Chapter Three
Elsie
"What the fuck is this?" Noah asks, his brows furrowed as he stares at the TV like he's never seen one before.
"Well, that's a television," I tease before lifting the remote. "And this is a remote. If you press buttons on this thing, it works that thing. Kinda like magic."
He narrows his eyes at me. "I meant, what the fuck are we watching, Dimples?"
"The Masked Singer."
He stares at me blankly.
"They dress up in costumes and put on performances, and then the judges try to figure out who they are based on a set of clues. They're all famous people."
"And they willingly put that shit on?" He quirks a brow at me. "They can't be that famous, then."
"Some of them are," I protest through laughter. "It's a fun show."
"Your idea of fun and mine are drastically different."
"What do you watch? Wait! Let me guess." I tap my bottom lip like I'm really thinking about it.
"If you say LivePD or Cops…"
"I was actually going to go with Tiger King," I say conversationally. "It seems right up your alley."
"Fucking Tiger King," he mutters, making me laugh. "I do not watch Tiger King."
"Tickled? Cat Dancers? Finders Keepers?" I suggest, balancing my plate on my knees.
"I don't even know what the fuck any of those are." He scoops up a big bite of lasagna. "But I'm deeply disturbed that you do."
"Hey. Don't judge my addiction to strange documentaries until you've watched a few yourself. They're good reminders that we can build a community from any interest and find a sense of belonging anywhere if we're determined enough." I pause. "Or argue over anything."
"That…" He eyes me sideways. "That's actually not a bad observation."
I grin at him as he pops his bite into his mouth.
"Fuck," he grunts, his eyes widening slightly. "That's good."
"Thanks. I made it myself."
"It's damn good," he mutters, taking another big bite.
I realize that I'm staring at him and quickly glance down at my plate before shoveling a bite into my mouth. For long moments, we eat in silence before the show comes on.
"Explain this shit to me again," he murmurs when the first performance starts.
"After the performance, the judges will try to guess which celebrity is under the costume. The audience and judges also vote, and each week, the contestant with the least number of votes is eliminated, at which point they take off their mask and reveal their identity. The last one standing wins."
"What do they win?"
"A trophy."
He blinks at the TV. "That's it?"
"Yep."
"Yeah, fuck that. There's no way I'd die in a costume that big every week for a trophy."
"Uh, don't you literally chase people with like fifty pounds of stuff around your waist?" I arch a brow at him.
"That's different."
"How so?"
"I'm not dressed as a giant goddamn lizard man, for one," he retorts. "And for two, I can't breathe when I'm chasing a suspect, let alone sing for the masses."
I laugh despite myself. "You should probably get that looked at. I'm pretty sure you should be breathing if you're running."
"Who are you telling?" He cocks a brow at me. "These motherfuckers have me out here dying every night while they're running like goddamn Olympians. If I could throw a fucking truck at them, I would, just on principle."
"Settle down there, Hulk," I say through peals of laughter.
"Hulk has nothing on me." He winks, and I'm instantly thrown back to our conversation about Hulk on his porch earlier.
My traitorous gaze even drifts toward his lap before I realize it.
There's no mistaking the bulge in his jeans.
It's obvious. And definitely proportionate. Jesus Christ. He's got a coke can cock.
Alice is going to die when I tell her. Wait. What am I thinking? I can't tell her about his dick. I'll never hear the end of it if I tell her that I was looking at his dick. It is impressive, though.
Noah clears his throat, and I rip my gaze away.
He just caught me looking at his dick. Oh my god.
Why did I keep unpacking after he brought me cookies? Now I really have to move, and most of my stuff is already unpacked.
Alice is going to love this.
"Um, I…um…"
A loud knock on the door saves me from having to come up with some excuse that won't materialize.
"I'll get it!" I practically bolt to my feet, barely managing to catch my plate before I dump lasagna all over the floor.
This is a disaster.
Why was I staring at his cock?
Oh, right. Because I've gone through two sets of batteries in my little friend since I met the man, it was right there waiting to be noticed, and I'm a glutton for punishment.
The plate thuds against the coffee table before I scurry toward the front door as fast as I can, leaving him staring after me.
I don't recognize the guy on the other side, but I fling it open anyway.
"Hi. Can I help you?"
"Hey." The blond giant grins at me. "Is my idiot partner here? I have his key."
"Yeah, come in," I mumble, holding the door open wide for him.
He ducks into the foyer just as Noah steps up behind me.
