14. Charlie #2
“There are a few, I guess.” He’s so nonchalant about it. I bite my bottom lip and wonder if I should've looked him up before coming down here. My stomach does a flip, and I’m not sure what to do with the feeling.
“I guess you get lucky every night you play, huh?”
“Are you jealous?”
His eyes are locked on me, and I notice his pupils dilate. My face grows hot, and I stutter, “N-no.”
“Are you gonna become one of them?” he asks with a half smile emerging from his lips. I chuckle as he leans into my space, but I hold my ground, clenching my thighs together.
“Calm down.” I press my finger to his lips and whisper, “I haven’t even heard you play yet.” A bead of sweat slides down my spine, and I hate how aware I am of my own body.
His dark eyes look at me intensely, and my hands tremble.
It’s the same look he gave me at the party, while that girl was going down on him – that same desire imprinted in his irises.
My heart shouldn’t be beating in my throat like this.
I just got out of a relationship. I shouldn’t fall into another trap with the next guy who shows any interest in me.
But for five seconds I invite the thought of Noah.
The long brown hair, the sweetness laced in his eyes, and his rosy lips are tempting.
Even his smile is infectious, and he has the prettiest face I’ve ever seen on a guy.
His hand grasps my upper arm firmly, stroking me with a thumb.
“Excuse me,” he says with a light laugh.
“I need water.” Oh boy, do I like these hands with thick veins touching me.
I’m all warm and gooey inside, and I think the screwdriver is kicking in.
I lean slightly as he takes his cup directly behind me, and he downs the water and gathers ice in his mouth.
I lean in closer to him. His lips are inches from mine as he chews on ice, his eyes burning into me.
I wouldn’t mind if he closes the distance.
Letting him wash away every fucking memory of Brody.
His light smile causes me to breathe harder, and the temptation is suddenly real.
I’m fighting the feral urge to grab his hoodie with my hands and kiss him.
I need something to distract me. Anything. I glance at his neck, and in the dull orange lighting of the room, his skin is swollen, puffy, and red. I tug a bit on his hoodie for a better look and see it’s bleeding. “You got a new tattoo right? Is that it?”
“Yeah, Omen tattooed the shit out of my neck this afternoon. I’m in so much fucking pain right now,” he chuckles, and it’s so sweet and not cocky like he’s been. “I don’t know how I'm standing right now.” He places his empty cup on the bar.
Guys I’ve met always have the courage to talk to me. They’re stocky and beefy and egocentric football players. With Noah, it’s obvious that he’s nervous, with his foot tapping a million miles an hour on the floor.
I play with the hoodie strings. “Can I see it?” I ask, and my tongue suddenly feels like sandpaper.
“Y-Yeah,” he stutters as he crosses his arms, grabbing the edges of the hoodie pulling it over his head.
I think I’m having a hot flash the second he tosses it to one of the bar stools.
He’s wearing a baggy, long-sleeved maroon shirt that’s way too big for him.
The collar of his shirt is at the edge of the tattoo, and I wonder if it irritates him.
When I look closer at it, I gently tug at the collar.
The green snake is gorgeous, and the shading was done with care.
It looks so vicious, wrapping around a crisp red apple and the leaves surrounding both of them is done so neatly.
I’ve seen cringe tattoos, and whoever drew this is the next Van Gogh.
“I know you have a bunch, but where else do you have tattoos?”
“All over.” He rolls up his sleeves, and more stories are painted on his arms.
“These are beautiful.” I run my fingers down a red Japanese dragon, coiling around his biceps with beautiful swirling clouds and red flowers.
Noah’s arms aren’t bulging with power like a football player, but the warm lighting highlights how toned he is.
Within seconds he’s covered in goosebumps, and I’m coated in them too.
I pull away and adjust my top as it’s risen up, exposing my belly more than I’d like. I shouldn’t touch him. That’s rude. I’m invading his personal space. We don’t know each other like that.
“I like the tattoo on your hand too,” I point to the rose, which I know tends to be the one many people get. I meet his hazy gaze, his dark eyes on me. God, they're tempting, and I want them to keep me company.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks and reaches for strands of my hair, lightly pulling the curls and letting them bounce.
Blood rushes to my cheeks, and my heart kicks into overdrive.
“What?” he asks with a chuckle, tilting his head, leaning in until I take three steps back and I’m pressed against the bar.
My sweaty hands glide across the counter, and I knock over a sleeve of cups. The thud of the cups hits my eardrums, and then all I hear is the thump of my heartbeat.
“Nothing... Nothing, it’s just...” I wave my hand but my nerves skyrocket in every vein in my body, and I don’t understand why.
He leans in close enough that I can smell him, sweet and spicy. “What is it?” he laughs lightly again.
The door bangs open, and the roar of the bar outside fills the room. I snap out of it as Omen comes trudging in. “It’s showtime, boys! Watch out for the bras!”
Noah bites his bottom lip before he slips past me. My chest is on fire. I can’t seem to put out the flames.
“Good luck,” I say with an uneasy chuckle.