Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
It’s still dark outside when Noémie nudges me awake. “Hey, Jordan,” she whispers.
“Hmmm?” I’m so tired. It took me forever to fall asleep. Exquisite torture best describes the experience of being spooned by Noémie for the better part of the night. While she succumbed to sleep almost immediately, a combination of anxiety and desire kept me up.
“Did you want to come skiing?” she asks. “I forgot to ask you last night, but a bunch of us are heading out in an hour.”
Shaking my head, I pull the sheet over her face. “I don’t do winter sports.”
“Come on.” Noémie chuckles and nudges me again. “You’re missing out. It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t do cold.”
She sighs. “Suit yourself.”
I fall back asleep, and when I wake up next, the sun is shining on my face. Rubbing my eyes, I roll over and reach for my phone to check the time. It’s 11:00 a.m. I slept in, and yet I feel like I can nod off again.
I flip onto my stomach and bury my face in the pillow. It smells like her—spice and citrus. I sniff the pillowcase like it’s a line of coke. Just like a bump, I feel the high. My mind carries me back to last night—Noémie’s breasts pressed against me and her hot breath on my neck. I rock my hips into the mattress. Last night, I was wet, and I’m getting wet right now as I start to think about all the things I want to do to Noémie. I want to trace her entire body with my tongue. I want to nip her inner thighs and hear her gasp. I want to fuck her and feel her tighten around my fingers as she comes apart.
If things were different—if we didn’t live together, if we weren’t friends, if she wasn’t straight—I would’ve tried my hand at fucking her last night. I would have brushed kisses down her neck, making her shudder. Her nails would scrape against my back as I sucked on her nipples and licked a path down past her belly button.
“Fuck, Jordan,” she’d moan, arching her back off the bed. “Please, I need …”
“Tell me what you need,” I’d say.
“I need you inside me,” she’d say.
Groaning, my hips rock harder against the mattress. I shove my hand down the waistband of my boxers and rub my clit.
“How bad do you need it?” I’d ask.
“I’m going to die if you don’t put your mouth on my pussy and thrust your fingers inside me,” she’d say.
I rub faster and faster. The friction feels so delicious. I’m so close. Very close?—
The door to the bedroom opens.
My hand shoots out from my boxers, and I sit upright in bed. My heart races.
“I can’t believe you’re still in bed,” Noémie says, stepping into the room.
She’s wearing a white ski jacket that has an orange stripe running down both sleeves and matching ski pants. The tip of her nose and her cheeks are still red from the cold. Her auburn hair hangs loose and dishevelled about her shoulders.
“I had a hard time sleeping,” I say.
Noémie’s brows furrow. “Because of me?” There’s real concern in her voice, and I’m not sure where it is coming from.
“No, no,” I say, shaking my head. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?” Noémie unzips her jacket.
Like you. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
Noémie accepts my response with a nod. She’s unlike Wayne in that way. If I say I don’t want to talk about something, most times she drops the issue—maybe because she’s the same way.
She slips out of her jacket, throws it on the coat stand near the door and goes to the bathroom. The moment the door clicks close behind her, I consider finishing what I started before I got interrupted.
I decide against it. I get dressed quickly, tugging on a pair of loose-fitting jeans and an oversized cable knit sweater.
When Noémie steps out of the bathroom, I exchange places with her. I wash my face and brush my teeth. I massage a glob of coconut scented curl activator into my hair. The hair product defines my short black curls, making them shine. Staring down my reflection, I admire my new fade. Two days ago, I visited Tyrone—my barber for the last five years. Like always, he hooked me up. My line up is perfection. The edges are crisp and the mid-fade is fading.
Exiting the washroom, I discover Noémie’s gone. I find her downstairs in the main room. It seems like everyone, except Claude, is present.
Noémie sits at the kitchen island. She’s deep in conversation with the chatty brunette woman, Amelia—Claude’s fiancée. Hate to say it—Amelia is pretty, but she doesn’t strike me as Claude’s type. Maybe I am stereotyping Claude, but I see him with a super skinny model with killer legs and razor-sharp cheek bones. Frankly, I see him with someone like Angel. Amelia is athletically built with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. Her face is full and round and jovial. Though we barely spoke yesterday, I get the sense that Amelia is a warm and kind person. She just exudes that vibe.
“Salut, Jordan,” Francois says. He steps towards me and holds out one of two steaming mugs. “Cider? It’s delicious.”
I like apple anything, so he doesn’t have to ask me twice. I take the offering and sip before I consider the hazard. “Shit,” I say, spitting out the burning liquid. “I one hundred percent burned my tongue.”
“Sorry, I should have warned you that it’s hot,” he says. “If it’s okay, I’d like to continue our conversation from yesterday. Come, let’s sit by the fire.” He waves a hand for me to follow him.
I do.
Francois sinks into one of two armchairs near the wood burning fireplace. I drop down into the second one. The radiant heat coming from the fire is delightful.
I blow on my drink. “So what did you want to talk about?”
“I read your graphic novel,” he says. His brown eyes sparkle.
My mouth drops open. I blink. “But … I sent it last night.”
“Oui, and I devoured it,” he says, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip from his drink. “Yes, there are areas where the story and dialogue can be improved. But overall, it’s solid. Where you truly shine is with the artwork. The level of detail you put into each panel—very impressive.”
It’s a lot of praise coming from someone like him, and I don’t know what to say. I have to be dreaming. This is unreal.
I clear my throat and try to keep my cool. But I can’t stop the smile that breaks across my face. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“So tell me, are you interested in getting it published?” he asks.
I almost say no—it’s what I’ve been telling myself forever. But maybe Noémie’s right. Maybe, for once in my life, I should try running towards something instead of running away from it.
“Yes, I am interested,” I finally say.
Francois beams at me. “Well, I understand that it is the holidays and you’d rather not talk business right now, but please give me a call in the new year. I would love to discuss the possibility of us working together,” he says.
Once again, I am speechless. Francois Lafontaine wants to work with me!