Chapter 15 Noelle
FIFTEEN
NOELLE
Once. I had sex once with Brooks.
But the kiss Matt just gave me surpasses the sex with Brooks by a mile. Whatever just happened with Matt feels like a completely different sport. Like I’ve been playing backyard catch my whole life and suddenly someone dropped me into the Super Bowl under the lights.
My lips tingle. My lungs forget how to pump air. I’m still standing in the hotel room, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, when I realize I’ve stopped breathing.
“Breathe, Butterfly,” Matt rasps, his forehead resting against mine. His chest moves hard against my hands, so at least I’m not the only one sucking air like I just ran suicide drills in the gym.
“I am,” I whisper. “I think.”
His eyes search mine, soft yet regretful. My heart plummets because I know that look. I’ve seen it on Brooks after every apology, every “it won’t happen again,” every time he decided I was too much or not enough.
But Matt doesn’t look disgusted. He looks… wrecked. And like he’s choosing his words cautiously.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says hoarsely.
My stomach drops. “Oh.”
He squeezes his eyes shut like the words hurt him too.
“That’s not what I mean.” His hands slide down to my shoulders, thumbs brushing my collarbones like he’s memorizing the shape there.
“I mean I shouldn’t have lost my temper first. I didn’t want the first time I really kissed you to be because I was jealous and acting like a Neanderthal. ”
First time. Really kissed you.
My brain zeroes in on those words like a reader annotates a book.
“So, you’ve been planning on really kissing me?” I ask, voice shaky but trying so hard to be my usual snarky self. “Are you ahead of or behind in your kiss schedule?”
His mouth curves, barely. “Smartass.”
He starts to step back, but everything in me goes tight. I tighten my hold on his shirt so he can’t go anywhere without me. “Don’t,” I say, more desperate than I want to sound. “Please don’t pull away and pretend this didn’t just happen.”
His gaze snaps back to mine. Something fierce flashes there. “You think I could pretend that kiss didn’t happen?” he asks, low. “You think I haven’t been trying not to imagine it for months?”
Oh.
Months?
My heart stutters. I feel the floor tilt just a little. “Then why do you look like you’re about to put yourself in timeout?”
“Because I’m me and you’re you,” he says, almost helplessly. “Because your dad threatened to skin my ass, your brothers have access to an entire professional weight room, I’m fourteen years older than you, and we’re supposed to be faking this.”
He gestures between us like there’s something visible hanging in the air. There is. It’s called everything.
“I know all of that,” I say quietly. “It doesn’t change the connection between us.
It’s been there for a long time, for me anyway.
” My lids fall as I gather the courage to come clean.
“I’ve had a crush on you since the day we met at J.D.
’s house. But who did I lean on every time Brooks ignored me, cheated on me, or flirted with women when I was right there?
You. You’re the one I felt safe with. I mean, I never thought… ”
“I’m glad you feel safe with me, but this is wrong.”
Gazing into his eyes, I pull on his shirt, wanting him to listen, and say, “This is right. Maybe not forever. But now it’s right.”
Silence hums between us, thick and electric. The air conditioner kicks on, sending a cool breeze over my overheated skin. I suddenly realize how close we are—his hands still on me, my palms still pressed to the hard planes of his chest, like my body decided this is home without asking my brain.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice threaded with something raw. “And I will. Right now.”
I should. But I’m a Texas girl and we don’t admit our mistakes, at least not quickly.
This is complicated and messy and probably a terrible idea.
We’re in a hotel room in another city because I dragged him into my drama.
We’re fake dating to teach my ex a lesson.
My family barely agreed to this arrangement.
But here we stand, Matt breathing me in like I’m oxygen.
I feel… seen. Wanted. Like maybe I’m not the girl everyone gossips about behind her back.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I admit, throat tight. “Not tonight.”
His jaw flexes. I watch the battle play out in his eyes—loyalty to my brother versus desire, logic versus whatever this is. Finally, he exhales sharply, like he’s making peace with losing.
“Just tonight. Just once,” he murmurs.
“Are you only good one time?” The joke catches between a wispy breath and a laugh as I think about that Toby Keith song my dad used to mumble around the house.
He shakes his head and steps forward, backing me up until the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed. The room shrinks, and the only thing I feel is his hands sliding up my arms, fingers tracing over the curve of my shoulders, up my neck, cupping my face again.
