Chapter Twenty-Six
AMIRA
D espite our best efforts to remain silent, Ella and I are comically loud as we clamber into the apartment. In my effort to avoid the inevitable, I dragged her out to dinner and drinks after my shift at the boutique and convinced her to stay out dancing until I was certain Noah would have gone to bed for the night. Guilt is a thousand tiny needles up my spine, reminding me I should have at least told him we were out. The door slams against the wall, keys clatter as I drop them onto the small table in the hall and Ella bumps into the wall. She slides to the floor, laughing at her own clumsiness.
“Shh.” I do my best to hush her, but fall into my own fit of laughter.
In the back of my mind, I’m aware we might wake Noah, and know we should at least try not to. But I wouldn’t be mad if he woke up. I don’t like the silent treatment we ended last night on, or how I spent the whole day avoiding him, and I want to make it up to him. Physically, at least.
I’ll never know where Noah and I would be if it weren’t for my family, but I need to not think about that. If getting a little tipsy at a nightclub taught me anything, it’s that I don’t want to come home to anyone other than Noah. Knowing he would be here when we got back was like knowing the sun is always going to rise when you’re feeling sad at three in the morning. A constant beacon of hope.
Hope that maybe I can have the future that always felt so out of reach. The one I never thought I wanted.
It still scares the shit out of me, but with Noah, maybe it’s worth the fear.
I shouldn’t be making decisions so late, especially not with the wine flowing through my veins. And I still agree with everything Cassidy said. But if this is the last night I get to spend with Noah in my bed, I want to make it count.
Ella bumps into every piece of furniture I own as she makes her way to the kitchen. Glasses clink together as she pours us each a glass of water, and the cupboard above the stove slams when she can’t find what she is looking for.
“Paracetamol?” she asks in a terrible stage whisper. Instead of sounding hushed, her voice comes out all deep and croaky.
I turn on the light to search the pantry, finding the small box of painkillers and passing it to her. When I stopped drinking, she started doing shots, and I have a feeling it’s going to be a rough morning when she wakes up.
“You need food,” I say softly as I drop slices of bread into the toaster. Waiting for it to pop, I grab the butter and Vegemite, and try to figure out what I’m going to say to Noah.
‘Sorry’ is probably a good place to start, but we need more than that. How the hell am I supposed to explain all of what I feel when I’m having a really hard time understanding it for myself? I go through the motions of making Ella toast, rattling off the facts I do know in my head.
One: Noah and I have an undeniable chemistry.
Two: he’s a little bit obsessed with me.
Three: I’m a little bit obsessed with him.
Four: if it weren’t for the fact I asked him to move in with me, we might never have ended up here.
And that right there is the crux of it all.
I drop my head to the counter, but as soon as my forehead hits the cool benchtop the toast pops. With a groan, I stand to butter the toast and add a thin layer of Vegemite. Taking the plate to Ella, I find her asleep on the couch. Her glass of water is half empty on the coffee table.
Instead of trying to move her, I drape the blanket we keep on the back of the couch over her legs. I fetch a bucket from the laundry cupboard and cover the toast with a plastic bowl. I’m not sure which she’ll need more in the morning, but at least they are both within easy reach. Not wanting to disturb her, I head to the bedroom. I’m still stuck on how Noah living here is making it near impossible to figure out what’s going on in my head though, so I’m thankful to find him sleeping almost as soundly as Ella.
I duck into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash off my makeup, and return to the bedroom to find Noah hasn’t moved at all. He’s curled up on my side of the bed, hugging my plush silk-covered pillow. The blankets are tangled around his bare legs, pulled only up to his waist. The soft glow of the lamp he left on forms deep shadows around the muscles in his back and arms and the sight makes my skin itch. Everything else aside, Noah is one attractive man, and I don’t know why it took me so long to appreciate that.
Yes, I thought he was good looking. And okay I kept the photo of him on my mirror all these years. But subjectively I can’t think of a time I ever just stopped to admire him. Maybe it’s because he can’t snap back when he’s sleeping. Or maybe it’s just because what I feel for him is more than just physical now.
Either way, I’m drawn to him like a moth to the bug zapper we keep on the balcony. Stripping down, I fish my pyjama top from the drawer and slip it over my head. In the dim light I can’t find the matching shorts, so skip them and hop into bed wearing only my lacy panties and the thin-strapped tank. His side of the bed is cool, and looking up at my room feels suspiciously odd from over here. I used to sleep in the middle of the bed; funny how only a few months can change my whole perspective of something as unchanging as my bedroom. Even through closed eyes, everything feels a little weird. Hoping it’s just because the light is still on, I roll towards Noah and reach over him to turn it off.
“Hey, Cupcake.” Noah’s voice is full of sleep, all dreamy and a little slurred, but he grabs my arm and pulls it into his chest. “I missed you.”
I missed him too. Being out without him was so normal yet so lonely, even though Ella barely left my side. I don’t say it though. I’m too fearful of opening the box I’ve tried to keep everything locked in. The problem is, with every attempt to tighten the lock, the more the box starts to fall apart. Instead, I tuck myself into Noah’s back. “Goodnight, Noah.”
He shifts against me, and I shift against him. Neither of us comfortable. Both of us knowing there is so much unsaid between us.
“Hey Noah,” I whisper, hoping he is still awake. “Can we switch sides?”
Letting out a heavy but pleasant sigh, Noah rolls his neck to face me. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I move to my back, and he gets my meaning, kicking his legs free of the blanket and moving to roll over me. I hold my breath as his body brushes against mine but can’t help myself from sucking in a gasp when he settles over me. He holds his weight above my body, but through the thin layers of fabric between us his firm length grazes against my core.
Men wake up with erections all the time. That’s all this is. Right?
I’m trying to convince myself, but I doubt a man has ever been this hard when he wakes. It would have to be one hell of a dream.
“Noah?”
“Yeah, Cupcake?” He hasn’t made any move to roll off, still hovering over me with his dick nestled between my legs. And as if to answer my unspoken question, he rocks his hips to rub his cock over my clit.
I shudder at the brief touch, instantly craving more. Fuck , this is why living together, sharing a bed, is making things so difficult. Just when I think I know the answer, just when I think I might know what I need, we come together in such infatuating and lustrous ways. Screw talking to him about what we are and what we could be, I just want to screw him.
One last time, at least.
Biting my lip, I wriggle my hands up between us and wrap them around his neck. “Noah?”
“I’m right here, Cupcake.”
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Me too.” The light is dim, but in the shadows I see him close his eyes before he drops his forehead to meet mine. “I think I know what we need.”
My breath begins to shake, and when I speak my voice is barely a whimper. “What do we need?”
He sighs, shaking his head against mine. “If any of this is going to be real, none of it can be fake. As long as it is, you’ll never know which parts are which.”
I know what he is saying. I love how he came to the same conclusion I did, even if hearing him say it cracks my chest in two.
“I know,” I whisper, bringing a hand to his cheek. I find it damp with tears that match those beginning to spill from my eyes. “Can we forget about it? For tonight?”