25. Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
Lennon
W alking back through the hallway that leads to the kitchen, I stop to note the different pictures on the wall. Family photos of Noah and his parents, other people I don’t know.
For a moment, I wonder if I’ll see Alexis in one of the pictures, but I imagine his parents wouldn’t do that. From what Noah told me, his family didn’t even like her much. I’d assume cheating on him earned her the privilege of having all photos of her burned out back in a massive bonfire.
Loud singing echoes through the hall, and I continue on, entering the kitchen to find Noah holding a spoon in front of his face like a microphone and singing loudly with his mother. It’s some old school rock song I’m unfamiliar with. But even if I knew it, I’m afraid Noah’s singing is so bad the tune would be unidentifiable.
Noah spots me, rounding the kitchen island and grabbing my hand. “Dance with me,” he says, before spinning me once. I laugh, humoring him.
When I’m facing him again, he has a wide smile plastered to his face. “You are actually terrible,” I say.
“At dancing?” he questions.
I chuckle. “I was referring to the singing. Jury is still out on the dancing.”
He kisses me on the cheek, and my face warms, knowing full well that his parents are right there watching. The affection feels easy–simple. But most of all, it feels like a relationship that Noah and I aren’t in.
I clear my throat, looking down toward my black boots.
His mom tosses a spoon in the sink before spinning. “Food’s ready,” she announces.
My stomach twists in knots. It’s not that I’m upset: it’s that it feels so natural– like something I could want. I have had on and off again relationships, a few dates here and there since I graduated, but nothing serious.
Whatever I have with Noah feels like the most serious thing I’ve had since high school.
And the unfortunate fact is that it’s not even a thing to begin with.
I currently have four children and have taken on the role of soccer mom in the most literal sense of the word.
The good news is that I don’t actually have to feed these fake kids.
The bad news is I’m pretty sure I lost one of the dumb fucking pink rods on the floor because it’s so difficult to get them into the mini car that I’m moving around the game board.
My fifth child gets added to the lot.
“I think I’m at capacity with the number of things I can keep alive at this point.” I wait for Noah’s mom to take her turn.
Noah grins in my direction, his hand slipping beneath the dining room table and squeezing my thigh just below the hem of my skirt.
His mom chuckles. “Noah always talked about wanting children,” she starts. “Is that something you want outside of board games?” My stomach churns.
Sure, I’ve thought about kids. It’s not like I hated having Ellis’s niece at the house, but the conversation feels– intense .
“Mom,” he says, the smile falling from his face. For what it’s worth, Noah looks as panicked as I feel. I just imagined the first time we had this conversation, we’d be having it in private.
Had I imagined this conversation?
He clears his throat, withdrawing his hand from its comfortable spot on my leg. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says without making eye contact.
His mom ignores him, looking at me expectantly. “I–” Shifting in my seat, I can feel my face heating. “I do, eventually. I’m working on the bed-and-breakfast though–getting the business up and started, but someday.” Offering a small smile, I glance at my game piece on the board. “Maybe not a whole van full, but–”
“And what about marriage?” she presses. His mom looks down, moving her own car over spaces and treating this like some sort of casual conversation–like we’re not talking about the future and marriage and kids.
“Mom!” He stands, holding his hand out to me, and I take it. “Will you excuse us for a moment?”
“Sure, sweetie.” His mom smiles as if she didn’t just ask her son’s female friend that he frequently sleeps with if she wants marriage and kids.
Noah pulls me down the hallway and up the stairs, opening the door to one of the rooms and ushering me inside.
There’s a shelf littered with soccer trophies above the full-sized bed, a hideous blue color smeared on the walls, and a bookshelf riddled with unholy amounts of middle-grade fiction. I’m surprised the thing hasn’t collapsed at the weight of it.
My face is hot, but I reach for the joke anyway. It’s far more comfortable than talking about anything real. “Quite scandalous,” I quip. “What are they going to think we are doing up here?”
“Probably making one of your many children,” he says, and I frown.
Noah’s smirk falls in response. “Look,” he says, stepping closer. “I’m sorry about that. I told her you were here as a friend, but I don’t know if she was listening. Or maybe she’s just confused. I don’t really bring women home, so they’re probably misinterpreting what’s happening between us. I don’t want my mom to freak you out, and family is important to her. I just–”
“What–” I tilt my head to the side, starting again. “What is happening between us?” I ask, my voice quieter than I’d like. I sound small–insecure.
And maybe I am. Before the last ten minutes, we’d had a great time dancing in the kitchen, eating ridiculous amounts of food, and chatting. I felt comfortable. Noah’s been free with affection, stealing a kiss on the cheek or grabbing my hand under the table during dinner. Maybe his mom has a right to be confused. I sure am.
“We’re friends,” he says, and it feels like a knife to the stomach.
“Yeah,” I say, somewhat irritated and trying my best to hide it. “We established that.” I clear my throat, smoothing my hands over my skirt. “We are friends who aren’t allowed to go on dates with other people, apparently.”
Noah pauses. He’s standing a mere three feet away from me, but he feels so much farther. “I never said you weren’t allowed. I just didn’t enjoy seeing it.”
