25. Queenie
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
QUEENIE
RECOMMENDED LISTENING ‘FOR THE FIRST TIME’ BY THE SCRIPT
My period ends two days later. So, as per the terms of the renegotiated roommate agreement I wake up thirty minutes earlier than usual, wear a robe over my pjs before wandering down to make coffee and breakfast. I don’t know when or how I developed a soft spot for the three goofs I’m living with, but I’m happy to cook for them.
Maybe it is a way to tilt the balance of scales in my favor after knowing the net worth of the three men. Maybe Ares really has superior pleading skills.
Either way, I rummage through the cupboards and find Colombian fresh roast, pour the appropriate spoonfuls in the percolator and let it to brew. I check the fridge and find the makings of a cheesy omelet. To give it a desi tadka flavor (Indian spicy seasoning) I add green chilies and chop onions at seven in the morning.
Finally, the eggs are broken and stirred and whisked with the tiniest splash of milk and the veggies are added in. I have a special trick I once saw Pestroni use to make eggs that I want to try for the cheese.
I sip my coffee and pour the batter in the buttered cast iron pan. And even hum a little Coldplay.
It’s amazing what a little sexual release can do to the human body, even two days later. Even with the uterus explosion happening simultaneously.
I can’t get over how Noah felt beneath me. Moving me, moving around me. All hot and solid and male and just…God, like a goddamn dream.
But more than that (only slightly more) are all the facets of Noah Dumaine I’ve uncovered. Like a jigsaw coming together with the pieces turned face up.
Some are rounded. Like the evident skill and passion with which he plays cricket. Each move practiced and smooth, water wearing over a stone till it shines. The competence with which he manages his friends’ lives, thoughtful to a freaking fault. His easy smiles and patient hugs.
Even his faded basketball shorts look like haute couture. Although that’s probably more genetics and his bone structure, coupled with the unconscious decisions he makes while choosing outfits.
It's a fascinating thing to discover. How financial security changes the way we even wear clothes.
I wish I could devote time to writing a paper on the way the brain makes these kinds of decisions and the way patterns emerge from it. There are no long-term applications for this research, save maybe for fashion houses like Barrons Bay’s House of Niamh – they’re always looking for smarter ways to appeal to their customers.
I shake my head and flip the bubbling omelet on the other side so it’s a fluffy golden brown. Then, I grab the cheese block and grater I’d kept to the side and start laying it on the hot omelet.
The cheese melts right into the egg and sticks to it, forming the perfect cloudy-white covering in a chemical reaction that works every time. Pestroni was right, this is divine!
I go back to fitting the jigsaw of Noah Calvin Dumaine while I make more omelets.
There are edges to him too. His recovery from addiction, for instance. Which cost him a spot in the Australian cricket team. He seems so stoic about it, accepting full responsibility for his fuckup and quietly paying the price.
Which brings me to the second edge. Our weird fake arrangement. Playing the doting boyfriend to my adoring girlfriend. He’s uncomplainingly into the role, with no reservations.
It is a huge deal to him, being at Triskelion. Playing cricket for the Barrons Bay Challengers. And the price to pay for both is to fake it with me. The girl he was caught half-naked with.
After knowing all these things about him, I completely understand why he pushed me so hard that night at the diner. Why we were at loggerheads for all these days. Why I hated him, and he didn’t seem to like me.
Unknowingly, I held his future in my hands. Same as he held my future in his.
It’s not a comfortable feeling, at all.
His mom’s passing is a hard edge. Unhealed and serrated, an open wound, which occasionally bleeds. He’s not a closed off man in terms of his emotions, but I’ve never seen such vulnerability in Noah like when he hugged me.
I don’t think I want to.
Having someone be so transparent is no comfort to me. Especially because I am still unable to untangle all of my own feelings.
I deliberately shake off my melancholy and stack the omelets in a hot pot. So, it remains heated for my roomies when they show up.
It amazes me that this kitchen is owned by someone only a couple of years older than me. Sure, he had a financial leg up from his parents and works in sport which is incredibly rewarding if all the stars align for you…but, I can’t help the twinge of envy I feel anyway.
I was homeless and without any options, a few weeks ago. And the man who kissed me senseless and made me come just from touching me owns the house I’m living in.
The power imbalance adds a hard edge to the jigsaw too.
I search for the bread knife in the cutlery drawer, after finishing with the eggs when a hand wraps around my waist and butt.
