6. Noaz
6
NOAZ
I may have gone shopping today to find something to wear for my date. Though I’ve been wishing and waiting for my future husband for ages, I’ve been shit at planning for the day I’d meet him. So here I am, caught unaware, with nothing to wear on a date.
There’s a constant war in my head as I debate whether this is a waste of my time. People say a lot, but when it comes down to it, they’re usually not who they appear to be. I’ve seen it all over the years. One man wanted me to pretend I was a girl—tuck my dick, wear a stuffed bra, shave my pits and legs all the time, talk with a higher-pitched voice. He wanted me to always be ‘ on, ’ as he put it.
He was also the man who loved it up the ass more than anyone I’ve ever been with. I stayed with him longer than was good for my mental health. He was good to me in private. He truly was. Everything about him was the sweetest.
Unless there was someone else around. Appearances meant everything. He was absolutely petrified that someone would find out I have a dick and call him gay.
There were more red flags there than I was willing to see or admit to.
Then there are the guys who want to jump into bed right away because they’re curious. They’re less curious when I’m shaped in the way they define as a man. Usually they leave then, but sometimes they still play for a while.
And there are men who think that they’re down with it, but when it comes time to get physical, they freak out and can’t handle it. I had one guy even try to tell me he’d ‘consider’ dating me if I promised I’d at least have top surgery in the near future. He just couldn’t live without boobs.
Yes, consider dating me. He was doing me a favor, apparently.
The best decision I ever made was to delete all the dating apps on my phone. The world was a disgusting place. I’m not discounting that some love stories happen through an online presence, but they didn’t for me. I only attracted creeps.
Briar doesn’t sound like anyone I’ve spoken to in the past. Everything out of his mouth made my knees weak.
But that’s the problem, right? So the guy is a smooth talker. That’s not necessarily the truth. I’m past the point in my life where I’m willing to date around. I’m far beyond the hookup scene. Now, I’m ready for my future.
Not many people in their young twenties are ready for that anymore. The world has shifted. People have different priorities. Which is fine. To each their own. But for me, I’m ready to settle down. I’m ready for a home and babies and a man to love me.
I stare at the three different options I bought this morning. Unfortunately, I’m not sure where we’re going, so it’s not easy to dress for such an occasion. I’m not sure which of these says, ‘ I want a husband—is that you ?’ without scaring him away .
What if he does want the same thing— eventually? How long is eventually? Am I willing to wait that long?
“Reel it in, Noaz,” I mutter. Talk about jumping the gun here.
Deciding I need a second opinion, I turn into the hallway and go looking for one of my nephews. The one who would be the least likely person to ask.
“Loren?” I call. I know he returned home this morning, I saw his car parked outside. “Get out of bed. I need your help.”
His bedroom door opens. Behind him, Oakley’s scrambling to hide under the blankets, and I hear him admonish Loren, who’s giving me an amusing look. “Yes?”
He’s at least wearing shorts, which is an improvement from when he was younger. It took my brother years to convince Loren that going outside naked was inappropriate and people would get offended by it. Loren’s response was simple—so? What’s the big deal?
Indeed, baby Loren.
“I need your opinion,” I tell him and head for my room, trusting he’ll follow.
He does. I lead him into the closet, where I’ve hung all three dresses. They’re each different in cut, color, and probably message. Problem is, I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.
“Which is a more appropriate dress for a first date?” I ask.
Loren looks at the dresses and then at me, perplexed. “You’re really asking me this question?”
I grin and shove him gently. “Yes. You think differently than everyone else in this house. This is my first date in a long time, and… I can’t decide how I feel. ”
He studies me for a minute and then looks at the dresses. “I’ve never been good at dress-up,” he mutters, frowning.
I laugh. “You’re not. I’ll happily dress myself.”
“You’re going out with Briar, right?”
“News travels fast.”
Loren shrugs one shoulder. “He’s Oakley’s best friend. That wasn’t going to remain a secret for long.”
