Chapter 10
Ten
NOELLE
O ver the next couple of months, Bear and I find a rhythm. After he’s done working, he goes home to shower and change, and I meet him at the shelter when I’m done. We take Panzer to the dog park, go somewhere to eat, or go to one of the local hiking trails outside town and walk together and talk.
The more I get to know Bear, the more I appreciate the man he is. He's considerate, thoughtful, and sweet. He has a very dry, subtle sense of humor, and is quite articulate and intelligent.
On Fridays, he joins me and my crew for Trivia night, and with his added voice, we win several times.
We aren't alone in private together—which is hard for me. I crave him. It's honestly a little scary how much I want him. Every minute I’m around him, I'm hyperaware of his presence. His warmth. his strength. We hold hands a lot, but that's about as far as it goes, physically. He never pushes. Never seems impatient.
I dream of him. Naughty dreams—kissing him. His hands on me. His mouth.
Frustratingly, though, the dreams never go beyond that—I wake up horny, overheated, and impatient.
And I can't bring myself to bring myself the release I need—it feels wrong to go there without him, even in the privacy of my mind.
I'm not sure what the female version of blue balls is, but I have it. Badly.
Ugh.
I find myself wondering if he thinks of me like that—if he wants me as badly as I want him.
I catch him looking at me a lot—I feel his eyes on me.
Part of me wants him to just grab me and kiss me and not stop. Push me past my hangup. But he's respecting the boundaries I've set.
What a pickle.
When is it enough? How long do I wait?
Around two months after the cookout at my parents, I meet Raina for lunch.
Of my friend group, Raina is the most like me. Raised conservative and religious—her Muslim to my Christian—despite our differences in orthodoxy, we share a lot in common. She, too, left the faith to a degree; like me, she hasn’t completely abandoned her beliefs, she just doesn’t adhere to the legalistic restrictions she was born into. She doesn’t wear the hijab regularly—she does wear it to go to the mosque and when visiting her with her family. She does date, but she’s careful about whom and takes things very slowly.
So, if any of my friends can understand what I'm struggling with, it's her.
We meet at The Alt Cafe, an adorable little farm-to-table spot at the south end of town just off Main Street overlooking Crooked Trout River, specializing in vegetarian, vegan, and gluten-free offerings. It's a bright, open, airy space with eclectic, mismatched furniture, handmade industrial lighting, and local artwork for sale on the walls. Owned by Lainey and Layla Cartwright, sisters a few years older than me, it’s a popular hangout for the less mainstream crowd.
Lainey is behind the counter taking orders while Layla makes the food. Most of the tables are full, leaving us a small two-top in the corner. We sip our green juice smoothies while we wait for our food.
At the table next to us, a young woman around our age sits alone. She's got white-blond hair, skin tanned a lovely golden color, wearing a boho, hippy, patchwork skirt and a bandeau around her chest, exposing a pierced belly button. She's reading a giant text on veterinary medicine and taking notes, earbuds in her ear and a pair of knitting needles keeping her long, thick, herringbone-pattern braided hair in a coiled bun. If I had to guess, the vintage VW Bus with all the stickers parked out front belongs to her.
Raina smiles as she glances at our table neighbor. "She must be new in town—I’ve seen her here several times over the past few months.” She sips her smoothie. "So. What's up with you and Bear?"
I sigh, sit back, and rub my face with both hands. "I'm stuck, Raina."
She leans forward, grabbing my wrist. "Stuck how? Tell me everything."
I grin. "Why do you think we're meeting for lunch?" I shake my head, my grin fading. "I just don't know what to do. When we first met, I was…I dunno. All in. Super attracted to him right off the bat."
"He’s definitely attractive…if you go for the mountain of a man type. Not especially my type, but I see the attraction." She arches her brows. “So? What's the issue?"
"We kissed, and…well, it was freaking amazing . So, so good. But we'd just met. I barely knew him. I…I mean, you know how slow Brennan and I took things. And I guess I felt like part of me was jumping in head first too soon. And I felt like I was doing it out of…I dunno. Not spite, but…" I shake my head, frustrated. "See? I’m so mixed up I don't even know how to talk about it."
"Brennan was an asshole who didn't deserve a single minute of your time, let alone the years you gave him. So spite is a perfectly reasonable explanation."
"But not a good reason to start a relationship," I point out.
