Chapter 46 Noah
NOAH
Sweat’s running down Gabe’s temples; he’s standing in the living room, hands on his hips, chest heaving.
He’s wearing a pair of black shorts and a white T-shirt that makes his hair look darker, and his eyes brighter.
I don’t even know how long we’ve been dancing now.
The sun was out when we started, and now it’s dark.
A late summer breeze is coming through the open balcony doors, doing little to cool us down.
“I’m gonna own your ass on the next round,” I tell him.
He shakes his head, “Oh, yeah? You’ve never beaten me, not once. But suddenly you’re going to win the next round?”
“Since when are you such a cocky little shit?” I fire back playfully.
He raises one dark brow at me, amusement coloring his features. “Little? Really?”
I walk over to him, leaning into his space until my mouth is at his ear. “Hmm. You are a big boy,” I purr suggestively.
He barks out a laugh, pushing my shoulder lightly. “Oh my god! I meant my height. You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Not when it comes to you, baby.” I throw him a wink just to see the pink rise to his cheeks.
And… there it is.
“Okay, your choice,” I tell him, scrolling through the Just Dance eighties section.
He’s got his first therapy session tomorrow, and as the week has gone by, he’s become more tense.
We haven’t run since that morning he came back from the lake.
Anytime I ask, he just shakes his head and avoids eye contact.
I miss running together, but I understand his hesitation.
I’ve been trying to find ways to help him relax all week; we’ve cooked together and watched movies, talked, and read.
But this, dancing, movement, seems to loosen him up.
It’s bringing out the happiness I know he has inside him, and I can see how hard he’s trying to hold onto it.
He runs a hand through his hair, bicep flexing against the tight white fabric. He reads through the options on the screen, taking this decision very seriously. “Let’s do ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody.’”
“A wonderful song to lose to,” I say.
“You wish.”
I tap my chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “How about a bet over the next few rounds.”
He rolls his neck from side to side like he’s limbering up. Competitive Gabe is hot. “I’m listening.”
“Every time I win, you take something off,” I say with a smirk.
His eyes narrow playfully. “Desperate to strip for me, are you?”
Fuck me, cheeky Gabe is hotter. I love seeing his confidence bloom. The fact that he can be playful, find even this small piece of joy in the face of what he’s been through, calms a lot of my own fears.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy the view?” I ask innocently.
His eyes take a slow perusal of my body as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. When his eyes come back to mine, he shrugs. “I’d have to see it again to know for sure.”
My laugh echoes around the living space.
“Oh, it’s on. Prepare to lose, baby.”
“Prepare to strip, Blue.” Determination lines his features.
Well, I guess he wants me naked, then.
I hit start, and the opening bars play. Gabe bounces on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to go into a championship fight instead of some eighties choreography.
I take my place beside him, shake my arms out, and crack my neck like a dickhead.
“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, but he’s grinning.
“Ridiculously into seeing you naked,” I shoot back with a wink, causing him to groan. It’s not a turned-on groan, it’s a I can’t believe this is what I have to deal with groan.
The countdown begins, and then we’re moving.
Gabe hits every move with precision, arms and hips in perfect harmony.
I, on the other hand, launch straight into whatever hybrid of a jumping jack and unique type of movement my body decides to attempt.
It’s not pretty, I do know that. I never actually claimed to be a good dancer.
“Left, Noah,” he laughs breathlessly. “No, your other left.”
“I’m pretty sure that counts as somebody’s left,” I puff, nearly clotheslining myself with my own arm.
He snorts but doesn’t miss a beat. Show-off.
We turn, copying the avatars and almost collide. The room smells like Gabe—amberwood and lavender and that soft smell of home that’s embedded into the space, my lungs, my soul.
I glance over at Gabe as he moves. He looks so free right now.
A few times during the week when I looked at him, a wave of terror would wash over me.
The thought of how differently that day could have gone, how much I could have lost while I was still in bed and he was out there. Struggling, fighting, hurting.
I'm committed to being the support he needs to make sure that never happens again.
By the time the song ends, there’s no arguing with the results, but I’m going to try.
“Absolutely rigged,” I declare. How did I lose by that much?
He bends over with his hands braced on his knees. “Oh my god! This is like the first time all over again. When did you become such a sore loser?”
I aim to look as affronted as possible, but I can’t help smiling.
