14. Fourteen
Fourteen
Noah
S weat drips down my back when I finally return the saw and sander to the barn by Lennon’s house. Somehow, the late-afternoon sun beats down on me, making everything unbearably hot. Tall trees surround the bed-and-breakfast, but the treeline sits far enough away that it does nothing to shade the porch or the yard between the house and the barn.
At a balmy seventy degrees, the temperature isn’t actually unpleasant. I think I’ve just been working too hard–trying to expel some of the energy I still can’t seem to shake. Sleeping with Lennon should have left me sated and ready to move on. In fact, that had been the offer. Sleep together. Move on.
So, when we’d finally crawled out of bed, I set to fixing the porch with renewed fervor if only to keep myself from crawling to her, begging her for one more taste.
Sex with Lennon is–
Over. It’s not happening again, and everything about that arrangement is pissing me off. I’ve been cutting wood, nailing boards in place, sanding the porch down, sealing everything appropriately. It doesn’t matter how much manual labor I do, I can’t seem to stop thinking about every harsh breath–every sound I pulled from between those plump lips.
It certainly wasn’t enough. I’ve had plenty of sex–nothing like that.
The screen door of the house bangs shut when I get back to the porch, eyes catching Lennon’s where she stands at the top of the steps, her arms folded across her chest. A chest I’ve seen fully.
Fucking hell.
“It looks good,” she says, glancing around the porch before testing the railing with her hand. “Sturdy.”
I pull the hem of my t-shirt up to wipe the sweat from my face, noting the way Lennon’s gaze lingers when I’m done. I’m not sure how to navigate this situation. It feels like I should be free to touch her–kiss her–but again, she was very clear about her intentions.
It was just once.
We were just letting off some steam.
I wipe my hands on my jeans. “How long until this house becomes an actual Inn. Or bed-and-breakfast. I’m not sure I know the difference.”
Lennon smiles, leaning against the railing with one foot crossed over the other. “There’s a lot of paperwork involved–quite a bit for me to figure out. It’s proving to be somewhat of a–” Her face scrunches. “A learning curve. My hope is next summer, but who knows. I’m holding my job at the pediatric office until then.”
I tilt my head to the side, noting how much I still don’t know about her. “You work in a pediatric office?”
“Yeah.” Lennon clears her throat as if she’s about to say more, but nothing comes out of her mouth.
“Well,” I start. “What do you do there?”
She tugs at a strand of her hair, inspecting the ends. If someone were to watch us, they’d have no idea I had her grinding on my face, my tongue sliding over her clit just hours ago.
“I work the front desk,” she says. “It’s nothing crazy, but it pays well, and I have benefits, I guess. That’s just another thing I’ll have to figure out with the bed-and-breakfast.” One side of her mouth turns up. “It’s not technically an inn since I don’t offer a full-blown tavern experience or whatever. The terms are pretty loose, though. At least they are to me.”
“You’re planning on quitting the job at the pediatric office?”
“Yeah. It served its purpose. Got me this house, but it’s not something I want to do long term.” She’s looking at me now, still leaning against the railing as the sun peeks out to cast her hair in soft light–a true golden hour. “My sister’s a doctor, you know?”
“No,” I say, holding her gaze. “No, I didn’t.”
“That’s why my father thinks this whole thing is idiotic. Why would I choose to go into hospitality when my older sister went through med school and made something of herself? We have a pretty big age gap. She’s thirty-five.”
I chuckle. “I’m thirty-two.”
Her eyes sparkle as her brows raise. “Geriatric.”
Despite her joke, I can tell there’s hurt there–not about the age thing, but about her family. I can’t imagine how that would feel to have that kind of lack of support. All my parents ever did was provide support. My mom, especially. And even though Lennon seems to be good at hiding her emotions behind a mask, there’s still a thread of sadness there.
Last winter, she’d been gone visiting her family. It’s why Ellis hired Griffin, anyway. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have family close by, so I assume she’s alone in this–being critiqued from a distance.
All the more reason for me to help out.
A few hours ago, I didn’t know shit about fixing a porch, and here I am, trying to make the girl who called me an asshat a little less sad.