"Order up for Raina and Noelle," Layla calls. I go up and get my pesto chicken sandwich (organic, farm-raised, free-range, local chicken) and a side of sweet potato tots, along with Raina's green goddess salad. "Thanks, Layla."
She smiles at me, her shoulder-length black hair pulled through the back of a ballcap with their logo on it, her brown eyes bright and friendly. "Of course, Noelle. Good to see you. How's your family?"
"Oh, you know, good."
"Brothers staying out of trouble?" she asks, smirking.
I laugh. "Mostly? I think? They're all over the place."
She glances at me as she works on an order. "What's their latest venture?"
"Honestly, I have no idea. I stopped trying to keep track years ago.” I gesture at the cafe. "Things are pretty busy, huh?"
She rolls her eyes. "God, yes. We're thinking about hiring someone to open for us."
"Good, you should! You two have been working open to close every day since you opened, and that was, what, last year?"
“Over a year ago now, yeah. It's been a big push, but everyone has been so welcoming and receptive. It’s been great. We’ve had a lot of support on social media." The printer spits out another ticket, and she snags it and scans it. “I’ll let you get back to lunch. Good to see you, Noelle."
"You too, Layla. Thanks for the sandwich. It looks amazing!"
I take our food back to the table and we spend a few minutes eating.
After a bit, Raina eyes me as she stabs cucumbers and avocado slices. "So, what’s the issue?"
"I don't know how or when or if to progress things. We've been spending a lot of time together, dating, sort of. We go on walks, take Panzer to the park, and go for hikes. I’ve been trying to introduce him to different restaurants. It's been great. The more I get to know him, the more I like him."
"But?" She spears a green pepper and pieces of lettuce.
"I want more. I know he does, too. But I don't think he'll push it. He’s been very respectful of the boundaries I've set."
“A little too respectful, maybe, because you kinda want him to push?" She suggests.
I blush. “Yeah. But that's not fair. I told him I wanted to get to know each other; I set the boundaries. So I can’t then very well sit here expecting him to push against those boundaries. I just…how do you know when it's time for more?"
She grins. "Well, you're blushing. I think you're ready. Is he?"
I shrug, shaking my head. "I have no idea. He told me he hasn't been with anyone in a very long time. Since before prison."
Her eyes bug out. "He's been celibate for ten years ?"
I nod. “Yeah." I frown. “Actually, more like eleven, if not longer.”
"And he's patiently waiting for you to be ready for more?"
"Yeah."
She snorts. "Babe, you gotta throw the man a bone. Good grief. After that long, and with how shy he is, I wonder if he may not know how to push for more. How to tell you he's ready. That may not be in his toolbox, so to speak."
I consider this. "Wow, I…I hadn't thought about that. You're probably right."
"So, are you asking my advice? Or just sounding off?"
See, that's what I love about Raina. She doesn’t assume things.
"Asking for advice. What do you think I should do?"
"Well, first, what do you see with him? I mean, you like him, you're attracted to him. But do you want a relationship with him? Like, a real one?"
I swallow hard. “Yeah, I think I do."
"You think?" She sets the fork down and takes my hands in hers. “You need to be sure. From what I know of Bear, he’s not someone to do casually. Neither are you, obviously. But you owe it to yourself and to him to be very clear on what you want.” She rubs my hand with her thumbs. “It’s been a long time for you, too. Not as long as him, but a while. So just…don’t get being horny mixed up with what you do or don’t feel emotionally.”
"I don't see him every day, but nearly. He doesn't have a car or a phone, so the only way for us to connect is if I go by the shelter after work. And the days I don't see him, I…well, I miss him. All day long I think about things I want to tell him. I feel safe with him. I feel seen. And…I'm also going a little crazy. From, um…wanting him."
"You wanna climb that mountain, don't you?" She asks, grinning and wiggling her eyebrows at me.
"Yes," I whisper, covering my face with both hands. "So darned bad."
"Then I think you can probably think about changing the boundaries. But think about what those will be. Do you want to go all the way right away? Are you ready for that?" She resumes eating; Raina is a slow eater.
I consider this as I drag my last tot through ketchup. "Do I bring it up in conversation? Or just sort of…stop holding myself back and let things happen organically?"
"I mean, maybe invite him over sometime and see what happens. And then have a conversation about it."
"You're so wise, Raina,” I say. "Thank you."
She does a mock bow at the waist. "I live but to serve." She giggles, then. "You just have to share at least some of the details, if and when."
