Chapter 22
Twenty Two
Andie
Noah drives like a man on a mission the second we get inside his car.
Or like a lunatic.
The jury is still out on that one.
After rushing back to our spot and packing all our stuff, we hurried to his car. Just when I was about to climb into the driver’s seat, he enveloped my body from behind, softly clicking the door shut, though the vibration in his body told me he was anything but.
Snatching the car keys from me, he said, “I love it when you take charge, Andie. But if I don’t get us home in the next twenty minutes, I’m going to bend you and fuck you right over the hood of my car.”
My breath hitched, not entirely hating the idea. Clearly, I can’t be trusted to make rational decisions right now.
He leaned down, biting the lobe of my ear. “Though the idea of fucking you from behind is tempting,” he said, mirroring my thoughts, “that’s not what I want for your first time.”
This man was thinking about me even when he was hanging on by a thread. Every time I think he couldn’t be more considerate and sweet, he proves me wrong.
Now, we’re practically flying on the highway, racing against time to get home as he blows a horn for every car that comes in our way.
I squirm in my seat, all hot and bothered, seeing him drive so recklessly, so desperate to be with me. It gives me the confidence boost I needed. No man can fake so much interest—not even the most experienced ones.
The air in the car is so flushed and thick with tension that my throat goes dry, and when I gulp, I can still taste him on my tongue—warm, musky, and so masculine.
His dirty words still echo in my ears, enough to give me a mini orgasm every time I think about them.
And the size of him—my God, I don’t know how he’ll fit. I feel my body heat up just at the thought of his length anywhere near my core, and said core in question flutters, dampening my already soaked panties.
Noah doesn’t look my way the entire ride, his reason being ‘If I look at you right now, we’re not reaching home. And I really need you under me on a bed.’
Yeah, that shut me right up. I guessed he was bossy, but damn, his bossiness knows no bounds.
We’re about to round the corner to his penthouse street when suddenly something small rushes in front of our car.
It causes Noah to push the brake so hard that if it weren’t for the seatbelt, we’d surely be flying out of the front glass with the way the car comes to a sudden screeching halt on the asphalt.
Noah’s hand flies out and presses against my chest to reduce the sudden jolt. For a second, the entirety of my life flashes in front of my eyes.
“Motherfucker!”
“Berries on a cake!”
Curses leave our lips as we slump back in our seats, our chests heaving, eyes wide. Noah’s hands are instantly on me, checking for injuries. “Are you all right? Did you get hurt?” Panic laces his voice.
I take his hands in mine, grasping his chin and making him look at me. “I’m fine. We’re fine,” I assure him softly, caressing his cheek.
He leans into my palm and heaves a relieved breath as if he needed me to say that. “Good. Good. That’s good.”
Then, as if remembering why we halted, his eyes flare with anger. “What the fuck was that?” he growls as he opens the car door, anger radiating from his body in waves.
I’m not far behind him as I hop out, too. I’m so glad that this road wasn’t too busy, or else it could’ve been a far more serious accident with severe injuries.
My brows furrow when I see Noah standing still with his back to me, his shoulders coiled tight.
“What is it?” I don’t have to wait for him to answer because there it is, the thing that almost made us one with God.
A cat.
A cat lazying around in the middle of the road, licking its paw without a care in the world.
The absurdity of the situation has me swiveling my head to Noah, only for the reaction on his face to have me sputtering out a laugh.
His glum face looks so tortured right now, not because he’s hurt. But because he can’t fathom being scared to death by this tiny little creature that has no idea how it made our souls leave our bodies for a second there.
The sound of me howling, even though I try to hide it with a cough, has Noah glaring at me as if I personally offended him.
“I’m sorry,” I sputter between my bouts of laughter, “but that was…your face…” Unable to form a coherent sentence when I’m fighting for oxygen to reach my lungs, I bend over with my hands on my knees to contain myself.
But nothing works as my eyes continue to track between the oblivious cat and the enraged man.
Noah crosses his arms at his chest, twisting his body toward me. “Oh, you think this is funny, do you?” He cocks an eyebrow at me, daring me to answer.
I stand straight, raising a hand between us, my index finger and thumb a hair’s breadth away from each other. “Just a little.” I try. I really do try as I bite the inside of my cheek, but the dang chuckle escapes my mouth again.