“It wasn’t a secret, I guess. But yes. I don’t know where we’re going or what we’re doing. I don’t know much about him. Just how he makes me feel on the two brief occasions we’ve met. Help me choose a dress.”
“The short black one,” he says, tugging at the hem.
“Why?”
“Because you have the legs for it,” he explains, his eyes moving to my legs. “You’ll look good in this dress.”
That’s why I asked Loren. He’d choose solely based on the dress. Not how I’m feeling or what kind of message I might send by wearing it. His brain just doesn’t think like that.
“Thanks.”
Loren nods and continues to study me for a minute. “You’re staying home for a while?”
“Probably,” I admit.
“That’s good.”
“Is it?”
I half expect him to surprise me and say something sentimental or sweet, but he says, “You’re soft and we need some softness in the house. It feels… cold. ”
I’m not sure if that’s sweet or not. “Thanks?”
Loren shrugs. “Everyone’s more content since you got home,” he adds as he leaves the closet. “You have the same softness Mom did, but without all the gross that comes with it.”
“Oof,” I answer.
He looks at me with his eyebrows knit. “That was meant as a good thing.”
“I haven’t heard any of you associate anything good with your mother.”
“Ah,” he says and tilts his head. I half expect him to think of something good to say. “You offer femininity to the house. It’s soft and smells good. Clean. Comfortable. Mom created that between the moments she was being an asshole. Everyone settles a little more when you’re home. That’s all.”
I wrap my arms around him from the side and rest my head against his. “Okay, I’ll take that as a compliment. Thanks.”
Loren awkwardly pats my arm and I remember he doesn’t like to be touched, so I let him go. “Briar’s a nice guy,” he offers on his way out of my bedroom.
When he disappears down the hall, I shut the door and grin. Loren gives the best compliments because he doesn’t try to give them. That’s never his intent when he speaks. That part of him doesn’t function. Which means it’s more meaningful when he gives them.
His brain is fascinating. I ask him the type of things most people would ask their best friends when I can’t settle on something because he has a more analytical mind, so emotions are never factored into a decision. Sometimes that’s what a person needs.
On the other hand, asking him questions where emotions need to be taken into consideration is amusing because he doesn’t fully grasp what it feels like. He understands emotions just fine. He can define them for you like he’s a goddamn dictionary. But as someone who doesn’t experience a lot of emotions, he doesn’t fully comprehend how they affect someone.
His version of love is obsession. Possession. It’s a murderous kind of love. He would readily kill everyone on this street if they stood in his way. Hell, if Oakley asked it of him, he’d do it.
Hmm. I hope someone has cautioned Oakley on that kind of thing. Something he jokes about Loren will take seriously. Not even if it’s violent. Especially if it’s violent.
I shake my head. Not something to be concerned with right now. I’m confident Jalon has that under control, anyway.
I spend the next hour showering, cleaning myself to immaculate perfection, moisturizing, doing my makeup and hair, then dressing in the little black dress Loren chose. Once I have it on and am standing in front of the mirror, I decide he was definitely right. This is the perfect dress. I get half the credit for buying it today.
Then I’m pacing around my room, waiting for Briar. I could go downstairs and wait, but my nephews can be a bit of a teasing pain in the ass, and I don’t want to do that right now. I also don’t want to appear overly eager.
This is just a first date. There’s a good chance we want very different things. There’s an even better chance he’ll realize he’s not actually okay with a dick on his partner.
For as many outright assholes as there are in the world, there are also the people who think that they are good with it, and they try to be. They seriously try. But in the end, you like what you like. And if you’re not down with it, you can’t force it. It’s a miserable life for someone trying to force attraction.
It’s how you handle the situation that matters .
I’m broken out of my thoughts by a knock on my door. Looking at my watch, I find six o’clock has finally arrived. Taking a breath and smoothing down the front of my dress, I pull open the door.
Voss is smirking at me. “Your date is here. He looks rather dashing.”
I hesitate. Does that mean I need to change?