"It's a deal."
The next day, Bear works late and my last client ends up hating what she asked for and I have to spend an hour past close fixing it so she's happy. Which means I'm frustrated, stressed, and hungry. By the time I clean up my station and lock up, it's after seven, I haven't eaten since noon, and I miss Bear.
I'm too out of sorts to go anywhere other than home, though—as much as I'd love to swing by the shelter and let Bear comfort me, I don't want to subject him to my poopy mood.
So I go home, nuke some leftovers, and watch reality TV in my underwear.
I think about my conversation with Raina, and decide she's right. I know I want more with Bear, and I'm pretty certain he wants more with me. But it's on me to progress things. The question is how?
Maybe instead of going for a hike on the trails like we have been lately, we walk in my neighborhood. I'll invite him in, and…see what happens.
My belly twists and my heart flips at the prospect of kissing him again. Feeling his hands on my skin. See more of him—touch him. Connect with him physically. Reach a new level of intimacy.
We've talked just about everything. He’s told me about his various foster parents and the abuse he suffered, leading him to run away. He’s told me some of the things that happened to him during his years in the gang—and I suspect for every story he tells me, there’s something far darker and more violent he’s not telling me. Which I get—he’s protecting me. I tell him about growing up in a big family. Feeling invisible as the middle child between sets of twins. About my relationship with Brennan, well, more of it, anyway. We talk about books—despite only having a GED, he’s very widely read, thanks to that librarian. He’s read biographies on various important historical figures like Lincoln, Washington, MLK Jr., Malcolm X, both Roosevelts, and Einstein. He’s read sci-fi, fantasy, mysteries, romances, literary fiction…a bit of everything.
You just have to get him talking, I discover—once we find a subject, we have long, meandering conversations that delve into religion and spirituality, social politics and regular politics—the latter of which neither of us has much stomach for—social justice issues, inequality, racism, sexism…
We know each other now. Better, at least. I know he loves Chinese food, Indian, and Italian. He hates lunch meat, brussels sprouts, and mustard. He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, and even though he’s never had alcohol issues, he chooses not to drink almost ever. He’s saving money to buy a good car—he could afford one now, but he’d rather wait longer and buy something nice that will last and not waste money on endless repairs. He’s never had social media and doesn't really understand it.
Now I’m ready for the next level. Whatever that looks like, however it unfolds, I want it with him.
The next day, Wednesday, is cloudy and overcast, the skies heavy and threatening rain. My last client cancels, which means I'm out of work by five-thirty. I go home, make sure everything is picked up and clean, change into my favorite black leggings, my most supportive black sports bra, and a pale mauve tank top with a lightweight ivory hoodie, and head to the shelter.
Only, he's not there, and Gloria hasn't seen him—he called from Riley’s phone and said he wouldn't be in today.
Three Rivers is a small town. Everyone knows everyone. It's gotten bigger in recent years, and new people are moving in every day, it seems like, but those of us who've been born and raised here know each other. Therefore, I happen to know that Riley and Felix have been working in the Creighton Meadows neighborhood, which was intended to be the beginning of a much larger subdivision, only to be abandoned by the developer after a single street, leaving it as a weird outlier, a single street of middling-quality homes, outdated, abandoned, and in desperate need of rejuvenation. The brothers have been buying the houses, demoing them, remodeling, and selling them.
I head there on a whim. When I get to Meadowview Lane, it's after six-thirty, and the crews are all still here, Felix's guys busily hammering and sawing and whatever else in one house or working on the finishing touches inside at another, while Riley's crew handles the demolitions.
I spot Riley's truck outside a small ranch with faded green siding and a buckling roof—guys come and go in a constant stream, hauling out sections of drywall, light fixtures, and wheelbarrows full of detritus. In all the coming and going, I don't see Bear.
I park down the street a bit, feeling nervous, a little foolish, and presumptive.
Riley himself comes out of the house, a white N95 mask covering his face and a yellow hard hat on his head. He tugs the mask down around his throat and puts his phone to his ear.
"Mel? Hey. No, I'm gonna be awhile. We’re almost done with this demo, and we decided to work late until it’s done. Nah, I’ll grab something after with the guys.” He sighs, facing the side of the hood of his truck and slumping over it, frustration in his body language. “Mel, I’m sorry—I’m the boss. I can’t just peace out. Yes, I like you. Yes, I want to spend time with you. It’s not personal…Mel, fuck . Okay, you know what? You knew my hours when we first started hanging out. They haven’t changed. Right now, work comes first. My guys come first…Oh, is that so? Cool. Cool. Go for it. Have fun with Johnny fucking Ricardo. Yeah, fuck you too."