The irritation breaks through. I’m helpless to stop it. “Noah,” I say, “you showed up and practically scared the last guy off. In fact, that’s the second date of mine you’ve ruined. You started talking about sex.” I’m talking with my hands, becoming more pissed off the more I speak. “Which we have had, by the way. Multiple times. Too many times to count as friends. You said a lot of things at the furniture store that led me to believe none of the things you’re saying right now align with your true feelings.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he says, blowing out a breath. Noah steps closer. “Listen, I know you aren’t looking for any kind of relationship with me.”
My heart is pounding in my ears–so loud I’m afraid he might hear it from where he’s standing. “I never said that,” I say–admit. There’s no sense in lying at this point. I’m in too deep, anyway. It’s about time we started talking about it–about time I stop ignoring the very obvious feelings I have for him.
Fucking hell .
“I–” I can’t get the words out. “I just mean, I know how you operate. I wouldn’t ask for–”
Noah’s brow furrows, and he looks offended. “How I operate?”
I huff a laugh, trying to ease some of the tension. “You’re not interested in a relationship, Noah. You went on about why you bought a one-bedroom house. About as subtle as a gun, really. I’m just–I don’t really know what I’m doing with you.” Falling, probably. “And yeah. I do want children, I guess. Someday down the line, I’d like a lot of things, but with this,” I gesture to him. “I suppose I’m just along for the ride. Going along with however you want to do things because I can’t seem to stop spending time with you, and I want you, but that’s not an option.”
“You want me?”
I can’t say it again. I’m usually so confident–not thinking about the consequences. Noah rejected me once. He refused to kiss me, but somehow, if he rejects me now, it feels like it’ll actually mean something. It will cut deep, and I’m not sure I’ll know how to stop the bleeding. “I–” My voice sounds quiet as the words get stuck in my throat.
Noah steps forward, placing his hands on my shoulders. His eyes are intense as he speaks. “I’m not operating in any kind of way. This isn’t how I do things at all.”
“What does that even mean?”
One hand comes up to cup my cheek as he leans in slowly, testing before he makes a move. I don’t back away, and his lips gently brush against mine before I sink into him.
His hands thread through my hair as he deepens the kiss, adding pressure until my entire body feels hot.
When he pulls away, his lips hovering just above mine, he whispers, “I don’t want you going out with other guys.” It sounds like a confession. “I want you all to myself.”
“As a friend.”
His forehead presses against mine. “I don’t know.” When his voice drops, I fight the urge to lean into him. “I mean, I do know. I just don’t want to spook you. I’m fine being friends if that’s what you want.”
One corner of my mouth turns up, my heart still pounding. “If we’re just friends, our friendship sure has a unique quality to it.” I chuckle. “I don’t really act like this with Ellis or Cass.”
Noah’s laugh is low–pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. “So, you’re telling me I’m special?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say.
Silence stretches between us for a brief moment, and I can almost hear the way his thoughts are spinning. I hope– God do I hope –that whatever he says next won’t absolutely wreck me.
“What if–” he starts, sounding somewhat off balance. “What if we tried this for real, then? A relationship. Low pressure.”
My hand tightens on his sweater as I pull him closer. “I think I’d like that.”
“Yeah?” He sounds hopeful.
I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his jaw, and move downward to his neck. Heat washes over me at his nearness.
Slowly, I lower myself to my knees, staring up at him and noting the way his breaths have quickened, his mouth parted and hungry.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I trail my hands up his thighs, my fingers finding the button to his pants.
I smirk. “Establishing that we aren’t friends.”
Noah groans, and I release the button before dragging his zipper down slowly. I pull his briefs down, revealing his cock and stroking it with my hand. Once, twice–
Noah hisses. “Lennon, we’re literally in my childhood room.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “You win all those soccer trophies?”
The blue walls surround us, not a single item out of place aside from the books thrown on the shelf. It’s so Noah . The trophies lining the shelf give me a glimpse into his past along with the photo of a young Noah in a soccer uniform, smiling widely for the the camera.
I look away.
His hips thrust forward, urging me to keep stroking him with my hand. “Yeah,” he grinds out, and I can already feel the wetness gathering between my thighs.
I lick my lips, loving the way he’s slowly unraveling, losing control in the palm of my hand. My chest swells with the thought of doing this with him–surrounding myself with all the pieces of his history until I can make up for all the moments I haven’t gotten to be in his presence.
Past, present, and future, I’m sure of one thing, I like him–so much.
When my mouth parts around his hardened flesh, stretching to accommodate his size, he groans again, and I can feel the sound everywhere.
Noah’s hands are in my hair, gentle and guiding as I move, adding pressure with my tongue with every drag of his cock.
I glide my hand over him in time with my mouth, looking up as he stares at me, his hand tightening in my hair.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, and I hum my approval. “ Shit. ”
I work him until he’s panting, thrusting, and practically begging for release.
When I feel the warmth fill my mouth, I swallow it down greedily before standing and brushing my thumb over my lips.
“Noah?”
His dad’s voice echoes from the hallway, and I quickly step away, laughing.
“We better go back down there,” I say.
Noah presses a bruising kiss to my lips. “Come over tonight,” he says. “I want to return the favor.”
I smirk, straightening my hair before opening his bedroom door. “Sure. But only if you’re willing to change the lightbulb in the kitchen for me.”