Chapter 16 GABE #2
He grins. “Yeah, but have you seen my arms? I’m the big one.” He flexes, making me roll my eyes. He’s such an idiot at times. We step into the aisle leading to the nook.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he calls out, and two heads of dark curls turn his way. Green and cerulean eyes find him.
Rose practically sprints to Aiden, shouting, “Papa!”
He lifts her, kisses her on the head, and turns to me. “Thanks for watching her.”
“Anytime.”
His eyes slide to Ciarán, and he gives him a reluctant nod. Ciarán gives a wave to them both. “Bye, Rose.”
She’s still waving frantically as they leave.
After the shop closes, Abbie arrives armed with wine and snacks. We set up camp in the book nook at the back of the store, where we always do book club.
“Time for literary excellence,” Abbie announces, tossing herself onto the floor cushions.
“We’re reading My Knotty Beta, by Silas Flame,” Ciarán says, waving the paperback like a preacher holding a religious text.
I take a seat. “This is the one with the, um…”
“The knotting, obviously,” Ciarán supplies, far too helpfully.
Abbie giggles. “And the beta topping the alpha for the first time. In a lake. During a thunderstorm.”
“Ah, yes. The height of realism.”
Ciarán clutches his chest. “How dare you!”
“I’m not judging,” I say quickly, grinning. “Just… mentally revising my idea of outdoor recreation.”
They launch into an animated rehash of the first chapter, Ciarán pausing to add exaggerated sound effects. Abbie snorts into her wine, nearly choking. Ciarán grabs the book and begins a reading of a particularly explicit paragraph, complete with gestures that have me covering my face.
“The best part,” Ciarán says between laughs, “is when the alpha is all cocky and dominant, and the beta flips it on him. Total power shift. Fuck yes.”
He’s literally pumping his fist. I laugh into my tea.
“I liked that,” I admit before I can think better of it. “…I mean, I think it’s hot. Not the dominant or rough stuff,” I say, cheeks blazing. “The… I don’t know—the shared control, but also the trust between them.”
They freeze.
“What did you say?” Abbie whispers, eyes the size of saucers.
“I—well, when the alpha and beta… nothing. Forget it.”
“Oh my god,” Ciarán gasps. “You dirty little—”
“Don’t,” I warn, getting flustered.
They howl with laughter, throwing pillows at me. Abbie leans forward like she’s about to start taking notes. “Now tell me, for research purposes only…”
Her voice cuts off at the sound of steps approaching.
“Oh shit, we’re being murdered. I’m too pretty to die,” Ciarán says under his breath, clutching Abbie’s shoulders.
I roll my eyes at his melodramatic behavior.
A moment later, Noah comes into view, striding toward the back of the store with his gym bag slung over one shoulder.
He glances our way, a smile passing over his face when he sees me. Our eyes connect, and he lifts his hand to wave. I didn't even hear the door opening over our laughter.
My stomach swoops. How much did he hear?
Abbie and Ciarán are grinning at each other like wolves scenting prey. “Hey, Noah!” Ciarán suddenly calls. “Quick question—”
“No. No questions!” I hiss at him.
There’s a pause, then footsteps, and Noah reappears at the edge of the nook. “Hey guys, what’s up?”
Abbie’s eyes sparkle. “We’re talking about power dynamics in fiction. Specifically, in… romance.”
Noah’s gaze flicks to me, his lips twitching as he tries to suppress a smile. “Are you?”
Ciarán holds up the book. “Have you ever read this?”
I want the floor to open up and swallow me. But to my utter disbelief, Noah doesn’t look fazed. He steps further into the nook, tilting his head like he’s considering it.
“I might have seen Gabe’s copy upstairs,” he says slowly. “Might’ve had a look through it…” His eyes cut to mine while a sly grin spreads across his face.
Oh God.
My face burns. It’s like every molecule of oxygen leaves the room. He’s teasing me. And somehow, it’s worse that he’s gentle about it. It’s not cruel mocking, he’s being playful. It’s almost harder to take.
My face is on fire now. Why is this happening to me?
Abbie’s jaw drops. “Oh my god, he’s one of us.”
“No,” I say quickly, heat crawling up my neck. “He’s not—”
“He is,” Ciarán sings, eyes alight with mischief as he starts to chant, “one of us, one of us.”
Noah smirks, shifting his bag on his shoulder. “Enjoy your meeting.”
His gaze finds mine, and something in his expression softens—like he’s in on the joke and not making fun of me.
I can’t help the warm smile I give him in return.
Then he gives me a wink before turning toward the stairs, and it feels like he takes the air with him when he goes. My eyes follow every step he takes.
Ciarán pounces the second he’s gone. “Gabe! Why didn’t you tell us you’re into him?”
I whip my head back to them. Abbie is wide-eyed and nodding wildly in agreement.
“What? I’m not—”
But the denial dies on my tongue. I’m not into Noah. I’ve known him since we were kids. He’s my brother’s best friend. We’re just… close now. Friends. Close friends. That’s all.
Except—my brain starts pulling up every moment with shocking speed and clarity.
Noah making me tea without asking.
Noah hiding Oreos in the cupboard just for me.
Noah leaving me silly notes to make me laugh.
Noah running with me before dawn every day, even though he hates cardio.
Noah kneeling in front of me after the shelves broke, steadying my breathing until my hands stopped shaking.
My stomach flips.
Telling me I looked beautiful before the author event.
My heart thrashes against my ribs.