“Sore loser? Is that any way to talk to your boyfriend?” The word slips out, and we both stare at each other for a long moment. Then Gabe’s whole face softens, a sweet sort of happiness shining through.
He rolls his lips between his teeth, trying not to smile too wide. When his eyes meet mine, they’re full of adoration, and I’m positive mine are a reflection of the same emotion.
He clears his throat. “No, it’s not. My boyfriend is not a sore loser, he’s just…”
“Just what?” I ask eagerly. Handsome? Sexy? Caring?
His shoulders shake in silent laughter. “Rhythmically challenged.”
My mouth drops open. I mean, it’s true, but still. “Hey!”
“Chronically offbeat?” he tries again.
“Gabriel Shaw. You’re supposed to have my back,” I tell him, but I’m laughing, too.
“I do have your back. I love the energy you bring to dancing,” he says while chuckling, biting his thumb against saying more.
“Okay, out with it. What energy do I bring?” I sigh, knowing I’ll accept any ribbing he gives me if it’s making him feel settled today. Honestly, I’d welcome it any day.
He moves into my space, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Kind of like… one of those inflatable dancing men things car-dealers have.”
I let my head drop back and stare at the ceiling. “Ugh, why is that true?” I groan.
He presses a kiss to my jaw before bringing his mouth to my ear. “Tank. Off.”
I grin at him as I grab the hem of my tank, peeling it over my head in one smooth motion, making a show of it. The air hits my damp skin, cool and charged.
His gaze drags over my chest, the planes of my stomach, the tattoo wrapping around my bicep and shoulder. It lingers on my V-cut as I toss my top onto the couch.
“Like what you see?” I ask lightly, even as my pulse jumps.
“I don’t know,” he replies, voice a touch deeper. “Might have to see more. For scientific purposes.”
“Gotta keep your data up to date,” I murmur, stepping closer. I feel the heat coming off him now, the faint tremor in his breath. “Ready for round two?”
His eyes flick to mine. For a second, I see the tightness he’s been carrying all week, the way his shoulders tense whenever I mention tomorrow, the way his smile has been thinner, stretched over nerves.
I bump my shoulder against his gently. “We can stop if you’re tired,” I say softly.
He hesitates, then shakes his head. “No. I’m having fun. This is making me feel calmer about tomorrow.” His mouth quirks, mischief peeking out. “Plus, I like beating you.”
“There he is.” I grin, nudging him again. “Alright. Next song. I’m picking this time.”
We turn back to the TV as I flick through the options, choosing one without really paying attention, too busy watching Gabe’s profile—his dark, thick lashes, the way his lips part when he’s concentrating.
“Hit Me With Your Best Shot” starts, and I throw myself into it with wild optimism. Gabe, of course, looks stunning. Body moving in time with the beat, arms sweeping, hips rolling.
By the time the song finishes, my scores are even worse this round.
“Tragic,” he says with mock sympathy.
“I hope you’re happy,” I reply.
“I'm trying,” he says honestly, smiling softly. “You make me happy.”
I stare at him, warmth bubbling up. Then he clears his throat and arches an eyebrow.
I push my shorts down slowly, watching his reaction.
The fabric slides over my hips, then my thighs, pooling at my feet.
I step out of them and kick them aside. I’m left in nothing but my socks.
This was probably a silly bet to start up when I’m not wearing underwear.
Gabe’s lashes flutter, his gaze skims over me, cataloguing my chest, stomach, and thighs, before landing firmly on my hardening cock.
“Noah…” His breath catches as he stares. I see the outline of his cock pressing against his shorts. His chest rises and falls harshly.
The controller slips from his hands, clattering to the floor. The music continues faintly in the background, forgotten.
I bring my hands to the hem of his top, raising a brow in question. “Wanna join me, baby?”
He doesn’t answer as color floods his face, but he raises his arms. I peel the shirt off him, letting my knuckles brush lightly over his skin as I go. He sucks in a sharp breath. Our bare chests meet, the contact sending a bolt of electricity straight through me.
“This okay?” I ask him quietly. We haven’t done more than kiss this past week, and I don’t want him to feel pressured.
Hooded eyes blink back at me as he nods, moving closer into my space.
“Tell me.” I whisper.
He responds with a hushed, “Yes.”
The second our mouths meet, he melts forward with a tiny, desperate sound, like he’s been holding himself back all week and has finally given in. His hand finds the small of my back, dragging me closer.