Noah scoffs, shaking his head at me, but I catch the tiny twitch of his lips. “Sure. Go ahead. Laugh all you want. Laugh like we almost didn’t end up in an ER trying to save this damned cat.”
With another scathing glare at the creature, he shakes his head and turns on his heels to head back to the car.
“Wait, where are you going?” My voice comes out as a yell.
Surprised, he looks at me and then jerks his head at the car. “Where do you think, Andie? We’re going home?” he says it as if it’s the obvious course of action.
I point at the cat still on the ground, paying us no heed as it continues to lick itself. “We can’t just leave it here!” My eyes wide, voice a little higher than normal.
Noah’s own eyes widen at my outburst as he looks at me for a second and then continues to browse around us. It’s like he’s hoping for someone to come to his aid and support what he has to say next.
“You can’t be serious?” His voice shows no inflection of emotion as he stands stalk still by the hood of the car, his eyes practically screaming to drop the idea and get back into the car with him.
We continue to glare at each other—my eyes narrowed at him to try and dare refute me, his eyes wide in horror of what he already senses I’m about to do.
“No,” he spits, his jaw clenched tight.
I don’t dignify it with a response and harrumph at him, flicking my hair off my shoulder. Moving to the kitten on the ground, I crouch in front of it. For the first time, I take in its condition.
The cat’s fur is matted with dust and dirt, and its ginger color is dull. It’s obvious the cat is malnourished, and I can guess why: there’s no collar around its neck to indicate it has an owner.
This poor thing.
I feel bad knowing it had to spend its life on the street with no one to rely on. Must’ve been so lonely.
I have no idea how old the cat is, but I reckon it has been on the streets for months, going hungry for lord knows how long.
“Get me that leftover tuna sandwich from the basket!” I tell Noah from my crouched position. I prepared some meat options too, not knowing Noah was a vegetarian until today. It’s to keep his cholesterol level in check, he told me.
He rolls his eyes at me but does so without protest. Coming to a stand next to me, he passes me the sandwich.
“Thank you.” I take it from him and gently extend it to the cat. I don’t want to spook it.
It has the cat’s eyes darting to me in an instant as it ceases all its movements. Its beady, cautious eyes bore into mine, assessing me, trying to gauge my intentions.
With my outstretched hand, I try to appear as calm and sincere as I can with a six-foot-five man looming behind me. When the cat does not attempt to move, I slant a glare in Noah’s direction, silently telling him to take his scary energy somewhere else.
The man grunts, rolls his eyes at us, and goes to stand near the car. It doesn’t take the cat long to stand and sniff the air, the smell of the tuna tickling its nostrils.
Between security and hunger, hunger wins out, and it gives tentative licks to the tuna. When it’s sure that I mean it no harm, it struts closer to me and curls around my feet.
With a smile on my face, I gently lift the animal in my arms. “Aww…you hungry, baby? We’re gonna get you some food,” I coo at it in a baby voice.
“That thing,” Noah says, animatedly pointing at the cat in my hold, “is not getting in my car,” he lays it down as if I’ll listen to him.
* * *
Of course, I didn’t listen to him.
And yes, he sulked about it all the way to the vet, shooting scathing glares at the fur baby in my hand every chance he got.
Never thought I’d see the day when Noah Miller would sulk about anything, let alone a cat getting inside his car.
I can’t say that I’m not enjoying getting to witness this adorable side of him. He’d throw a fit if he heard me calling him that.
Not that it can stop me. I plan to say it to him at an opportune time.
It’s like the universe is with me; I’m presented with the perfect time to say it as we browse through the pet store Noah drove us to after we visited the vet.
The vet said what I already knew: it’s malnourished and needs intensive care. We also found out that it’s a she.
Noah rolled his eyes at this knowledge and said, “With an attitude like that, of course, she is.”
The vet and I chuckled at his statement, even if he seemed less than thrilled.
We were asked if we’d adopt her or leave her there. I inquired what would happen if we did. They informed us that they’ll keep her for a few days, and if they can’t find someone willing to take her, she’ll be put down.
My stomach dropped at the thought, and I couldn’t utter a word. Noah didn’t even hesitate and picked her up when he said, “She’s going with us.”
