Chapter 5 NOIA
FIVE
noia
Flinging open the bedroom door, I march into the living room like I’m storming onto a battlefield.
Dressed in a baggy hoodie, leggings, and enough eyeliner to scare off a raccoon—I’m more than ready for a fight to the fictional death.
But what I’m not prepared for?
Ryder sitting on my couch like a centerfold in a writer’s retreat brochure. He’s reading my book, writing notes in the margins, in red pen, all while Goonie—the little furry traitor—lays curled up next to him on the couch purring away.
“Are you editing my novel?” I ask incredulously.
Keeping his eyes on the book, he casually licks his thumb and turns a page. “Technically, I’m critiquing your dialogue—the early stuff. You got much better later on.”
Anger flashes through my veins. “You’re marking up my best-seller with a red pen like it’s a fucking term paper?”
“You repeated the word ‘breathless’ six times in chapter three,” he volleys back, still flipping. “We get it. He takes her breath away. Maybe let her breathe once in a while.”
“I’m going to murder you.”
Finally, he looks up. “You already tried. Remember? The Lexi smooch scene? I barely survived that cliché,” he huffs, giving me an over-the-top shudder.
With a groan, I flop onto the loveseat and dramatically shove my face in my hands. My next words come out a muffled, “Why are you being like this?”
“Because. I’m a creation of your deepest, darkest fantasies. And, because you imagined me this way, you’re just going to have to deal with it.”
Silence fills the air between us. The only sound is the gentle rasp of Ryder turning another page and Goonie purring as my fragile ego bleeds out somewhere between chapters six and seven.
Then softly, he asks, “Why has it been so hard for you to write lately?”
Flopping my arms into my lap with a sigh, I drop my head against the back of the couch and stare up at the ceiling.
“I was supposed to get married.”
The sound of flipping stops.
“I had the dress, a violin quartet and the cake. It was all planned perfectly.” I swallow against the lump attempting to crawl its way up my throat and roll my head to look at him. “And he didn’t show.”
Ryder doesn’t speak; he just looks at me. For once, his expression isn’t smug or smirky. It’s a look that makes my chest pull tight.
“What a fucking asshole.”
“Yeah.” I shift and lift my head to stare down at my fingernails. The black nail polish I applied a week ago in an attempt to clear the cobwebs from my brain is already starting to chip.
“Still doesn’t explain why I ended up here. How you somehow summoned me into your world.”
I let out a snort. “I didn’t mean to summon you.”
“Well.” Setting the book aside, he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You did. And maybe the universe—or your messed-up, anxiety fueled imagination—brought me here for a reason.”
I look at him. “To fuck with my head?”
“To help you,” he corrects, pointing a long, thick finger at me.
I wonder what sort of dirty things those can get up to?
I shake off the fantasy as he continues. “You want to finish your book, and I want you to finish my story. We can help each other. Win-win.”
I frown. “And how exactly do you propose we do that?”
He grins his signature slow, panty-melting grin—one that should be illegal in twenty-seven countries by the way.
“Simple. You write me a proper ending, and I help you get your mojo back. But there’s a catch.”
“Of course there is.”
“I want the full experience. The real deal. I want to live while I’m here. Have some fun. We could eat great food, listen to music, and go dancing. Maybe even fuck with your ex. Make him regret ever leaving you at the altar.”
My eyebrows lift high enough to fondle my nine-foot ceiling. “You want to... fake date me?”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “No, kitten. I want to actually date you. While I’m here, I want it all. The full experience.”
Heat crawls along my sex, making me squirm. “Exactly what do you mean by all?”
Glancing up from where he definitely watched me squeeze my thighs together, he leans in, his voice a low purr. “You. Me. A little revenge. A lot of fun. And eventually… every single orgasm you’ve ever imagined me giving someone else? I’ll give to you.”
My breath hitches. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack,” he says, mouth so close it almost feels like a dare.
“We’re not going to half-ass this, Noia.
You want to fix your writer’s block? Then we’re going to have some wild, crazy fun to help inspire you.
Then, you’ll write out everything we do after we act out the story in real life. ”
Taking a step back, he holds out his hand. The contract he’s offering me has sex and danger written all over it.
“What do you say? Deal?”
I stare at his big, beautiful hand. A hand that could grip my throat, while his fingers from the other pump furiously inside me. It’s a thought that has my heart racing and my brain short-circuiting.
And my ovaries? Those traitors are signing right on the dotted line.
Fuck it.
I reach out and shake his hand. “Deal.”