With a vicious snarl, he stabs the end button, starts to throw his phone, and then just barely restrains himself. He makes a fist, starts to punch his truck, and thinks better of that, too.
He turns in a slow circle, raking his hard hat off and throwing it violently against the side of the big green roll-off dumpster.
Which is when he sees me. "Noelle Harper." He has dirt smeared across his nose and left cheek, a cut on his chin, and pain in his eyes. "What…um, what're you doing here?"
I smile at him. "Hey, Riley."
He winces. "Overheard that, huh?"
I shrug. "Yeah. Sorry, you're going through that."
He shakes his head, sighing. "It wasn't serious, but I liked her. She told me either I meet her for drinks or she'd accept Johnny Ricardo's invitation instead."
I frown. "Johnny Ricardo? That guy? I heard he makes drugs or something."
Riley laughs. "He's a notorious meth cook, yeah. Not a good dude."
"Well, it's none of my business, but if she's going out with him, maybe you dodged a bullet," I say, and then glance at a cluster of guys coming out of the house. "I was, um, looking for Bear."
Riley's face lights up. "Bear? You know Bear?"
I nod, hoping my blush isn't too obvious—or my embarrassment and nerves. "Yeah, I do. We, um…we've been hanging out. He's working late, obviously, and we were supposed to meet, so I thought I’d see if he wanted a ride home."
Riley's eyes glint with amusement. "Bear's a tight-lipped one. I've known him for over three years now, and I don't know much more about him than the day I met him. I have to say, I’m thrilled to know he has a…friend."
He's angling for more info, but I just smile and shrug. "Yeah, he's pretty private."
Riley smirks. "Not gettin' any gossip outta you, am I?"
I grin. "Nope. If he wants to share it, he'll share it."
He crosses to pick up his hard hat and places it back on his head. "Honestly, good. He's a good dude. Been through a lot. He deserves someone in his corner."
"He has you. He says your program gave him a second chance at life."
Riley nods. "Appreciate that, Noelle. I'm picky about who I let into the program. For the program to succeed, the guys in it have to succeed, and the guards and warden at Holbrook had nothing but positive things to say about Bear. He's put in the work and then some.” He points at a house across the street that has a roll-off in the driveway, overflowing with demolition refuse. “He’s in there. He works best alone, I’ve discovered, mainly because he can do the work of four people by himself. You can go in, just be careful, it’s a work zone. He throws that hammer around like he’s Thor or some shit.” He yanks open his truck door, leans in, and grabs a hard hat and safety glasses. “In fact, put these on, just to be safe. He’s a madman when he's working."
I take them, frowning at him. "A madman?"
He nods. "He works like a man possessed. Never seen anything like it." Someone calls his name, and he juts his chin at me. "Gotta go. You'll see what I mean!"
I cross the street, holding the hard hat and glasses and feeling increasingly stupid for this whole thing. I feel eyes on me and glance back at the house Riley went into—several guys stand huddled together by the dumpster, sharing cigarettes and whispering…about me, probably.
Hopefully, I haven’t caused any problems for Bear.
The front door is open, and I hear music playing—hard rock from the local station. I hear smashing, creaking, crashing.
Placing the hat on my head—it's too big, wobbling like I'm a kid wearing a fireman's helmet—and the glasses on my nose, I go up the steps.
A low snarl greets me, and a dark shadow appears from the haze of swirling dust: Panzer.
“Hey boy, it's me. It's Noelle." I stay where I am and wait for him to get closer, that vicious, guttural snarl turning my guts to water. A second later, the snarl cuts off, and Panzer is nuzzling my thigh, tail whipping dangerously. He yips once, looking up at me happily. I crouch and let him kiss my face as I rub his ears. “Hiya, handsome boy. Hi, hi, hi." I stand up, wipe slobber off my face, and follow the dog into the house.
It was once an average mid-century ranch, the front door opening into a sunken postage stamp foyer and the living room and dining room, a low half-wall separating the kitchen, a sliding door going to the backyard, and a hallway with the bedrooms and bathroom. Now, it’s been opened up, the walls taken back to studs and wiring, the floor nothing but bare subfloor, with a blue tarp covering the space where the sliding doors were. The sound of work is coming from one of the hallway rooms.
