Chapter 4
Four
Andie
Iwake up with my head hammering, unable to open my eyes.
A groan falls from my lips as I turn over to the side, attempting to regain consciousness of my surroundings. Why do I feel like I have the world’s worst hangover?
Last night rushes to the front of my mind like a truck with no brakes, doomed for death. My disastrous date with Sean, him humiliating me, and Noah swooping in to save the day.
What has me shooting up straight in bed, though, is the replay of my conversation with Noah in some bar. Even the hangover isn’t strong enough to help me drown it out.
“I’ve never had sex. Teach me how to do it.”
“I’m a virgin.”
“Have sex with me.”
A gasp falls out of my mouth, my hand covering it, while the other is lost in the sea that is this duvet I’m buried under.
“Nuts on an apple pie! What did I do?” I mutter in the silence of the foreign room. Lying back down, I smother my face into the soft pillow and scream my lungs out.
When I have no more air left in my lungs to exhale, I sit back up and examine where I am. The dark blue walls surround the room with a queen-size bed right in the middle. The heavy curtains fanned across the window to block the sunlight.
I find folded clothes placed neatly on the side of the bed. Taking stock of myself, I realize I’m in yesterday’s dress, my hair unceremoniously falling over my shoulders, sticking out.
This is not good.
“Ughhh!” I get up from the bed and head to what seems to be the ensuite bathroom with the pair of clothes to freshen up because I smell like vomit. And that’s not how I’d like Noah to see me.
God, what he must think of me!
Fifteen minutes and a dozen pep talks later, I take a deep breath and leave the room in Noah’s t-shirt that smells like him. Yes, I did sniff it so I could remember the scent and imprint it in my soul.
And yes, his t-shirt is drowning me. Why wouldn’t it? He’s more than a foot taller than me. Deciding to forgo the trousers he left for me for the very same reason, I step into the hallway, sipping on the glass of water he kept on the bedside table.
The hallway leads to a living room with an open kitchen set-up. There’s hardly any levity to the walls, bare of any frames or signs that someone lives here. My brows furrow at the observation.
The clattering of utensils alerts me to someone’s presence.
Padding closer to the kitchen, I decide to get over yesterday’s embarrassment.
The sight that greets me, though, has me transfixed.
Noah’s muscular back flexes with every move as he flows across the kitchen effortlessly, like he’s been there hundreds of times.
The neck tattoo, which is more often than not hidden underneath his heavily padded jersey, making a debut solely for the enjoyment of my eyes. God! I’ve never seen a man more beautiful and intimidating than him in all the good ways.
My lust-riddled gaze travels from his very naked back to his trimmed waist. I wonder what it would feel like to wrap my legs around it.
Unaware of my leering gaze, he turns around, and the glass I had been holding onto for dear life slips and crashes on the floor, effectively shattering the peaceful silence I had been awarded by the universe to drink this man in without letting him know.
Because what do you mean, I can see the happy trail starting from his navel and leading to what is a forbidden fantasy for me.
Noah’s head jerks up from where he was setting the plates at the sound. His eyes flare wide the second he sees the shattered pieces of the glass right below my feet. Coming back to my senses, I drop to my haunches.
“Crappy snackers! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to…I’ll pick it up,” I ramble, nervous and embarrassed for being caught ogling him and guilty of breaking the glass.
“Stop! Don’t move,” comes his commanding voice. I don’t know how he walks over to me so fast, but I feel him pulling me into a standing position.
“I—” Before I can get a word in, I feel my body defying gravity as he sweeps me off the floor.
He picks me up bridal style without a care in the world. “Careful,” he whispers close to my ear. His hot breath warms my skin, my eyes wide as his skin comes in contact with mine, heating me in places it has no business heating.
“Put me down, Noah. I’m too heavy,” I tell him, trying to wriggle myself free because no matter how much I love the view of his stoic face from up here, I really am heavy.