I almost jump out of my skin.
“Hmmm. I could get used to this view.” Noah sounds unfairly sexy; all deep voice and sleepy vowels. It’s horrible how my womb clenches anyway.
He drops a kiss on my shoulder before I can straighten up.
“I almost stabbed you with this long, pointy thing, buddy.” I brandish the knife at him.
“Worth it, in my opinion,” he says with a straight face.
I shake my head and elbow him in the ribs.
He howls and moves a few steps back. “You’re militant in the am,” he observes.
I glare at him over my shoulder. “I’m making breakfast for three athletes who put food away like they’re in a famine.”
“And we are very grateful to you for doing so.” Noah blows me a kiss. “Queenie, love.”
I stifle the smile threatening to break out on my kiss-stung lips. It’s hard to stay mad at someone who is sheepishly nice to you even when you brandish a knife at them, you know?
“Yesterday it was Hellcat and now it’s Queenie, love?” I butter the breads and stick them in the popup toaster.
“Don’t forget desi girl.” He opens the hot pot and inhales the aroma. “Fuck. Did you add cheese to the eggs?”
I nod. “Cheese is protein. So, I don’t want to hear any complaints.”
His response is quick and gratifying. “None from me, Chef.”
I give him a once over while my stupid pulse skips a beat. His hair sticks to his neck with sweat. His dark eyes are without shadows in the early morning light, and there’s no stubble on his jaw. I’m a little disappointed at the loss.
He’s in workout gear, so he’s probably back from his run.
Oh yeah, Noah runs ten miles every alternate day on top of all the gymming, twelve hours of practice and matches he plays. He is the consummate athlete.
“This heat is sticky.”
He whips the bottom half of his running shirt and wipes his face. Treating me to a vision of perfectly chiseled, tanned abs, leading to Adonis Dimples. They’re so delicious I go cross-eyed trying to admire them. His happy trail is not too thick, taking over his abdomen but hiding the good stuff from me.
“Do I smell eggs?” Fox bounds into the kitchen, shaking his head like a wet dog. He stops and sniffs the air, again like a canine. “And coffee!”
Fox beams at me. “You’re a…” He frowns. “Are you okay? Your eyes are glazed.”
I give him a sickly smile. “I’m fine.” Get back to working the bread. “Please, exit the kitchen before you shower your germs on the food.”
“Yes, Fox. Fuck off so I can kiss Queenie alone,” Noah says in the same prim tone.
I gasp and whirl around with my knife.
Fox grins. “I’ll be back in five.”
Noah takes a step toward me, the light in his eyes going obsidian. With desire and unslaked lust. “Make that ten.”
“In that case, let me just…” Fox snatches the coffee carafe and exits the kitchen while giving me a thumbs up.
“You—Fox—” I say weakly. “What must he think?” I mutter.
“About damn time, probably,” Noah says matter-of-factly. “Now, am I kissing you or not, desi girl?”
It undoes me how he asks for consent every single time. Never taking it for granted. Never making me feel unsafe or unheard.
The jigsaw of Noah Dumaine emerges in a crystal-clear picture. Of a charming, insanely hot man who looks at me like I matter. Like he wants to devour me.
I go up on my toes and kiss his jaw. “Good morning.”
“Nice try.” He holds me in place by cupping my head and threading his hand through my fat plait. “Your fucking hair.”
His eyes search mine. All deep and endless. I see myself, in my fluffy robe and puffy face, reflected in them. I see myself as beautiful.
“You maintain it then if you love it so much.” I try for a little levity when something clenches in the region of my heart.
“Tell me how.” He bends down and brushes his lips over mine. “Good morning, Queenie.”
I sigh and my grip on the knife loosens. “Good morning, Noah.”
I kiss him back, slow and sweet. Taking my time with it. The knife clatters to the floor when he sweeps me off my feet and hikes me on his waist. My robe falls open and I gasp-moan.
Noah doesn’t stop kissing me. Taking soft pulls of my lips, filling me with heat and his scent. His strength. His very essence.
I curl my nails in his skull and kiss him back. Unable to stop now I’ve got a taste.
“You taste like sugar and coffee, Hellcat.” He kisses the side of my cheek, my jaw. “Delicious.”
“You’re insane.” I tilt my neck to give him access. “Keep talking. No teeth, please.”
He gentles his kisses immediately. “I was up half the night.” He talks around my skin. “Replaying your groans and moans in my head. We should do it again.”