Panzer turns in three clockwise circles, one counterclockwise, and then lays down in the foyer, content that I'm allowed to be here; his duties done and scratches received, he goes back to his nap.
I follow the sounds to the bathroom. It's early summer now, and it's been pretty hot lately, in the high seventies and low eighties. The air in the house is still and stifling, full of dust and dirt—it's hot.
Therefore, it's not a surprise to see that Bear has taken off his shirt—he's tucked it into the back of his jeans to hang down like an odd white tail. His back is impossibly broad, his shoulders endless and cliff-like, rippling with layers of muscle and tapering to his waist. Sweat drips down his spine in glistening rivulets.
He has a giant sledgehammer in his hands, a yellow hard hat on his head, and he’s swinging the hammer at the ugly canary yellow tile on the bathroom wall like he hates it. His arms ripple, and with each crashing impact, tile shatters, and the wall disintegrates a little more.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, I'm frozen in place, riveted.
He uses his whole body to swing the hammer, his feet braced wide, massive thighs bulging as he moves, hips twisting, torso torquing—the huge, heavy hammer whistles through the air and smashes into the wall again and again and again, each strike precise, moving him along the wall with startling speed, leaving piles of shattered shards of tile in his wake.
I watch until he reaches the end of the wall, at which point he sets the sledge upside down on its head against the wall and yanks his shirt out of his jeans, wiping his face with it.
"Bear!" I call over the jarring racket of hard rock music coming from a heavy-duty industrial radio.
His head jerks up, eyes wide. "Noelle?"
As he turns to face me, I'm stunned speechless by the vision of him.
For some people, it seems like God just went a little extra, a little overboard. When he was making Bear, He seemed to have forgotten to stop adding muscle.
The man is profoundly mammoth. His pecs are like slabs of granite carved into the upper portion of his chest with an artisan’s chisel. I wouldn’t say he has a six-pack, which has never done it for me anyway. He has a definition, but his abs are more like massive blocks of stone, thinly padded. His tattoos ripple colorfully on his immense, sweaty, rippling arms, and his chest, stomach, and sides are mazed with scars.
Sweaty, out of breath, muscles swollen from labor, Bear looks like he could rip I-beams in half with his bare hands.
My skin tingles, my nipples go hard behind my sports bra, and my thighs clench together. It’s hard to breathe. Hard to think.
This was a mistake.
But good grief—I'm glad I came.
I unstick my tongue and look for something to say—arousal seems to have scorched the sense right out of my idiot brain.
"Bear. I…hi."
He wipes his face with his shirt as he shuts off the radio. "You're here."
"Sorry to show up like this," I say. "I…I'm not sure what I was thinking."
"No, no, it's fine. I'm just surprised to see you here." He grabs a gallon jug of water from the floor and takes several long, glugging swallows. "Want some?"
I grin, shaking my head. "No, I’m good. I just…" I swallow hard. "I wanted to see you. I thought maybe we could go for a walk at my house. I was gonna make pork chops."
He licks his lips and smooths his hand down his beard—he’s taught himself how to braid because his beard is clumsily braided in a single thick queue down his chest. His hair is back in a low ponytail. "That sounds great. I'm pretty much done here."
I shift my weight from one foot to the other. "I hope it's okay that I came. I went by the shelter, and Gloria told me you had called in. I happened to know that Riley and Felix are working here, so I took a chance and just sorta…came over.” I’m babbling from nerves. Why am I so nervous?
Oh, right. Because I plan on kissing Bear. And…stuff.
Hopefully.
Maybe.
God, I'm a mess.
He gives me a small, quick smile, stepping close to me, a big hand drifting close to my face but stopping short. "Always glad to see you, Noelle. You're the best part of every day."
I can't help it. "And the days you don't see me?" Fishing, fishing, fishing. Gosh, I'm shameless.
"Boring. Like flat soda."
"I hope my coming here doesn't create issues for you with the guys," I say, shuffling closer to him.
“Nah. They may tease me, but they're good dudes. Most of 'em." He shrugs. "You see Duane, though, I want you to give him space. Guy ain't all there."
"Which one is Duane?" I ask. "So I know who to avoid."
"I'll point him out." He glances at the shirt in his hand. "Sorry, I got hot."
