3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Theo
H er head is tipped against the cushion, cheek pressed into the soft material, eyes closed. The movie ended a while ago, but I remain where I am, content to watch her as she sleeps. I’d convinced her to shift sideways and stretch her legs out, so that our legs are parallel to each other and sort of twisted together like a pretzel. I’d also pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over the both of us, and her fingers are fisted in it, holding the softness beneath her chin. Which I’m glad for, to be honest, because watching her all night with her fucking nipples poking through the material of her shirt was both a blessed gift and pure torture.
I’ve loved Noelle Compton since I was a kid.
Not that she’s ever known how I feel about her.
I’m just that goofy guy that’s always been there. The one that will always make her laugh, piss her off, sit and watch a silly Christmas movie because I know it’s her favorite… Take her to prom when her douchebag of a date ditched her, even though I was on crutches from a stupid soccer injury.
Or hold her while she cried when her dad died. God, the memory of the grief that had poured out of her…it still punches me in the gut. I hate seeing her upset—though admittedly, pissing her off is one of this life’s finer things.
I know the next couple days are going to be tough for her, for all of us. Hank Compton was a wonderful dad and husband, a great mentor, and the best friend my dad had ever had. Beau had always been a tag-along with our dads, but I’d been so involved in sports—if for no other reason than to keep myself busy so I wouldn’t obsessively think about Noelle—that I hadn’t spent as much time with our dads as Beau had.
I was the class clown, the troublemaker; and all of it was to try and get Noelle’s attention.
It worked, just not in the way my underdeveloped teenage brain had hoped. She saw me as the lovable idiot that was more like a brother than anything. Now, at almost thirty, that seems to be all she’s ever going to see me as.
I don’t want her to see me like a damn brother, though. Or, much worse, as her golden retriever bestie . I roll my eyes and let out a self-deprecating scoff. What a way to be known by the woman I’ve loved and wanted my entire life. A fucking dog begging for any scrap of attention. Woof.
She lets out a soft snore and I grin, continuing to watch her as she sleeps. Her roommate, Belle—short for Annabelle, though I’d learned she hates being called that—came home earlier, setting a heavy looking camera bag down by the door. She’d disappeared into her room a while ago. The door squeaks open now and I turn my head, nodding to the woman as she steps out wearing flannel pjs and a hoodie that looks like it’s three sizes too big. She pads over to the couch and shakes her head, smiling slightly.
“Are you going to wake her up or just leave her on the couch?” she asks on a whisper.
I turn my attention back to Noelle and purse my lips. “I might carry her to bed. She’s going to get a crick in her neck sleeping like that.”
She pats my shoulder as she moves away toward the kitchen, and I hear a cupboard open and then the kitchen faucet running. She carries her glass of water with her back to the bedroom and says a quiet, “Good night, Theo.”
“Night,” I murmur back, turning my attention back to Noelle. I shift so that I can leverage myself up off the couch, trying not to jostle her and wake her, but she’s out hard and doesn’t stir. I stretch my spine for a moment and then bend over her, sliding my arms under her knees and beneath her back. I lift her and the blanket together, knowing full well I’m never going to get it loose from the fists she has it clutched in beneath her chin. Her head lolls onto my shoulder as I get her situated in my arms, and then I’m crossing the living room to the bedroom I know is hers. I push the door open and step inside.
A string of colorful Christmas lights is strung up along the top edge of her headboard, filling the room with a warm glow, just enough for me to see where I’m going. I lay her down on the mattress and tuck her in as gently as I can, covering her with the blanket again and pulling the comforter over her. She snuggles into the pillow and lets out a sigh, her eyes never opening.
I know I should back away, turn myself and leave her room, but my feet are like lead, keeping me planted where I am as I stare down at her, half braced over her by my arms. My traitorous hand moves of its own accord and my eyes track the movement. I draw my fingers through her dark hair, sweeping it away from her face. She’s facing me, though part of her is bathed in shadows, part of her highlighted by the Christmas lights from above her.
Her mouth is parted slightly, those dusty rose-colored lips I’ve wanted to taste for so long soft and malleable. I let my thumb sweep over her cheekbone and then down to her lips, brushing softly. Her breathing never changes, and my dick is getting hard just being this close to her. Dammit she’s so beautiful.
Leaning down, I press my lips to her temple, right at her hairline, letting myself linger there for longer than I should. She smells like flowers, roses and jasmine and something earthier, maybe cedar.
Fuck, I need to go. I kiss her temple once more and whisper, “Good night, Angel.”
And then I straighten, ignoring the ache in my dick, to let myself out as silently as I can.