Chapter 16 Noah
Sixteen
Noah
Whoever said angels don’t exist in human form has definitely never met Andie Moore.
This woman is the literal personification of the word in more ways than one. As she sits beside me in the passenger seat, clad in my clothes, all I feel are emotions I shouldn’t—gratification, satisfaction, and contentment.
I shouldn’t even entertain the thoughts that my fucked up mind conjures when it comes to this woman. Thoughts that would send her running for the hills faster than Usain Bolt.
I’m aware I’m the type of man mothers warn their daughters about. Not because I’d physically harm them. But because I could torment them emotionally. No matter how much I try, I can’t love someone. Not when I myself am emotionally wrecked.
Not when I don’t truly understand how to love someone. How could I, when I have not been loved my entire life?
All I do is imitate natural human behavior when it comes to expressing love. Since that makes me feel inadequate, I compensate for my lack of feelings by taking care of the people I value in my life.
That’s what happened on the ice today. When Kyle smacked straight into Ezra, which led him to run into me and all of us toppling over on the ice, I lost it. All I could imagine was that if I were not the one who got the brunt of it, Ezra could have suffered a serious injury.
The mere thought of imagining Ezra motionless made rage course through me, and I couldn’t hold back and charged at Kyle. The need to hurt him, for retribution, came out of nowhere.
Though after I reached home, all I could do was hate myself.
Hate myself for losing it, for getting violent, for becoming the very person I hate the most. The gray numbness, the gloomy clouds that hang over my head, wrapping around my skin like they want to keep me encaged, had all but drowned me in misery.
I would’ve happily found myself at the end of a bottle of alcohol the moment I showered if not for Andie showing up at my door in clothes that could tempt a saint to sin.
To say that I was baffled would be an understatement. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest, and I didn’t even think it could do that.
Andie Moore at my doorstep at night was a disaster waiting to happen—one I’d drive right into. Her dark, wavy hair pulled up into a ponytail, her hoodie making it impossible to discern if she was even wearing anything underneath.
When I give her a quick glance and find her gazing out the window, I’m reminded of her shorts—those dam shorts that had me ripping them right off her legs.
Finding that she wasn’t wearing any underwear just because she couldn’t wait to get to me made the wild beast inside me roar with possessiveness.
What happened in the bathroom flashes before my eyes, and I have to bite my tongue to hold in a groan.
The sight of her sweet cunt and her face contorted in pleasure is imprinted in my mind, and I never want to get rid of it.
I could spend an eternity between her thick thighs, and I know my hunger for her would still be unsatiated.
My dick twitches at the prospect, and I pray to God that it stays down—I can’t have her looking at me like some depraved man. Though when it comes to Andie, I’m beginning to realize that I’m fucking starved for her.
Her angelic voice pulls me out of my unholy thoughts. “Where are we going?”
My head swivels to look at her and find her glowing eyes already on me, threatening to pull me deep into its trenches.
I clear my throat, looking back on the road, hoping that she can’t tell what I was thinking. “Molly’s. Seb was talking about this diner he discovered, and I wanted to check it out.”
She sits straighter in her seat, perking up as she slides one foot up on the seat and under her thigh, getting comfortable. “Oh, we are! That’s cool. It’s been years since I last went to a diner.”
Her statement strikes me as odd, and my brows furrow in its own violation. Even I went to a diner just last month, and I’m the most anti-social person I know. I hate going out, hate idling by and doing nothing.
Though there was a time when I hated it at home, doing all sorts of odd jobs outside so I wouldn’t have to go home.
The moment I feel my gloomy shadows opening their claws, Andie’s voice makes them retreat. “Noah, is that it?”
Startled by the sound of my name on her lips, I look at where she’s pointing, and sure enough, I find a glowing neon sign with Molly’s written on it.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I’d have totally missed it if it weren’t for Andie jarring me. Pulling to the curb, I park the car.
“Stay,” I instruct, then, getting out of the car, I round to her side, open the door for her, and extend my hand for her to take.
When she doesn’t move, I glance up at her and find her looking at me, baffled, her eyes covered with a sheen of liquid.
Panic sets in upon finding her distressed. “What’s wrong?” My eyes frantically rove the length of her, searching for a visible injury. “Are you hurt?”
I grab her hands and turn them over to see if I can find the cause of her pain or whatever’s causing her eyes to gloss over and squash it.
She gives a throaty chuckle, extricates her hands, and cups my cheeks, guiding me to look at her. “Hey, I’m alright.” Her face close to mine, her warm breath ghosting my lips.
My shoulders relax a little—I didn’t even realize they were coiled so tight at the prospect of her being hurt, especially because of me. “You sure?” My gaze bounces between her eyes, trying to gauge whether she’s being honest as I cover her soft hand in mine.
Her fingers are scratching my beard in a way that makes me want to purr at her feet, and curl in her lap as I peer into her ocean eyes—eyes that shimmer like the sun shining upon them.
The absurd thought alone is enough to jarr me out of the trance we were in. I clear my throat and step back, her hands falling in her lap.
I extend my hand again, and this time she slides her soft palm in mine with a bright smile. God, if that smile alone doesn’t give me more pleasure than winning any game could.
Because fuck, I brought that smile to her beautiful face.
As she climbs out of the car and we walk into the diner, I know that if I continue to stay in the vicinity of Andie Moore, one of us might end up hurt by the end of our deal. And I fear, it might be me.
But would the impending heartbreak stop me from stealing every chance I get to be in her serene presence? Abso-fucking-lutely not.
After all these years of being cautious, I’m afraid I’ve finally found my vice.
Turns out it’s a five-foot-three woman named Andie Moore—more addictive than anything to ever fucking exist.
And I’m not complaining.