Chapter 2
Rosa
"I can't believe they're married," Noah whispered, his hot breath skimming across my ear and smelled faintly of lemons from the wedge that sat on the rim of his beer.
I ignored the way my heartrate kicked up a notch and the heat that curled in my belly at the feel of his breath on my skin. Noah Tripp was sex on a stick…
No, not a stick. He was sex on a Redwood. A ripped, muscular, bulging tree trunked redwood.
And those eyes? God, those baby blues were a potent drug. Mesmerizing. Beautiful, like the ocean. And just like the ocean, they may seem serene, but one wrong move and their riptide will pull you under, drowning you.
That’s what it was like staring into Noah Blue Tripp’s eyes.
"I know." Tearing my gaze away from him, I wrapped my lips around the reed straw and sipped the last bit of my strawberry daiquiri. The slurping sound gargled, but it was drowned out by the loud noises and music of the outdoor tiki bar.
In the middle of the dance floor, I watched as Reid and Hazel danced, embraced in each other's arms. The moonlight reflected off of her white dress casting it a pale shade of blue. My smart watch buzzed against my wrist.
I glanced down, to find the alert blinking on my screen: Is it time to go to sleep?
Normally, my sleep app would be right. 12:30 a.m. was typically way past my bedtime.
Even though I was new to psychology, having only graduated less than a year ago, I still had patients who depended on me. Well, a few patients.
Okay, two . I had two patients. And luckily, neither of them had appointments this weekend… or this week.
Or the week after that.
They were solid once a month patients. Not nearly enough to pay my bills.
I’m still growing my new practice. Business will pick up soon. I told myself this almost daily.
My business was almost entirely referral based. But the problem with that was that you needed clients first to refer to others. My specialty was stress, anxiety, and social media dependency and I really hoped to eventually serve celebrities, politicians, and their impacted families.
Noah’s image filled my brain… I could ask him for help. I could ask him for referrals to his friends and colleagues on the hit vampire TV show he was on.
My stomach turned at the thought and I quickly shook the idea away.
Guys like Noah? They constantly had people hanging onto them. People trying to get a referral, an audition, a quick buck, or their five minutes of fame. The last thing I wanted to do was add to his stress. Or make him feel used.
I’d seen it first hand with Noah… the amount of people who always seemed to need something from him. And with Reid. Even with Hazel as she finally got her first leading role off-Broadway. And I’d seen it with my father, the senator, for years.
I wasn’t going to do that to Noah. I wasn’t going to use our friendship like that.
Nope. I didn’t need to. I was good at my job. My practice would take off on its own… eventually.
My feet ached from within the heels I wore and I shifted on the barstool, bending to massage away the pain spiking at the arch of my foot.
I smiled as crowds of dancing strangers surrounded my best friend and her new husband. They looked happy. Happier than I’d ever seen Hazel.
A pang of sadness edged against my heart, despite the loving, joyous day. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to be married and in love. It was just… Hazel had found her person. Somehow, her unapologetic joy also highlighted how alone I felt.
I turned to Noah, staring at his gorgeously chiseled jaw. Noah, the man who had asked me out several times… and the man I said no to, time and time again.
He was easily the most handsome man I'd ever seen with hair so dark, it nearly looked blue in the moonlight. And eyes so piercing, that every time he stared at me with that glacial intensity, I worried that he might physically cut me open.
Only a crazy person would turn that man down , my mother had said to me.
But she was used to being pictured in the media.
Being covered on the nightly news was just an average day in our house…
my mother had signed up for that life when she started acting.
Then had set it in stone when she married my father.
I had not.
And my crazy, rebellious years had almost ruined my father’s political career. I wasn’t a media darling. I was the furthest thing from it.
I’d watched Noah date for two years. He’d find a new woman and within one or two dates with her, the tabloids would pounce, following him with their flashing cameras and speculations about who she was and how serious he was and if this was “the one.”
I couldn't be that person. I'd been lucky to be able to keep my name out of the press for as long as I had. A combination of living almost like a recluse for the years since I’d moved out of my parent’s house, moving to the other side of the country, and of course, the few favors I'd called in to friends in the media didn't hurt either.
Bottom line? For two years I had avoided this. Being alone with Noah in a situation like we were in right now… in a bar.