"I don't mind," I say, unable to suppress my grin. "At all."
He frowns as if having to figure out what I mean by that. "Oh…okay." He shrugs into the shirt, which sticks to his sweaty skin and muscles. And that's almost as yummy a sight as him shirtless. "I probably don't smell too great."
I shrug. "Maybe I'm weird, but I don't mind."
He juts his chin at the piles of broken tile. "Just gotta clean that up and we can go."
"I'll wait in the car, get the A/C going."
"Cool." A pause, as I turn away. "Noelle? Thanks for coming."
I shrug. "Missed you."
He swallows and nods his head. Chews on the end of his mustache. "Missed you, too." He rubs the back of his neck. "Be right out. Won't take five minutes. You can have Panzer come with you. You know the commands by now. He listens to you."
I nod. "We're buddies. See you in a minute."
He nods, grabbing a wide-bladed, short-handled shovel from the corner and scooping tile shards into a two-wheeled wheelbarrow.
I head out to the front door, already glad to be in the fresh air—I don't know how he stands being in there all day.
I pat my thigh as Panzer eyes my approach. "Panzer, Komm. Fuss."
He hops to his feet and walks with his hard ribs against my right thigh, panting happily. The rest of Riley's crew is gathered around the trucks, taking off gloves, hard hats, and glasses, smoking cigarettes, and putting away tools.
I set the hat and glasses on Riley's hood.
"Man, why we ain't got no pretty girls visitin' us?" one of the guys says—a big Black man only a little smaller than Bear, with kind brown eyes, a short beard, shaved head, and a friendly grin as he elbows the guy next to him. "Ol' Brer Bear barely says two words all damn day, and he got a visitor. My man's got game."
Another guy, this one less friendly looking, with longish, greasy dirty blond hair and a scruffy goatee, his eyes beady and quick and unreadable, eyes me up and down. "Hell, if I know, but a dish like that's wasted on that big oaf."
The Black man slugs his companion on the shoulder— hard . "Man, shut the fuck up, Duane. Bear hears you talkin' about his lady friend like that, he'll pull your skinny white ass apart. An' he won't need that dog, neither."
"I ain't afraid of him," Duane says—I see why Bear warned me about this guy.
"Well, you an idiot, then. He likes me , and he scares me to fuckin' death. You wanna talk shit about his girl, be my guest." He grins at me. "Just tell him Darius wasn’t part of it, alright?"
I laugh, grinning at Darius. "I will. I'm Noelle Harper."
He comes toward me, removing a work glove and offering me his hand. "Darius Thibodeaux. Nice to meet you, Noelle Harper." He grins back. "So, you’re sweet on the big man, huh?"
"Something like that, yeah."
"Good, good. He's a real one, y'know? Works like a dog."
Duane snorts. "Dogs don't work. Stupid thing to say."
"Used to, didn't they? Sled dogs and shit? Shepherd dogs? You're just salty because Bear makes the rest of us look like we standin’ still." Darius shoots a look at my car—I head for it, taking the cue. “Nice to meet you, Darius."
"You too, Noelle Harper. Take care of our boy, y'hear?"
"I will!"
"What, not gonna introduce yourself to me?" I hear Duane mutter. "Bitch."
Panzer snarls, and Duane pales, hurrying away into the open trailer, where he busies himself putting things away.
I bring Panzer to my car, open it, give him the command to jump up and in, and then get it going, air conditioner on full blast.
I wait for Bear, watching the other guys clean up and get ready to go.
Duane stops every so often to glare at me, an ugly sneer on his face that sends shivers down my spine.
Not a good dude. Not all there.
Indeed.
I'll definitely be steering clear of him from now on.
A few minutes later, Bear emerges, shuts the door behind him, attaches a lockbox, and then heads my way, waving at the others.
He settles into the passenger seat, filling my tiny car with his presence, heat, and masculine smell.
Sweat, yes, but not stink. Or if it stinks, I’m nosebleed or something because it doesn't bother me at all.
“Ready to go home?" I ask, smiling at him.
He nods. "Sure am."
It only occurs to me later that when I said home, I meant my home, but used it in a collective "we" sense. Our home.
I wonder if he caught that.
The closer we get to my house, the more my nerves jangle and clang in my belly, butterflies soaring and fluttering, skin tight, nipples hard, core damp and slick.
I don't know what's going to happen between us tonight, but I'm ready for it.
I just hope he is.