the escape I had in mind.
Jesus Christ.
“Shit,” I mutter, reaching for the remote and fumbling, frantically trying to make it stop. This is not what we need to be watching.
Lennon laughs when I finally get the movie to pause–a random ass fully displayed on the screen. “What?” she starts. “Are you afraid of a little sex, Noah?”
I grimace, leaning back into the couch.
“No.” Yes . I’m afraid of what she’s doing to me.
“They’re just going for shock factor. The movie has a plot. I read the description.” She’s smiling now, clearly amused at my weird reaction.
I’m an adult and need to act like an adult. I dissociate and let the scene play out, thankful that it ends rather quickly. As the night wears on, we get more comfortable. When Lennon goes to the restroom, I pause the movie, clean up our food, and return to the couch to prop my feet up on the ottoman.
She returns, sitting much closer than I thought she would, and uses the ottoman to sprawl out, too. Grabbing the flannel blanket, she extends it over both of us, slouching down into the cushions like she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
I’m suddenly aware of what we are doing.
I haven’t sat around with a woman in a long time, not since Alexis, and I can’t say that I’m upset about it. It’s nice having her here, her warmth seeping into me, her thigh resting against mine beneath the flannel blanket. My arm stretches out over the back of the couch, careful not to touch her until her eyes drift closed, and she shifts, leaning her head against my chest. It’s only then that I allow my hand to fall to her shoulder, pulling her in closer on instinct.
I tune back into the movie, tracking every place our bodies touch and listening to her rhythmic breathing as she falls asleep.
My thoughts about her body are under control, and I can’t help but think about how nice it is. I lean back against the cushions, sleep threatening to take me under as Lennon pushes closer, and I can’t help but soak up the contact.
My thumb strokes her shoulder on impulse, and I close my eyes.
Lennon and I are friends.
And I don’t mind that at all.
The alarm on my phone rouses me, and I wake up wrapped around a warm body on my couch. The couch in my home where I live.
Oh shit.
I slowly peel myself away from her, untangle our legs, and carefully grab my device from the ottoman to shut off the alarm.
Lennon stirs, and I freeze. How am I supposed to play this off? We didn’t have sex, but somehow, what we did feels like more.
Friendship . That’s what I was thinking before I fell asleep, but I’ve never woken up tangled with Griffin or Ryan.
Fuck .
I stand up, noting the new text message that came through from Morgan from the Conference , but I ignore it. I have class this morning and need to make sure I’m ready to leave by eight.
“Hey.” Lennon sits up, her arms stretching overhead and revealing a flash of skin that I don’t need to be seeing.
Act casual.
“Hey,” I say, tugging at the hood of my sweatshirt. “I have class this morning, and I’m going to make some coffee. You’re welcome to–” What am I even saying ? “Hang around, I guess. Do you take cream in your coffee?”
“Cream and sugar,” she says, a soft smile kissing her lips. “Thanks.”
Lennon stands and folds the flannel blanket we shared last night, tossing it over one side of the sectional. She’s not acknowledging anything. She’s not bringing up the kiss, talking about how we fell asleep. I’m starting to wonder what she’s thinking–what’s in her head.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, discomfort making my stomach churn.
“It’s no problem,” she answers. “I need to get going soon, anyway. I’ll have to call someone about the chimney situation. I don’t think the bats are so scary in the daytime.”
She’s so relaxed–so comfortable that I question my own sanity. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to her. She’s certainly acting like it meant nothing as she grabs her bag from by the door and digs in for a toothbrush and toothpaste.
It didn’t mean anything . She said that after I kissed her, and maybe she actually meant it.
“You think they’ll get out to look at the chimney today?” I ask.
If I’m being honest, Lennon didn’t do anything last night that would make me think she wanted more from me. She’s just here–hanging out–and despite my reaction, I still liked having her here last night.
“Probably not.” She stands. “It’s no big deal, though.” She smiles as I shove my hands into my sweatshirt pocket. “I’ll just close my bedroom door at night.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything.” I walk toward the kitchen, dragging my feet. “The chimney is off the table, but I’m sure I could help some more with the Inn.”
“No need,” she says, and I can’t help but question my disappointment at those two words. “Bonfire next weekend?”
I turn to look at her, offering a smile of my own. “Sure. I’ll be there.”