“This, okay?” he asks.
I nod, unable to look anywhere but at his mouth, practically melting at being touched like I matter. “Yeah.”
He kisses me again, slower this time. Not frantic, not messy. Just...deep. Measured. Like he’s tasting each second. I lean into him because standing on my own isn’t possible.
His lips move against mine with a certainty that he’s right where he wants to be. A surety I’ve never felt before. Brooks always kissed like he was doing me a favor on the way to something else. Matt kisses like the kiss is the point. Like it’s enough. Like I’m worth the time.
A soft sound escapes my throat—half sigh, half something more—and his hands drift back into my hair, cradling the nape of my neck as if I’m something precious. My whole body hums.
We stumble backward together, his knees hitting the mattress next. He sits and pulls me with him, and suddenly I’m straddling his lap, knees sinking into the bed on either side of his hips. I freeze.
“Is this okay?” I ask, cheeks burning. I’ve never...sat like this with anyone.
His hands immediately settle at my hips, big and warm and steady. He rubs his thumb in a slow circle on the side of my waist. “If you were any more okay,” he says gently, “I’d be dead. You can move if you want. Or not. You’re in control, Noelle.”
I swallow, my heart beating a furious tattoo against my ribs. I am not used to being told I’m in control. I’m used to Brooks just taking. Not giving. I didn’t know this existed.
I rock the tiniest bit, just to see what happens. Matt’s breath hitches, his finger pads pressing on my hips—not saying stop, just letting me know he feels it.
My hands skate over his shoulders. The fabric of his shirt is soft under my palms, stretched tight over muscle. I want to feel his skin. My stomach swoops, but I don’t back away from it.
“Can I...?” I tug lightly at the hem of his shirt.
His eyes flame hotter. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You can.”
I grab the bottom of his shirt in both hands, and he lifts his arms, helping me drag it up over his head and throwing it onto the other bed.
The sight of him bare-chested knocks the air out of me.
I’ve seen him at practices in a T-shirt, sweaty and irritated and all-business.
But now my focus is on his body, not the entirety of him.
His body is like a piece of art, telling his story in pictures inked over one side of his upper body.
There are scars—small ones, a few jagged, one longer near his side. I drag my fingers along it without thinking.
“What’s this from?” I whisper.
His jaw ticks, but his voice stays even. “Old surgery.”
I file that away for later because I can hear there’s more to it, but tonight isn’t the night to dig. Tonight is not about his past. It’s about whatever we’re creating right now, one breath at a time. He grabs my hand gently and moves it to his chest.
“You look...” I search for the right word. Not hot, even though he is. Not handsome, though that too. “Solid, like one of those guardian statues they put at the gate of a grand estate. Only with better abs.”
He chuckles, low and a little disbelieving. “That’s a new one.”
Has he been with lots of women? Of course, look at him.
My hands skim down his chest, there’s a dusting of hair there, and then around to his back. His skin is warm, alive under my palms, muscles flexing when I grip him a little tighter.
He lets his head fall back for a second, eyes closing like he’s trying not to explode. When he looks back at me, his gaze darkens.
“Your turn,” he says softly.
My heart slams into my throat. “My turn for what?”
His fingers toy with the hem of my shirt now, barely grazing the sensitive skin at my waist. It sends a shiver arrowing up my spine. “I want to see you. But only if you want that too.”
Brooks never asked if I wanted anything. It was always assumed that whatever was happening to my body was for the guy. That my job was to be pliant, quiet, and grateful.
I lick my lips and nod. “Like, naked?” He’s seen me in bathing suits and skimpy cheer outfits, but this...butt-naked with my brother’s best friend. It's a whole other level of nerves popping inside me.
“As much as you want me to see.” His eyes soften with something that makes my chest ache. Reverence. That’s the only word I can come up with.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he says, voice calm even though I can feel his pulse racing where my hands rest. “Arms up.”
I lift my arms, and he peels my shirt off slowly, like I’m the most beautiful present under the Christmas tree. The one with the glittery gold bow with tails you pull to unwrap. Cool air hits my heated skin, and I shiver, hyperaware that I’m sitting on his lap in just my skirt and bra now.
He doesn’t lunge. He doesn’t grab. He just looks. His gaze travels over me, careful and thorough, like he’s memorizing every inch.
“Damn, Noelle,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “You’re beautiful.”