I’m well aware that I shouldn’t fall for Noah’s silent care and charm, but the butterflies in my belly couldn’t stop fluttering seeing him take charge of the situation. Protecting a cat he hates so much just because he knew I couldn’t fathom leaving her there to be put down in case no one took her.
But the cat couldn’t let him think that just because he agreed to adopt her, she would forget his scathing glares, could she? So, to emphasize her point, she puked all over his shirt the second he lifted her.
It’s been twenty minutes since she showed him her true colors, and Noah’s shirt still stinks even though he washed it at the vet’s office. The people don’t recognize him because he’s wearing his cap low, but we both can’t help but notice the dirty looks they send our way, disgusted by the smell.
I hold the cat with one hand, covering my mouth with the fist of the other to hide the grin on my face.
Noah walks beside me, a basket in his hand, ready to put in anything I think we should have. His face is heating up with embarrassment, and I can’t find it in me to feel sorry for him.
It’s all so hilarious.
“I’ll murder this cat. Fucking pussy,” Noah mutters, cursing so only I can hear him. He’s such a grumpy bear, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Once we have everything, we head over to the cash counter to get the stuff checked out. The cashier, a young woman, scrunches her nose the second the smell hits her.
“I’m sorry for this. We had a little…accident,” I apologize to her, placing my hand on his forearm so he literally doesn’t run out of here.
“That’s putting it mildly,” he mumbles, and I bite the inside of my cheek before I burst into another fit of laughter.
The cashier puts our items in a paper bag, sliding it toward us. “I think we have some t-shirts in his size in our storage. Want me to go get them for you?” She offers, pointing in the direction.
“No—” Noah’s about to refuse, but I squeeze his arm, his corded muscles not moving an inch.
“Yes, we’ll take that. Thank you,” I say, giving her an appreciative smile. With a nod, she walks off and into the storage.
When my eyes find his, he’s looking at me with a raised eyebrow, unimpressed by my decision. “I don’t need that.”
“Of course, you do,” I scoff, putting a finger under my nose to ward off a little smell. “Do you want people to continue to stare at you because you stink?”
His jaw clenches at my statement, but he doesn’t refute, knowing I’m right. He does, however, throw another glare at the oblivious cat.
“Didn’t think so,” I respond, flicking my hair over my shoulder.
Soon enough, the cashier is back with a t-shirt in her hand. She forwards it to me. The second he sees the color, he shakes his head like a nine-year-old. “No.”
“Wear it,” I roll my eyes at him, shoving the t-shirt in his chest and giving him my best ‘teacher’ glare.
He reluctantly takes it, but not before quickly removing his cap and shirt and placing them neatly on the counter.
My jaw drops to the floor. The cashier’s too.
He did not just swipe his shirt in the middle of the store, putting his washboard abs on full display for the world to salivate over.
Shut up, drama queen.
The view is stolen too quickly from humanity, though. Noah slides the pink t-shirt over his head and pulls it down to cover his perfectly chiseled body.
Then the quote on the t-shirt has me laughing harder than I ever have before. The cashier releases her own chuckle, instantly trying to cover it.
He looks perplexed, confused as to what could cause us to do so. “What is it?” He looks down at himself, and his face blanches, color draining from his face.
He goes to remove it, but I hold his arms, stopping him. “No…don’t. Please, don’t take it off.” I shake with laughter. Today has not been his day.
Because why else would the universe play such a cruel joke on you and give a t-shirt that reads, ‘I love me a good pussy’ with a kitty printed beneath it?
It’s only to exact some sort of revenge, I reckon.
“It looks…good on you, Sir,” the cashier comments, making me look at her with wide eyes. We both stare at each other like accomplices before giving the other a high-five, laughing our butts off.
And oh man, Noah does not appreciate or reciprocate the sentiment.
It tells me all I need to know. This t-shirt’s going in the trash the second we’re home. So, I do what any sensible person in my situation would.
I pull out my phone and snap a picture of him scowling at us, wearing that t-shirt.
Once done, I pocket my phone only to find him looking at me like I betrayed him. “You did not just send someone this picture?” He asks, even though he knows the answer.
My body vibrates with laughter, though this time I contain it. But one look at my face gives him his answer.
I did.
Fuming, he stalks out of the store, but not before putting his card for me to pay for the stuff.
Guess he’s taking the cat home.