“Doctorate programs are fucking stupid, anyway. Most of us are in debt, we can’t seem to get the stick out of our collective ass, and we firmly believe we are better than everyone else. Doctors are absolute dicks. My piece of paper is impressive, but this,” I gesture to the house as a whole. “This is fun . It’s difficult . It takes dedication and hard work to pull something like this off, Lennon. It says a lot about you, but we’ve had some of this conversation before when you were at my house.”
She shifts on her feet, uncrossing and then crossing her arms again like I’ve made her uncomfortable. Maybe I overstepped.
“Do you want to come inside?” she asks. “For some food. I’m sure you’re starving.”
I glance at the last bit of tools still sprawled out over the deck, deciding that the painting piece can happen later. I have a night class in three hours, but I’m sure I have time to eat. “Sure,” I answer, a small smirk forming on my lips.
I stride up the steps, stopping next to her and turning to face her fully. Her eyes flick to my lips–just briefly–and I wonder if she’s thinking of the way I felt inside her. I can’t seem to stop thinking about it myself. “You’re the only one aside from my family that knows about my failed engagement,” I admit.
I’m not sure if it’s to make her feel more comfortable, or maybe I’m offering a piece of myself in exchange for the piece of her she just gave me.
Lennon scoffs. “I find that hard to believe. I’m sure your friends–”
I raise a brow. “Don’t talk to me anymore?” I interrupt. “The friend group I had was all tied up with Alexis. I lost a lot leaving that relationship. I hope she and Hayes are as happy as they deserve.”
She fake-gasps, clutching at her heart. “You actually said his name. I thought it was an unspoken rule that we weren’t speaking it. Like Voldemort or whatever.”
I can’t help but crack a smile. “We can nickname him Voldemort if you like. Unless you have another recommendation. You seem to know him better.”
“I didn’t sleep with him,” she says like a confession, and my smile falls. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
My smile dropped. “I didn’t say you did?” There’s a question in my tone–the words layered more than I care to admit. I was curious, but I wasn’t making any assumptions. I sure as hell am not one to talk.
She’s staring at me, and somehow, talking about sleeping with people is the furthest from what we should be doing–especially after what happened earlier. I’m not sure how to broach the subject.
“So,” I start, dragging out the word. “How are we–” I pause. “Are we acknowledging that–” I’m not sure how to phrase it. “What am I allowed to say about earlier? It was just once, but can I make jokes? Are we talking about it? Are we pretending it never happened?”
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she says, her voice lower, her expression blank.
I smirk despite the unsettling feeling in my gut. I want to talk about it. I want to acknowledge it. And worst of all, I want to do it again. “So, I’m your dirty secret, am I?”
She looks away, and I swear her cheeks flush. “Dirty, yes. Secret, no.”
God . What is she thinking, and why the fuck does it matter so much?
“Do you want me to order food?” I ask, changing the subject before I say something we’ll both regret. “I’m happy to pay for it, but I’ll have to leave soon after.”
Lennon huffs a laugh, looking incredulous. “You just fixed my entire porch. I’ll pay for your fucking meal, Noah.”
Rolling her eyes, she pushes off the railing and walks to the door.
Trailing behind her, I rush to catch up, grabbing the handle before she can open it.
Lennon stands in front of me, her eyes wide as I breathe her in. Standing this close sets my skin buzzing like a livewire, my desire potent as I cage her against the door. I want to kiss her again. I want to feel the heat of her skin on mine. I want–
“I’ll buy it,” I assert, crowding her space and watching as her mouth parts. She pulls in rapid breaths, her chest rising and falling with each drag of air.
Lennon’s eyes flick to my lips briefly, and all I can taste is her.
I know how it feels to be on the other end of this thing that we’ve started–wanting simplicity. Admitting that I enjoy spending time with her or showing too much interest may scare her off–though I find it hard to believe Lennon is scared of anything.
She is just now letting me in–letting me see her and who she is. I’m clinging to the revelations about her family like a lifeline-too afraid to kiss her again.
I clear my throat, unclasping my hand from the door handle and stepping back.
“Just let me know what you want,” I say before pulling my phone from my pocket.
The words feel loaded–and maybe they are. If she asked me to kiss her right now, I would. If she asked anything about Alexis–about my brief spiral thereafter, I may just tell her.
Lennon has me in the palm of her hand, and I don’t think she even realizes it.
“I’ll order whatever you want,” I finally say. “I’m not picky.”