“No!” I squeal. At his raised head I temper it with, “I meant. Let’s take it slow. You have to admit we’ve been back asswards from minute one.”
“I’ll refrain from making a terrible joke about arses. But…” He presses a wet kiss on my collarbone. “Fine. We’ll take it slow.” He raises his eyes to the ceiling. Dramatically. “And hope I survive it.”
“Is sex so important to you?” I ask softly. My heart thuds against my flushed chest.
He’s a healthy, vital man. And a sportsman to boot. Women must throw themselves at him. How can I ever compete?
“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Noah answers dryly.
I’m a little deflated at his response. “Oh.” I try to get down from his very aroused body.
Noah keeps me in place and tips my chin up. “Yes, sex is important to me. And sex with you is pretty much all I’ve dreamed of since I saw you. But…” He hesitates.
“We take it at my pace?” I ask him quietly.
He shakes his head. “It’s not just sex with you I want. I want…” He sighs and slides me down his legs. But holds me in a loose embrace. “I want morning kisses. And movie nights. You watch me win matches. I want heaps of things, Queenie.”
My heart picks up speed again. For a different purpose now.
“Will you let me have these things with you?” His deep voice resonates through my skin and my bones, resides in my heart.
I blink at the earnestness of his question. At the way he phrases it. As if what I want is more important than what he does.
Why couldn’t more men be like him?
“We could try,” I answer delicately.
“Try’s all I ask for.”
Noah folds me in his arms and pushes me into his chest in a sweet, sweet hug.
I go on my toes and hold him back. Imprinting this moment in my mind. And if there is a tiny seed of logic saying, What happens when summer is over and you have to go back, I squash it and focus on this romantic morning moment.
After breakfast – which my roomies all gush and sigh over – Fox goes for his ocean swim while Ares and Noah ride to the camp. Fox says he’ll join them after.
Before the hour is up, I get a text from Noah. It’s a shirtless pic of him with the words, “Just for you.”
I smile stupidly for no reason at all.
After a brisk shower, I tackle something I’ve put off for the last two months. I look at the printout for a transfer request from pre-med to neuroscience.
Once I dropped out, I finally got to take a few classes just for fun. Like the Bone Studies course I’d told Jo and my parents about. But what interested me most involved the mind and the brain.
The brain is the physical organ that makes life…well, life. But it’s the mind that makes it worth living. From all the texts I’d read and the classes I’ve audited, neuroscience helps understand both. Excavate both. And further research on both.
I’m fascinated by it.
I’ve always been a bloodless, logical woman. I assumed it was because I was going to be a doctor. Like my parents are and wanted me to be.
But the rush I get from researching new theories, or thinking of archaic hypothesis – like the Noah choosing outfits one – is unmatched. I do fine in my med classes, I maintain my 4.0 GPA. But they do not make me happy.
Thinking and academia makes me happy.
I bite my lip as I look at the papers I’d filled out in a fit of despair and defiance. And then never submitted to the admissions department.
If I had, my spot in the dorms would be safe and I could have gone on with my life.
Because I’m over twenty-one and still going to school in the STEM stream, I don’t need parental permission to request a transfer of my scholarship to the new program. But I do have to tell my parents.
Except, how do I?
Jo’s a free-spirited artist. The farthest thing from a doctor. They’re well-meaning and liberal in their own way. But the expectation, unsaid and ever-present, is I’ll follow in their steps. I am just a semester away from joining med school anyway.
A point of immense pride for them. And me too, if I’m being honest.
But pride does not make me happy, does it? Pride won’t let me find joy and meaning and a steady paycheck for the next forty years. Only making the right choice for me, will.
Right?
I shove the papers back.
I’m momentarily inspired by Noah’s adult commitment to his choices. And the simple, uncomplaining way he just does everything.
But only for a moment. I’m not built like him. I mull. I worry things over. I tear them apart. I think through every possibility. And then I make a decision.
And this decision is big. Like, life-changing, impacting-the-Madhavans’-lives big. I don’t want to make it right this minute.
My phone buzzes. It’s my alarm to go meet Mischa at the diner. I’m off work today but I promised to help her out with an essay or two she has due for her summer reading courses.
Besides, I am on summer break. Having a summer romance with the hot cricket captain, I think to myself with a little smile.
I can put off thinking about the future for a few more weeks. This moment is to be lived.
I almost believe my own reason.