37. Queenie
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
QUEENIE
RECOMMENDED LISTENING ‘ANYONE BUT YOU’ BY STILL WOOZY
An hour later, we pick up the trail of clothes we left in the foyer and the family room. Noah offers to throw them in the wash, and I let him.
I’m still shy around him as I wrap the blanket around my extremely wrung-out body and climb the stairs to my bedroom for a much-needed shower. I order Noah to shower separately because his obsidian eyes gleam.
They say, I will have you now. And I’ll let him. Because I want to have him too.
I slump against the shower as the quakes of my climaxes (six!) move through me. I’m a boneless, nerveless heap.
I will never forget tonight as long as I’m alive. From the fight and then those things he said. And then the rainy ride. And then all of this. I hug all of these memories close. Make a home for them in the happiest memories album in my heart.
I am not super experienced. Because I’m a driven, ambitious college student. But I did do the deed with three boys on campus. On their dorm beds or in mine. And they were adequate. I didn’t feel unsafe or blah with them.
But this…with Noah, this is…I truly have no words to describe it. No way to analyze it.
It exists in its own dimension. Separate and pristine. A unique miracle.
With Noah I feel alive. And safe. Safe enough to do anything. Give him whatever he wants. Because he always asks me for it. He makes me feel seen. Not just seen, but cherished.
It’s the thing romance novels are made of. This feeling of flying and feeling secure at the same time. Isn’t it? This is what Jane Austen wrote about.
I smile and hug myself in delight. Allowing the cold water to wash out the conditioner from my tangled curls.
I am cherished by the Aussie boy I accidentally kissed at a party.
It’s the loveliest feeling ever.
“If you’re not out in three minutes, I’m coming in,” Aussie boy calls out.
“My hair! No!” I shriek, touching it reflexively. “Don’t you dare.”
“Three minutes.” He bangs on the door for good measure.
I hurry through the rest of my shower and exit the bathroom with dripping wet hair. Wrapping a towel around me in double quick time.
I slam into Noah at the entrance.
He kisses the top of my wet hair. “That was too fucking long.”
“You’re clingy,” I observe. I walk around him and grab my after-shower hair products. “I didn’t know you were clingy.”
“I have you in my arms. Finally. Call me clingwrap,” he says smugly. “What are you doing?”
I sit on the chair and flip my hair down. And start scrunching in product. “I’m taking care of this hair you’re obsessed with.”
“Is that hair gel?” He sounds fascinated.
“No.” My words are muffled. “It’s leave-in. And then I’ll add gel and finally curl cream. And then it takes forever to dry.”
“That’s a lot of maintenance,” he observes.
“Fuck, yeah.” I scrunch in the gel and leave off the cream. I’m way too tired to do it. I straighten up.
“You’re not adding the…” He checks the tube of curling cream. “Set and Forget Curlz Cream?”
“I’m too tired. My hands hurt.”
“Can I do it then?” Noah offers sincerely. “If you’re okay with it.”
I straighten up slowly. And push my hair back the right way. I’m suddenly breathless. And nervous. No one’s ever offered to take care of my hair for me.
“You squeeze a circle in your palms and then sort of smear them on both hands?” I do a smearing motion.
He does what I tell him.
Then, he stands behind me and applies the product per my instructions. Untangling the curls with his hands, scrunching up the ends. And he does it quietly and competently. When he’s done, he goes to wash his hands.
I just wipe mine on the towel. “Why did you do that?” I clench my fingers on the ends when I am done.
“Do what?” Noah dries his hands on the towel I’d hung on the stand. He is in grey sweatpants and nothing else. And those damned Adonis Dimples wink at me, flashes of sexiness I am mesmerized by.
“You know…” I point at my nicely cared-for hair. “That.”
“You were too tired to do it, so I did it for you.”
“That’s—" I try to find fault with his logic. I can’t. “Why aren’t you a typical jock? You know. Rude and arrogant and a jerk. Throwing your charm around for girls to shimmy out of their underwear for you?” I grumble.
“I’m fairly confident you said my middle name was asshole not too long ago. And as for my charm.” He touches the towel edges, right at the top of my breast. “You’ve shimmied into a towel, haven’t you?” He even winks, the bastard.
“How can you make me mad and laugh at the same time?” I grumble some more.
“I live to serve you, Queen Queenie.”
I laugh and wrap my arms around his neck.
“Is this thing coming off?” Noah fingers the towel again. “I’ve had fantasies about this moment, you know?” His eyes begin heating up. Even his cheeks go hollow under the beard. Like he’s already aroused.
The man has the strength of a stevedore.
“What moment?” My foot pops off. Just like in the movies. I touch the V on his waist. He smells of freshly washed laundry and summer rain. He smells like he could belong to me.
I don’t know why I am not more scared of the thought.
“You out of your shower. Wearing nothing but this towel.” He touches my thigh under the towel. My skin heats up, water vaporizing off me. “Then I unravel it.”
I grab his hand when he goes to untuck it from my chest.
“Noah!” I shriek in warning.
He sighs and tucks it back in. “And the moment remains a fantasy still.”
I make him turn his back as I hunt for panties and quickly wear them before he changes his mind.
“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” I ask him quickly.
“Shirt? Why?”
I throw my hands up. “So, I can dance with it.” At his blank look I elaborate with, “To wear, dummy. It’s a fantasy of mine.” I wink, sexily, I hope.
“Do not move.” He orders, a devilish gleam in his eye. “Not one inch.”
Noah comes back before I have taken five full breaths. And throws me his Barrons Bay Challengers jersey. “Hurry up! Quickly.”
“Turn around.”
“Uh-huh!” He shakes his head and lies spread eagled on the bed. “I am not missing out on watching this, woman. Now, hurry up.”
I roll my eyes. And tug the jersey up and over my head and arms. Then I wear it quickly and whip the towel off. He’s so tall, the thing comes over to my knees, like an oversize nightshirt.
I cock my hip. “Am I a supermodel or what?”
Noah sits up slowly. And says not a word.
I walk toward him. And press one knee on his thigh.
Outside, the first of the night’s fireworks start going off over the bay.
“Well?” I prompt him, one hand on his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t be afraid to touch a supermodel. She’s not real.” His hand finds my waist. Spans it. His fingers shake slightly. “You’re real.”
I sink into Noah, straddling him at the waist and he holds me tight. So tight, our hearts beat as one.
Our kiss, when it comes, rivals the heat and drama of the fireworks dancing in the sky. And it doesn’t fade long after the fireworks have.
It’s yet another memory to place in my happiest memories album.