Chapter 18 Torin
Torin
It only takes a few minutes in the dark on Noah’s bed before I realize how dead tired I’ve been, too.
There’s something about his mattress that’s better than the one in my room, because it feels like I’m on a plush cloud from the moment I settle in.
I like being surrounded by the scent of him.
It’s always been confusing how much I enjoy the way Noah smells. Even when he’s dead set on being a pain in my ass, there’s always been that comforting, clean-laundry smell that seems to surround him like an aura.
I don’t plan on sleeping a wink, but I’m dozing in less than ten minutes.
It doesn’t last long.
I drift off easily, but I wake up probably only half an hour later, as Noah tosses and turns a few times under the sheets.
And then it happens again, soon after.
And then again.
It starts to feel like every twenty minutes I’m waking up to him moving around and changing positions in bed.
After the third or fourth time, I blink open my eyes and I see moonlight pooling on his face.
He’s wide awake, facing upward toward the ceiling with his eyes open.
“Quit moving around,” I mutter at him, still half-asleep.
He blinks as he looks over at me. “Shit. Did I wake you up?”
I push away the sheets and wrap my arm over his torso, getting in closer and closer until my chest settles onto his, and I’m draping myself over the top of him.
I look up to meet his eyes.
His expression seems softer right now, like he’s forgotten his usual mission of trying to look stern whenever I’m in his presence.
His cheeks have that porcelain look in the grey-blue light.
“You woke me up many times,” I say. “Do you always have trouble sleeping?”
“Not usually. Lately, though.”
“Mmm.”
I reach a hand up and stroke my fingers through his hair a few times, marveling at the way his eyes look somehow bluer in the pale moonlight, too.
I feel each rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.
“Did you actually miss me?” he says a minute later, gazing at me.
“I was surrounded by pictures of you. How the hell was I supposed to get you out of my mind?”
He furrows his brow. “What do you mean, surrounded by pictures of me?”
“The mansion is riddled with them. That one from last summer where you’re shirtless on the beach wearing a backwards hat? That was some serious spank bank fodder.”
“You were at the mansion?” he asks.
“Yeah. The prince was visiting. Your father didn’t mention it to you?”
Noah exhales, his eyelids fluttering shut for a moment. “Guess you’re the one my dad calls now when he hosts people. Lovely. Did he break out the caviar? Aged wine bottles? His collector gramophone?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Yes. All of those things, actually.”
“Why did he call you and not me?”
“Maybe because I’ve gone to all of the charity events in recent years—”
Noah suddenly reaches up and shoves me to one side, pushing my body off of his. “Fuck off.”
I prop myself up on one elbow and grab one of his wrists before he tries to shove me again. “You can’t act like you haven’t skipped 99 percent of the charity events he’s had for the past decade of your life. I’m not being a dick, it’s just the truth.”
“Well, you don’t need to analyze every part of my life,” he bites back.
“Noah.”
He pushes his hand against his face, covering his eyes. “Listen, I know I’m not good enough, okay? I know I never have been. But I’m trying. I’m starting to try. For the first time in my life.”
“Who said shit about you being not good enough?”
He looks at me again like it should be something obvious.
“Everyone, Torin. Everyone says that. Behind my back, or to my face, in the case of a couple of my siblings, and oh yeah, my stepbrother, too.”
I let the air settle between us for a moment.
Noah’s never expressed anything this raw before. Not to me, obviously, but probably not to anybody else either.
To me, Noah truly seemed to live for the party, until now.
Any party, anywhere. He was someone who actively chose to live that lifestyle, and sure as fuck didn’t seem like he had ambitions or cares otherwise.
“I can think of a few things you’re very good at, Noah,” I say, trying to defuse the situation. “Looking at my cock, craving my cock, literally fucking screaming at me to pound you harder with my cock…”
“Do you want to get punched right now?” He glares at me, but right now his attempt at malice looks more like sad puppy dog eyes.
I loosen my grip on his wrist. “If you look this good while you do it, maybe.”
He finally relaxes a little back onto his pillow, but he still seems wary and ready for a fight.
I let my grip drop away from his wrist but keep my palm on his skin, resting instead just below his collarbone.
He’s so warm.
Always so nice to touch.
“I already know I’m good in bed, by the way,” he finally says. “You don’t have a clue how good it really is. When I care about someone, I mean.”