"Elsie, this is Jackson. Jackson, this is Elsie," Noah rumbles.
"Hi, nice to meet you." I'm not sure where to look, so I stare at my feet. It's safer that way. At least I'm not staring at anyone's dick.
"Nice to meet you, too, doll," Jackson murmurs, amusement in his voice. "I have your key, brother."
"Thought it was going to be a couple of hours before you could get here," Noah says. He sounds…annoyed? Why is he annoyed? Crap. He's probably annoyed because he thought he'd be stuck here for two hours.
"Got done early," Jackson says, his voice still laced with amusement. "Figured you'd appreciate it."
"Yeah, sure."
I risk a peek up at Noah to see him glaring at Jackson, which I don't really understand. His partner is doing him a favor. Why is he cranky about it?
Probably because you were staring at his dick like he's a piece of meat, a snarky little voice reminds me. It's probably not wrong.
"I'll be out in a minute," Noah says to Jackson.
"I guess that's my cue to get the fuck out then," Jackson smirks before giving me a tiny salute. "It was nice to meet you, Elsie."
"You too," I mumble, watching him slip out the front door before I turn to Noah. "Um…I guess you're rescued now."
"Yeah," he mutters. "Thanks for dinner, sweetness."
"Anytime."
He stares at me for a long moment, something flickering through his green eyes too quickly for me to read, and then he steps forward, brushing his lips across my cheek. "I'll see you soon, Elsie."
"You too," I whisper, fighting the urge to reach up and plant my hand right where his lips just were.
He strides toward the door, only to turn back to look at me after he wrenches it open. "I'm cooking for you next time."
"I…uh, okay?"
He disappears through the door, leaving me staring after him in shock. What the heck just happened? Is he mad that I was staring at his dick or not?
For the next week and a half, I don't even manage to catch a glimpse of Noah. Either he's at work or I am. Or he's avoiding me. I'm not entirely sure which is true. But by the time the end of my first week of classes rolls around, I'm drained.
Having a never-ending parade of sex dreams is hard work. So is trying to wrangle thirty fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds for seven hours a day. Come Friday, all I want is a hot bath, a glass of wine, and my bed.
Fate has other plans. Or maybe it's karma. Either way, the Universe is not on my side because I've been coerced into going for dinner and drinks with some of my coworkers.
At least, that's the plan until I lock myself out.
"Dammit," I grumble, the toe of my shoe thudding against the bottom of the door like that's really going to make it open. The hardwood doesn't even budge.
I glance toward Noah's house and then hesitate. If I go over there, he's probably going to think I locked myself out on purpose just to spend time with him. And as much as I'd like to see him again, I'd really like not to be seen as his crazy, stalker neighbor.
For the record, I have totally become his crazy, stalker neighbor. I watch his house so much, hoping for a glimpse of him, that I'm basically on an around-the-clock stakeout. But am I telling him that? Uh, hell no. Batman himself couldn't beat that confession out of me.
"Hide a freaking key next time," I grumble to myself, stomping toward the nearest window to see if I can shimmy it open enough to crawl through it.
"I'm going to die balanced on the railing of my porch in stilettos and a micro dress, trying to heft a window," I mutter, trying to inch forward enough to shove the stubborn window up. It moves an inch, and I feel like Superwoman.
"What the fuck are you doing, Dimples?"
"Ahh!"
This is how it ends. Right here. I tumble to my death while the hot cop across the street watches. He's going to see my Bite Me panties and probably laugh while I'm taking my last breath.
My feet slip—stupid shoes—and I list sideways, grabbing for the window like it's really going to save me or my dignity.
It doesn't. But Noah does.
I don't know how he moves so fast, but before I even tumble off the side of the railing, he's at my side, hauling me back to safety. I land against his chest in an inelegant sprawl, all flailing arms and legs. The entire neighborhood probably sees my panties.
"Jesus Christ, Dimples," Noah grunts, trying to contain me before I manage to knee him in the balls for a second—or maybe a third—time.
"You shouldn't sneak up on people!" I cry, because yes, let's blame the man who just saved your life. That's real helpful, Elsie Jean.
"I didn't sneak," he says, setting me on my feet. "I walked. You were too busy doing some fucked up balance beam routine to notice. What the fuck were you doing climbing in those shoes?"
"Trying to open the window."
"Uh, you're supposed to do that from inside, Dimples."
"Igotlockedout."
"What?" He tips his head down, his green eyes meeting mine.
"I got locked out."