Noah’s hand in mine. Large and calloused, squeezing gently.
I think of the way his eyes linger when I talk. The way he never rushes to look away. The warmth in his voice when I talk about the store. The constant encouragement. His hands brushing mine, and the way he always backs out of my space, never getting closer than I can handle.
Is Noah attracted to me?
The thought is equal parts terrifying and electric.
I think he might be.
Suddenly, kissing him is the only thing my mind can picture—pressing my mouth to his, tasting his lips, feeling the solid weight of him close. The idea sends heat rushing through me so fast it makes me dizzy.
But panic comes as quick, sharp enough to sting.
Would he even want that? Or am I reading into something that isn’t there?
What would Aiden think—his brother kissing his best friend? My throat tightens, pulse hammering.
And… could I even do it? Could I even let someone touch me again?
The memory of cruel hands flashes unwelcome and vicious in my mind—the grip too hard, the words sickening, the sound of ceramic shattering, and the sting across my cheek. I feel like I can smell the stale alcohol in the air. My chest constricts.
Noah isn’t Kyle.
I know that. But what if my body doesn’t know that?
What if the first time someone tries to touch me, I ruin it and run, prove that I’m too broken to be wanted?
Why would Noah even want me?
The questions pile up until my vision blurs.
I’m overthinking this. I don’t even really know if Noah is interested in me that way.
Then a softer memory surfaces. Noah lying on the sofa last week, head tipped back against the cushion, a faint crease between his brows.
The quiet way he said he had a headache, the small nod when I offered to help.
My hands in his hair, feeling him melt under my touch.
Those dark blond strands between my fingers, so thick and soft.
And then, that moment when I’d called him Blue.
The way his lips had parted, the way he sighed, like I’d given him something meant only for us.
I think of this morning, how I fell on top of him. I was embarrassed, not panicked. I feel comfortable with Noah, safe.
The vise grip on my heart eases.
I look at my friends, but all I can say is, “Oh.”
Ciarán snorts, but his smile is tender. “My sweet demi baby.”
Sleep won’t come.
I keep thinking about Noah—about the way his voice sounds when he speaks to me, the light in his eyes when I say something he finds funny, the warm weight of his gaze earlier when he was with Rose. Every memory seems to slot together until he’s all I can think about.
Attraction doesn’t come easily for me. It has to grow with trust, rooted in moments that make me feel safe.
And with Noah, it’s happened. Our friendship has been stitched together out of quiet moments, open laughter, and the kind of support that asks for nothing in return.
Along the way, without meaning to, he’s started to feel like more to me.
It’s like now that I’ve acknowledged it, my mind is obsessing.
I lie there for a while, feeling restless as an ache gather low.
My hand hovers over my stomach, not yet daring to drift, as I let the memories take over—the way his forearms flex when he carries heavy boxes into the store for me, the pull of his T-shirt across his back when he moves around the apartment, the faint scent of cedarwood and salt-warmed skin that lingers in the air when he passes close behind me—close enough that I feel the ghost of his heat at my back.
My cock is already hard when I finally slip my hand into my briefs and fist it. I can’t even remember the last time I did this.
I know I shouldn’t touch myself thinking about him, but the urge is too strong.
The first stroke is slow. I imagine his palm instead—rough from lifting weights. He wouldn’t rush. He’d take his time, working me up with patient touches until I’m shivering with need.
I tighten my grip, thumb brushing over the head, smearing the precum that’s gathered there. My breath hitches. In my mind, his voice is low against my ear. You’re beautiful like this.
The fantasy deepens. I imagine him kneeling between my legs, his hand sliding along my shaft, his eyes locked on mine. The heat of his breath against my skin as he strokes me with deliberate movements, reading every twitch of my hips, every gasp I make.
I spread my legs wider, fisting myself harder now, hips lifting into the rhythm. My free hand grips the sheet. I can almost feel the drag of his stubble against my thigh, the heat of his mouth leaving soft kisses along the inside of my knee.
A sound tries to escape me—needy and loud—and I bite it back, chest heaving.
My core tightens, the pleasure deep and hot. His hand speeds up in my mind, his other bracing on my hip gently, holding me as I buck against his touch. I’m panting now, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.
“Please,” I whimper, not sure what exactly I’m asking for—only that it’s him I want to give it to me.
The tension crests, overwhelming me, and I come with a shudder, Noah’s name on my tongue. I spill over my stomach and hand, my whole body trembling through the release.
I lie there, dazed. Sweat cooling on my skin. My heart thundering.
Then, footsteps, passing just outside my door.
My stomach drops.
Panic and pleasure tangle. I scrub a hand over my face, grab a tissue, and clean up quickly, shoving the evidence away. I can’t go out there to clean up in the bathroom, what if he sees me? Curling onto my side, I press my face into the pillow like I can hide from what I just did.
I just got off to the thought of my brother’s best friend. To the thought of my friend.
I don’t even know if he’s actually attracted to me. What if he knew? Would he look at me differently? Would it ruin the friendship we’ve been building?
And Aiden, what would he think if he knew I wanted Noah at all? He loves Noah, I know that. And I know how much he loves me. A voice in my mind keeps telling me that doesn’t mean he wants me bringing all my darkness to him, though.
My pulse is wild, shame and want swirling together until I can’t tell them apart. I clutch the pillow tighter, holding onto the last ghost of warmth before it fades.
It isn’t just desire I’m feeling. It’s something bigger. Something terrifying. Something I don’t know if I’m ready for.