“You look beautiful, Uncle Noaz. Don’t overthink it.”
My shoulders relax. “Thanks,” I say and pat his cheek. With my cute little bag in hand, I pass him and head for the stairs.
The primary stairs end in the foyer after wrapping around the wall, completely open over intricately carved banisters, so I’m looking at Briar for most of my walk downstairs. His dark eyes remain locked on me, a sexy little smile on his handsome face.
He’s wearing black pants, a charcoal button-down shirt, and a black suit jacket, buttoned up. He does look dashing. Whatever that means.
Thankfully, my nephews aren’t all hanging around. Voss didn’t even follow me downstairs. So I’m left alone with Briar in the foyer.
He hands me a single flower—a five-petaled, blue-purple flower I’ve never seen before. There’s a cluster of five petals in the middle, too, bunched together like they’re a pillow surrounding the center.
“This is beautiful,” I say as I take it from him. The scent isn’t overwhelming; it’s light and floral. Unique.
“It’s a Chinese bellflower. They don’t have a long shelf life, but I was immediately drawn to it when I walked into the store,” Briar explains .
“Thank you.”
His hand covers mine where I’m holding the flower as he leans in to place a kiss on my cheek. I do not blush. At all. I swear.
“You’re absolutely stunning, Noaz. You take my breath away.”
Oh, my god. I may just fall at his feet. As it is, I can’t get out any words to answer him. I’m too busy trying to dry the moisture in my eyes so it doesn’t mess up my eyeliner.
“Ready?”
I nod.
With my flower in hand—which thankfully has one of those little tubes of water on the bottom of the stem—I let Briar lead me from the house, shutting the door behind me. He even drove across the street, so his car is close.
He’s a complete gentleman as he opens my door and guides me inside before shutting it. He can’t always be this sweet, can he?
But I’m wrong. As the night goes on, Briar is that sweet. Every little gesture. Everything he says. Every moment.
I’ve grown up knowing people aren’t what they appear to be. There are those who are good actors on the screen and then there are people who have made their entire life a show. Eventually, you may see cracks in their exterior.
But sometimes, you never do. Serial killers will spend their entire lives living two lives in two separate worlds. The world where they have a wife, a career, kids. Where they’re productive members of society, have a tight group of friends, and give to charity.
And then the world where they stalk, torture, rape, and murder their victims .
When the two lives intersect, each side is mystified the same person is running both.
It happens. That’s human nature. We put on a show to hide our true selves to get ahead in this world. To get what we want.
I’ve always found that to be far too exhausting. I’d rather be authentically me.
As someone who has made their adult lives all about taking bad people off the street, tearing off their fake exterior to expose the shit person they are underneath, I think I’ve seen just about every facade out there. I consider myself pretty good at seeing through them.
But does my heart want so badly for Briar to be genuine that I won’t let myself see the cracks? Am I so desperate for someone to love me that I’m projecting meaning onto his actions? Am I overlooking some major red flags just so I can have a chance at that love now?
We are driven around a light forest on a horse-drawn carriage. Then we snuggle in a big, puffy chair with blankets and pillows to watch a series of short movies and talk for hours. The night is not short of conversation.
It’s light, comfortable, and easy. I love everything I learn. I love the way he listens and engages when I talk. Somehow, I love everything about this man.
I’m wearing rose-colored glasses, aren’t I?
Briar keeps me out until eleven. When he brings me home, he kisses me on the front porch. A kiss that reaches my damn toes. His arm is gentle but secure around my waist as he holds me against him.
It’s not a short kiss, but it’s also not presumptuous. It has meaning behind it. Want without being pushy .
He asks me out for the next night right there. Before he even walks away and I nod, my heart in my throat.
I watch him from the door as he drives across the street, which makes us both laugh at how silly it is. He blows me a damn kiss and waits for me to go inside before he does.
I may be floating on cloud nine.
But clouds have no floors and I can’t help but wonder when they’re going to let me fall like rain. This was just far too good to be true.