Chapter Four
Noah
"What's your favorite thing about Chicago?" Elsie asks, her feet tucked up underneath her on my sofa while she pokes through her bowl of stir-fry, looking for any mushrooms she left behind. The bottom of her dress is pulled up so high on her thighs I can damn near see her panties.
I'm not telling her that I can see them, though. Fuck that noise. If she wants to flash them at me, I'm not going to complain. I'm dying to know what she's wearing beneath that pretty black dress.
I was jealous as hell when she told me she had plans tonight.
I've spent the last week and a half obsessing over her…
mad as hell that Jackson and I were chasing a homicide suspect through Chicago when I'd have rather been right here, getting to know every little thing about her.
There's no way I was letting her go out tonight.
Thank God I didn't have to resort to drastic measures like handcuffing myself to her.
I was seriously considering the option until she admitted she didn't even want to go. The problem solved itself at that point. She's been stuck here for the last hour and a half, waiting on a locksmith.
"Easy. The answer is obviously sports," I murmur. "We have hockey. We have basketball. We have football. What's not to love?"
Elsie grins at me. "So what you're saying is you like sportsball."
"Dimples, there isn't a man in this city who doesn't like sportsball." I chuckle. "What's your favorite thing about Texas?"
"The people," she says, her voice soft. "They can be stubborn as hell and set in their ways. Neighbors may not even like each other most of the time, but when it counts, they show up for one another."
"You sound like you speak from experience," I observe.
"Maybe a little. My dad got sick when I was in fifth grade.
Cancer," she whispers. "The whole community pitched in to help make sure we didn't lose the house and had meals while he was getting treatment.
He died when I was in the sixth grade. My mom was able to take the last few months off to be there…
" She trails off, swallowing. "Well, she got to spend every minute with him right up until the end. "
"Damn, Dimples," I whisper, my heart aching for her. "I'm sorry you lost him."
"Me too," she says simply, and then a sweet smile twists at her lips. "He was an amazing dad. My mom got remarried when I was fourteen. My stepdad is pretty great, too."
"Do you have siblings?"
"I'm an only. You?"
"One brother."
"Is he a cop too?"
"He plays hockey, actually."
"Ah." Her face lights up. "No wonder you like sports!"
I chuckle quietly. "We both played through college, but it was just a hobby for me. He was really fucking good, though. No one was surprised when he was drafted."
"Where does he play?"
"Right here in Chicago."
"I bet you love that."
"It doesn't suck," I agree, setting my empty bowl on the table to grab my beer. "Especially when I need a favor at work. All it takes is a couple of tickets, and I'm golden."
Her bright laughter spills across the living room, turning my cock to steel again. Christ Almighty, that sound is like a fucking choir of angels.
"How was your first week of work? Are the kids little assholes?"
"No!" she protests, and then those dimples pop out again, mischief dancing in her eyes.
"Maybe a little. They're very opinionated, and they speak a language I do not understand.
I need a translator just to make sense of half the shit they say.
" She looks at me with wide eyes. "I never considered myself old until some kid told me that my outfit was giving mid vibes yesterday, and the class had to explain what that even meant. And now, I'm apparently cheugy."
"What the fuck does that even mean?" I ask, laughing.
"I don't know!" she cries. "But I don't think it's a good thing, Noah."
"You aren't cheugy. You're perfect."
Her eyes widen, her lips parting slightly.
Shit. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. I don't want to send her running when this is precisely where I want her but fuck it.
I'm not going to lie to her. She is perfect.
So I don't take it back, try to downplay it, or laugh it off.
I let it hang for a moment, just long enough for her to fully absorb the comment before I snag the remote from the table.
"You picked last time. It's my turn."
She blinks like she's just coming back to herself, her gaze falling to the remote in my hand. "Oh. I guess we're watching Tiger King then."
"No, you smartass. We aren't watching fucking Tiger King." I eye her sideways. "What is it with you and Joe Exotic?"
There's no mistaking the hilarity in her expression when she looks at me with those dimples out in full force. "So, you have watched it!" she cries, as if she's just learned my deepest, darkest secret.
"Maybe," I mutter, earning another bright peal of laughter from her. It's fucking worth it, especially after the conversation about her dad. Elsie Cameron wasn't made for grief and sadness. She was meant for laughter.
I flip on the television before scrolling to Netflix and starting the next episode of Breaking Bad.
"A cop watching a show about a meth-dealing teacher, huh?" she teases, peeking over at me. "Interesting. I bet a shrink would have a field day with you, Noah Kirk."
I grin, shaking my head. "Watch the show, smartass."
An hour later, the locksmith finally shows up. It takes him all of fifteen minutes to get her back inside her house. I linger for several minutes after he's gone, reluctant to head back to my place. It feels warmer with her there.
"So…" she says, "looks like you're no longer stuck with me."
"Looks like it." I lean against the doorframe. "You going to keep your windows locked from now on?"
"Yes, Detective."
I narrow my eyes at her, but she just grins. And then she squeaks like she just remembered something.
"Oh!" She dashes into the house, kicking her heels off as she goes. "Stay right there. I have dessert for you."
I swear to God, if it's not her naked, I'm going to break shit tonight…
I watch her ass until she vanishes around the corner into her dining room and then discreetly adjust my cock. I barely have time to reposition the hard fucker before she's scurrying back toward me.
"What is that?" I ask, eyes narrowed on the frosting container in her hands.
"Dessert," she says simply, holding out a spoon to me.
I glance between her and the container and then back again. "Sweetness, that's what goes on top of dessert."
"Yes, but if you eat it by itself, it doesn't have calories," she says, prying the lid off to reveal a fresh container of coconut pecan frosting.
"Yeah, you're gonna have to run that by me again." I dip my spoon into the container, scooping out a bite.
"There are no calories unless it goes on the cake," she says. "It's simple math. The calories only exist in the finished product, not individual pieces of it."
"Uh…"
"It's the same reason why things are free if you buy them with cash."
"I'm concerned that you're allowed to teach actual children," I mutter. "Because none of that bullshit you just said is reality, Elsie."
"Oh, really? Then, if you have fifty dollars in your bank account, and you spend two dollars in cash on a jar of frosting, how much money do you still have in your bank account?" she demands, one hand propped on her hip.
"You still paid money for it."
"Yes, but you didn't pay money from your account for it, so it doesn't count."
I shake my head at her, popping the spoonful of frosting into my mouth. The shit is good. But when she takes a bite, she moans like it's the best damn thing she's ever had in her mouth. And my pants are so goddamn tight, I need to get the fuck out of here before she's the next thing I'm tasting.
She moans again, and I lean forward, brushing my lips across her cheek because I can't help myself.
"Behave, Dimples," I growl, pressing my spoon into her hand before I step back. "And keep your windows locked!"
I practically race down the steps, desperate to get home and take care of the situation in my pants before I explode.
Fucking hell.
Who knew watching her eat frosting from a container could be so goddamn sexy?