Noah arches an eyebrow at my words. “Stop spouting bullshit, Andie,” he mutters, his forest eyes peering into mine. “Nothing about you is ever too much.”
Aww, shucks!! Did he have to go and deliver that line with that broody face of his!?
My refusal dies on my tongue as he draws me closer to his bare chest, splattered with the light dusting of curly hair. My hands wrap around his tattooed neck, when his tighten on my thighs.
He starts walking, unaffected by our proximity, while I feel tension coiling in my stomach, though I’m simultaneously conscious of my bloated belly and round thighs.
In a fluent move, he carefully places me on the kitchen counter. “Stay right here. I don’t want you getting hurt.” His hands glide from my waist to my thighs, lingering for a second too long as his eyes bore into mine.
But that might just be my imagination, because why would he do that? I’m me, and he is…him.
Swiveling on his feet, he crosses to the door on the other side of the room, flexing his palms, maybe because of carrying me here.
Grabbing a mop, he makes quick work and cleans the floor in record time. Sauntering into the kitchen as I twist in place, I see him grabbing a t-shirt from the other side of the counter and donning it in one go.
Dang it!
“Welcome to the land of the living,” he comments, peeking up at me as he pours juice into two glasses.
From this close, I can see the raised skin under his tattoos, but the t-shirt obstructs my view.
My face flushes red as I tuck a strand of loosened hair from the bun behind my ear, remembering he said something. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” I reply with a grimace, the hangover knocking back into me. With a groan, I massage my forehead, hoping for the headache to magically disappear.
Placing a glass of juice in front of me, he asks, “Did you take the medicine I left for you?”
With a tired sigh, I say, “No. It makes me feel more nauseous, and I hate that.” Picking up the glass, I take a sip, smacking my lips when I relish the taste.
His gaze drops to my mouth at the action, his stubbled jaw clenching shut as he jerks his head to look anywhere else but at me. He clears his throat, busying himself. “What do you take to cure it then?”
“Usually a toast or something like that?” I shrug, not really thinking much of it.
Noah nods his head. “One hot toast coming right up,” he announces, rubbing his palms before getting to work.
My eyes widen. “Oh, no! Don’t do that on my account. I don’t want to be an inconvenience.” I place both my hands beside me and am about to hop off the counter when his large hands cover my thighs.
“Stay seated, Andie,” he commands in a gravely voice, his body feeling closer than it was a second ago.
I can’t look anywhere else but at his big, manly, and rough hands covering my bare skin. Electricity shoots through me, firing my nerve cells, laying waste to any sensible one left.
Noah’s hands.
On me.
I must still be dreaming, I think. Because how is this real life?
“You’re anything but an inconvenience, Andie,” he continues. “Now, sit here like a good girl and let me feed you.”
My wide eyes slide to him, and his expression doesn’t leave anything up for argument. I nod and audibly gulp, because words seem to have ditched me.
“Good.” With that, he gets to work like he didn’t destroy the functioning of my brain. My thighs rub together as I feel heat in my lower belly.
Yesterday’s conversation barrels through me once again. And as I eat the toast he keeps in front of me, I wonder if it would actually be so bad to let him teach me and help me explore my body.
What’s the worst that can happen? He could refuse. After all, he already witnessed me humiliating myself twice; what’s a third time?
If by any chance of my lucky stars, he agrees, I could have the experience of a lifetime. I could finally get over the bone in my throat that is my virginity.
As I see him chewing on his food, his body leaning against the counter, I finally convince myself of all the good that can come out of this. Now, all that’s left to do is convince him.
When both of us are done with our meals, he stands up, grabs our dishes, and heads toward the dishwasher.
As he bends down to load it up, I realize it’s now or never. And I’m not letting life or the people in it take away my chance at happiness, even if it’s sexual.
I suck in a huge breath and cross my feet over the counter—yeah, Noah still hasn’t let me move—and muster all the courage. Clearing my throat, I begin, “So, have you given any thought to my proposal?”