Getting drunk.
The tips of my breasts hardened, heavy and yearning for the feel of his capable hands.
I squeezed my eyes shut. See? I couldn't be trusted alone with Noah. My heart and my nether regions were both stupid bitches who made the worst decisions.
He glanced at me, a knowing smirk settling on those lush plump lips of his. Could he sense what I was thinking?
I opened my mouth, and before I could say anything, two young girls slid up beside him, clutching their phones eagerly in their hands.
"You’re Noah Blue, right?" the first one asked.
She looked really young and my eyes slid to the cocktail glass she held in her other hand. There was no way she was old enough to be drinking that legally.
The change in Noah was immediate and drastic. The vulnerable innocence with which he had been staring at me moments ago slid away behind the curtain, and in its place, he grinned a practiced smile at the girls, eyebrows arched. "I am. What's your name?"
"My name? Oh my God. Kelsey. It's Kelsey. Can we get a picture?"
"Of course." He slid in between the girls, his hands gently cradling their shoulders. His thumb stroked their bare flesh, skimming over the spaghetti straps of their tank tops.
My stomach roiled at the site. This was exactly what I've been avoiding for two years.
When dating a guy like Noah, how can you ever expect yourself to be enough? Especially when young, beautiful women threw themselves at him on a daily basis.
I'd seen it a million times. I'd seen how fame, and the spotlight could tear two people apart. Two people who claimed to love each other so much.
I winced, forcing myself to look away from the two girls and Noah, who seemed to be soaking it all in. I waited, ignoring the scene until the two girls scurried off, scrolling through the photos they’d just taken.
"That was quite a display." I chuckled, doing my best to mask my disdain for what I had just witnessed.
"That was nothing," Noah said. "Sometimes one person asking for a picture results in everyone asking for one, even if they don't know who I am. They just assume I must be famous."
“Well, you are famous.”
“Yeah.”
There was a weariness in his tone that I hadn’t expected to be there.
Maybe I'd read him all wrong. Maybe he wasn't eating all this up.
But it still didn't change the fact that dating a guy like Noah Tripp—or rather, Noah Blue as he’s known to his fans—meant dealing with public backlash and the social media shit storm that came with it.
It didn’t change the fact that if the tabloids got wind that Noah was dating a senator’s daughter, they would tear us both to shreds. Our lives would be lived from one photo op to the next.
Who says you have to date? One night together doesn’t mean dinner and a movie. It could mean rumpled sheets and room service breakfast.
Hoooboy . I needed to tell my hormones to calm the hell down.
"That must get exhausting,” I said. “Do you ever get to feel like yourself when you're out and about?"
"Not usually." He paused, his eyes skimming over my features. He stared at me as though he was memorizing every line of my face, every curve of my nose and cheekbones, and chin.
Then, once again, his lips slid into an easy grin. "Don't you psychoanalyze me." He lifted a finger and pressed it gently to the tip of my nose. The contact, though innocent, caught me off guard.
It was so cute. So sweet. And strangely, the kind of intimate moment that would happen between a boyfriend and girlfriend.
I immediately pulled away, scanning the bar for anyone who might be watching, phone cameras drawn, ready to catch an intimate moment to send to the papers. But no one was looking at us. No one was watching… no one cared. That was Atlantic City for you.
He only wants you because you’ve said no time and time again. He wants what he can’t have.
How long had it been since I’d spent the night with a man? Eight months? My body ached, pulsing for the attention that emanated off of him.
I wanted Noah. And he wanted me in return. He’d made that clear enough over the years. Was it the liquid courage coursing through my veins and fogging my brain, or was I actually considering this… him… us ?
I gulped what little was left of my melted daiquiri, the sweet mix sticky and cool and delicious as it slid down my throat. I crossed my legs against the throbbing desire at the apex of my thighs and breathed deeply, an attempt to calm down my libido.
Holy hell. Just one moment of entertaining the thought of a night with Noah and my sex drive kicked into gear. If my body reacted this potently, maybe it was time for Noah and me to get this out of our systems once and for all.
God, how I wished that was a possibility. But it wasn’t. Noah and I could never be… not for a night. And definitely not for a lifetime.