“Now who’s the cocky one?”
I gently rub my palm along his chest, back and forth.
“I’ve been told I’m good in bed by so many women at this point that it’s more of a plain fact than it is bragging, Torin.”
I hum. “I get it. It’s how eager you are. And the way you take a dick, of course.”
“Haven’t exactly taken many dicks until I took yours. Which reminds me… I’m not into Bree, dude.”
I narrow my eyes. “Thought you used to be into her.”
“Used to. But lately I’m too preoccupied thinking about other things.”
“Like?”
He glares at me. “Men,” he says, then drops his voice to a low tone. “Obviously.”
“Damn. Are you about to have your bisexual summer of sluttiness?”
He looks down for a moment. “Apparently I’m only a slut for you.”
“You can’t say things like that when I already came.”
I drape one leg over his again underneath the sheets.
I use my knee to nudge up against his cock and he lets out a low hum before reaching down and clutching at my thigh.
“The point is I’m great at that stuff, but I’m terrible at everything else.”
“Is that why you can’t sleep at night lately?” I joke. “Worried you’re not good at anything?”
But he just nods, his eyes widening a little. “Yeah.”
A pang of regret floods me the moment I see how he responds. My hand freezes in place at the center of his chest, and I look over at the reflected moonlight on the wall rather than looking up at him.
Normally I’d tease Noah with absolutely zero regard, but there’s absolutely no bite in his tone when he responds to me, and…
Fuck.
This is stupid.
I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I can’t help but think I crossed a line just slightly too far, kicking him while he’s apparently much more down than I knew.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. When he doesn’t respond at first, I look up at him and he’s giving me a disbelieving glance. “What?”
“Nothing. Just never heard those words come out of your mouth before.”
I pull in a breath, brushing my hand over his chest again before I move to lie down on my back again, staring up at the ceiling.
The sides of our bodies are touching. The way his bare arm feels pressed up against mine makes me feel like I did when I was young and I first discovered I was attracted to other boys.
Every small touch, every accidental contact with other guys used to make me feel like I was finally getting some prize I was always searching for.
It’s been a long time since I felt anything like that.
“Well, I am sorry, so fucking accept it,” I tell him. “You can be good at anything you want to be, by the way.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“I’m not you, Torin.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I see him scrubbing his face with his palms. “You just… do everything. Sometimes it seems like you have a bottomless reservoir of energy and capability. You’ve always been that way.”
“Not always,” I tell him.
He peers over at me. “Really?”
I nod. “There was a time when I was lazy.”
“When you were still in the goddamn crib?”
I snort. “No. When I was a young teenager, right after my dad died.”
He props up in bed and looks over at me. “Your dad died?”
I pull in a long breath. “He did. When I was eleven.”
He’s silent for a moment.
“I always just thought your parents divorced.”
“Oh, they did. They divorced when I was tiny. But I still saw my dad on weekends sometimes, and he was like… a handyman Superman.”
Noah nods. “That must be where you get it from.”
“I think so, too,” I agree. “He had a heart attack. Ever since he passed, I realized that my life is only going to be what I make it. So I make it something fucking awesome.”
“I love that, Torin,” he murmurs.
I hum. “And there’s no reason you can’t do the same.”
He brings his lower lip into his mouth, chewing on it a bit in a way that’s way sexier than it should be.
“I still just don’t think I’m good at anything. Other than collecting old books and cameras, which isn’t a skill, per se.”
“Well, you make the best fucking cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”
He frowns as he looks at me. “You’re saying that’s my calling in life? Making cups of coffee at home?”
“Sure it is. If you let it be. You’re great at it, and you know everything about it. You talk about it to the other guys downstairs in the kitchen so much I want to blow my brains out most mornings, but that means you’re passionate about it.”
“I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or if I want to punch you again.”
I prop myself up on my elbow, looking down at him. “Starbucks only exists because some guy loved coffee and he knew he could sell it to the masses.”
Noah scrunches up his face. “No. Don’t tell me I have to drink Starbucks.”
“You’re such a snob. Starbucks is fucking delicious,” I tell him. “Let me bathe in that creamy cold foam and I’ll die happy.”
He laughs and the way it transforms his expression makes me feel like I’m winning.
“So what if I like coffee?”