. . . a sleepover
‘Are you rich?’ I ask the second we enter his place.
I step further into the open-plan lounge, taking in the light-wood floors and chic hanging lights.
The kitchen is fully furnished with matching teal appliances, stretching from a toaster to a blender, kettle and air fryer.
He has a Smeg fridge, and fancy sofas, and the large antique bay windows overlook the beautifully lit town square below us.
The location’s to die for and the interior’s lifted straight from an architecture magazine.
‘Found this place on a Facebook group, actually – free board for ten days if I water some plants,’ he says.
I feel my breath grow tighter as he joins me by the fridge with a freshly poured glass of wine.
I glance down for a moment, following the swirl of the deep red liquid circling around the glass.
Thanks to all the walking and the water at the bar, I have almost sobered up again.
And the more sober I get, the more I’m reminded that I’m travelling Europe, all alone, for the next six months.
I grab the stem of my glass and take a hearty sip.
‘I didn’t know you could do that,’ I say.
‘Water plants?’
‘Steal people’s houses.’
He chuckles. ‘It’s hardly a steal; this guy’s maniacal about his plant-watering routine. He left me diagrams.’
‘Oh, how tough.’
I fake a pout and he tries to mirror it, his cheek muscles betraying him as they stretch into a smile. He takes another swig from his glass.
‘It has its perks, including a spare bedroom, actually.’
My mouth falls open ever so slightly at the mention of the bedroom, which causes Noah’s own demeanour to shift with me. I didn’t mean to react so animatedly, or at all for that matter, but the shock rippled through my body before I could stop it.
I’ve been so swept up in the night, in the drinks, in the boy, that I haven’t had a chance to bring myself down to earth.
I haven’t really thought about what it means to stay at a man’s apartment.
An incredibly handsome man with a great smile, whom I’ve spent the better part of the night flirting with.
The next sip of wine shoots straight to my head, reigniting its dizzy friends from earlier. My head grows lighter and lighter as he shifts ever closer, and I can feel his warm breath on my face.
‘There’s a spare room?’ I try to fake genuine interest. I hope to God it’s faked enough for him to buy it.
‘Yeah.’ His voice is gruff. He swallows and starts again. ‘It’s a fair bit smaller and I don’t know what the sound level’s like . . . But it’s yours if you want it, I guess.’
If I want it.
Never have four words ever seemed so loaded. The weight of them echo behind his eyes as they stare into mine.
The moonlight has crept through the curtains, painting a line across the apartment and partially lighting up his face.
It glows against his brown skin, settling in his smile lines and enhancing the chisel of his jaw.
I start to lean in further; I can’t help it, I’m drawn to his face and swept up in the night and the drinks and his kindness.
He doesn’t recoil or fidget, just stays rooted in place, the slight part in his lips tempting me to push further.
‘And if I don’t want?’ I ask slowly.
I shift even closer, leaving less than a step between us. We’re nose to nose, mouth to mouth and quickly tongue to tongue as his slides between my teeth and I hear myself sigh with pleasure.
His hand strokes my face, slides to my neck and slowly travels down my body, stopping at my waist to easily lift me onto the counter in one impeccably smooth scoop.
I feel every twitch of his muscles as he presses up against me and I match them beat for beat as I roll into him.
My legs are wrapped around his waist – I don’t know how or when they got there, but I grip them even tighter around him as I breathe him in.
I haven’t kissed like this in so long. If I’m honest, maybe ever.
My fingers reach for his head and I try to commit the feel of his lips to my memory.
His mouth leaves mine, quickly peppering kisses down my body as his hand tentatively slides under my top.
I throw my head back in pleasure and he presses on further, fingers grazing the cotton of my stupid comfy travel bra.
I silently curse at myself and my choices.
If I’d known where today would end, I would have toughed out the Eurostar in something underwired and lacy.
But I could have never seen this coming.
I could have never seen him coming. I sink my fingers into his back as he sucks hard at my neck.
Then his hands drop and the space between us grows cold. I open my eyes to find him back to standing inches away.
‘We shouldn’t do this.’ He’s panting.
I stare back, confused.
‘You’re drunk,’ he says.
I argue back. ‘So are you.’
‘Yeah, and I shouldn’t have done this,’ he says.
‘Oh.’ I drop my eyes to the floor.
I guess it felt too good to be true because it was.
We moved too fast and too booze-headedly and he came to his senses at the most terrible time possible.
Now I’m drunk and dishevelled on his kitchen counter after I abandoned my other sleeping arrangements, and I’m supposed to what?
Go to his spare room as if nothing happened?
I cross my arms over my chest and let my head fall forward, but all too quickly his hand scoops my chin, lifting my eyes to his, now sparked with concern.
‘It’s not you, Am. I just said I wouldn’t do this, you know? No more casual flings, remember?’
I swallow hard and recall our conversation at the bar. All at once, a wave of guilt flushes through my body.
I have a tendency to jump into things without thought and then abandon them as soon as I’m met with consequences.
Clearly Noah is different. Clearly Noah has the forethought to put a pin in bad choices before they go too far.
I shouldn’t poison that. One day with the guy and I almost made him relapse.
‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, this was silly. It’s for the best that we stop while we can.’
I slip down off the counter but he doesn’t move back, leaving us pressed close, chest to chest. We don’t speak – we don’t dare, but our eyes stay locked, mine entranced and his unmistakably hungry.
He takes a deep breath, fingers trembling as they skate up my palm before wrapping tightly around my wrist. I bite back a growl as the flesh sinks into mine.
When I look back towards him, his eyes have darkened.
‘I didn’t to want to stop. Trust me,’ he says in a whisper, staring at my lips.
He keeps his gaze fixed on them and sways ever so slightly, likely due to the drinks in his system. It’s enchanting. He’s enchanting. But he was also very right, which is why I press my hand against his chest as he leans in for round two.
‘You can’t break your promise this soon,’ I say. ‘You came out here for a reason and you can’t blow it on me.’
His face drops and I feel the regret so deeply, but I vow not to give in to it.
‘Where was that spare room?’ I ask.
He releases my wrist, forcing a meek smile.
‘Down the hall. Just over there.’ He motions.
I use the movement as he points to slide out from my spot and start lugging my case in the general direction. It’s for the best – I know it is. But that doesn’t stop the urge I have to go back to his room and jump right in that bed.
As I traipse down the hall, I try to come up with a list of more reasons why we shouldn’t have sex. I muster three at best, all flimsy enough to be picked apart as quickly as they’re formed. Nothing sticks, nothing’s strong . . . nothing, that is, apart from his painstakingly upsetting resolution.
‘Amorie?’ he calls out softly.
I turn around, making out his tall, curly silhouette through the slither of moonlight.
‘Thank you,’ he says gently. ‘I really appreciate this. And you. It . . . it took a lot.’
My body flushes with warmth and I just about make out his soft, caring smile through the dark. That smile alone, so genuinely appreciative, shoots to the top of my terrible list of reasons.
‘Hey, I’ll not sleep with you anytime,’ I say.
His laugh echoes down the hallway as he heads for his own room. As I open the door to mine, a tidal wave of fuzziness floods through me and I feel overcome with peace, and only the tiniest what if?