His back stiffens as he pauses mid-movement, literally in an awkward position between shutting the dishwasher and standing up.
“Noah?” I call out for him when it seems like he’s frozen.
My voice seems to jerk him into action. “What,” he squeaks. Clearing his throat, he repeats, “What proposal?”
“Oh, the one about taking my virginity,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders.
He turns to look at me and grabs the other end of the kitchen counter, his knuckles whitening as his head falls between his shoulders. “Jesus fucking Christ, Andie,” he mutters under his breath on a rough chuckle.
Unsure, my brows furrow as I play with a strand of my hair, framing my face. “Yeah?”
A minute passes before he finally looks up with a deep breath. “Andie, I don’t date,” he challenges.
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m not asking you to date me. I’m asking you to…you know…make love to me,” I explain with my hands intertwining.
He leans against the kitchen cupboards, his hands crossing at his chest. My gaze roves over to his bulging biceps, where the seams of his sleeves fight for their dear life to hang on.
“You can’t even say the word fuck, Andie,” he expresses as his lips curve upward, shaking his head like I’m a child. His dusty blond hair fall over his eyes, making him look like a rugged prince, trying to distract me from the matter at hand.
My eyes narrow at him, his condescending tone not sitting well with me. “I don’t have to be able to say the word to do it, Noah,” I snap at him.
His smug smile slips at my serious tone, as he looks between my eyes. It feels like he’s seeing through me with that intense gaze of his. “No, you certainly don’t,” he whispers.
“Yes, so are you gonna do it?” I ask, my own hands folding over my chest.
“You’re seven years younger than me,” he spits out another excuse.
I arch an eyebrow at him, unimpressed by the childish reason. “I’m twenty-three, not an infant, Noah.”
He sighs, shaking his head, “This is wrong on so many levels.”
“What’s wrong about giving a woman her first orgasm?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering a curse under his breath.
When it seems like he’ll deny, I decide to give him a little truth.
“It’s difficult,” I start, my tone low as I look at my lap instead, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt I’m wearing.
“It’s difficult for a woman like me, a woman whose body doesn’t follow society’s idea of fit, to meet decent men.
And if someone actually dates me, it’s more for them, to make them look kind and generous and charitable. ”
I scoff and angrily wipe at the tear that falls unbidden. “Crappers on a cracker, I didn’t mean to cry,” I apologize, sniffling. But the tears don’t stop; it’s like a faucet left open.
In an instant, Noah’s standing in front of me, grabbing my waist and twisting me so my feet hang off the counter. My eyes widen in surprise as he gently wipes my tears with the pad of his thumb.
“I’m sorry this happened to you. They’re idiots for not seeing how special you are,” he states, his jaw clenching.
“Isn’t my body why you’re denying to sleep with me?” I ask him, hesitant that it just might be it.
“Andie, that’s—” his voice breaks, his eyes falling shut as his hands fist the counter beside my thighs, caging me in.
“Yeah?”
He seems to gather his thoughts, opens his piercing emerald eyes, and stares into mine. “That’s not why I’m refusing, Andie?”
“Then why?” I ask.
He releases a hollow laugh. “For starters, you’re my best friend’s little sister, Andie. If Ezra finds out, he’ll kill me, bury me, and dig me out just to bury me again.”
“No one has to know,” I offer with a shrug.
“It’s not that simple, Andie.”
When it feels like he has made his decision, I refuse to face humiliation and rejection any more than I already have since yesterday. “Okay,” I say, my eyes cast downward as I push him aside to leave.
My bare feet touch the wooden floor as I pad across the living room, trying my hardest to swallow the mortification before I break down in front of my brother’s best friend.
Noah’s right. It was a bad idea.
To keep a little bit of my dignity, I let him believe that he’s not the only option I have.
“I’ll find someone else who’s more willing.”