19. Macey
MACEY
The Burrow Bitches
Britney: wait, you haven’t slept together yet?
Macey: Nope.
Ariadne: It’s a fake relationship, Brit.
Britney: so? i bet he’s really good at it
Macey: I bet he is, too
Macey: …Not that I’ve thought about it
Kira: Me thinks the lady doth protest too much
If I had a nickel for every time I found myself spontaneously entering the apartment of the guy I was fake dating, I’d have three nickels. Which wasn’t going to pay for anything, but it was still a lot.
“I’m surprised,” I commented as Noah flipped the grilled cheese in the pan with precise accuracy.
He pressed the spatula on top of the bread. “About?”
“That someone as fit as you puts three types of cheese in their grilled cheese.”
Smile on his face, he turned down the heat on the burner. “One isn’t enough. Neither is two. Also, this is one of the few dishes I can make well, so I like to add as much pizzazz as I can.”
I sat at the kitchen island—because of course his apartment kitchen had one—and glanced out the tiny window. Translucent yellow curtains covered it, and the tiny opening brought in just enough wind to make them flutter.
I needed the chill the wind brought me, after feeling all the warmth from our kiss.
“Did your mom teach you?”
“No.” He plated the sandwich, setting it on the island next to me. I wasn’t surprised he was making himself food, considering he hardly ate at Sushi Nirvana. Two glasses of water appeared next. “Daphne did.”
He took a bite and white cheese dripped out one side of the bread. “Really?”
“It’s her favorite thing to eat, and she was determined that I learn how to do it before I went to college. After Mom died, it was all we ate for like, a month. That and sympathy casseroles.”
Something squeezed inside my chest. My heart, probably.
I conjured a mental image: a twenty-one-year-old Noah running after his fourteen-year-old sister, trying to feed her grilled cheese sandwiches and make sure she did her homework before bed.
Picking up whatever work he could to have extra cash after the bills were paid.
Questioning why so many people liked his photos on social media.
Noah Hansley, who months ago spoke to me exclusively in sarcastic comments, now offered me parts of himself that I doubted he had offered anyone else. They sat heavy on me like a key in my pocket, something hidden in plain sight that I touched every few minutes to remember it was there.
“It must have been hard on you.”
Sandwich halfway to his mouth, he froze.
“It was. I went from having no responsibilities beyond passing finals and making my bed to all of a sudden caring for a whole human being. Daphne had always been a priority, but it felt like she then became my entire life. I was so angry at first. At my mom for dying and leaving me with all these responsibilities. At Daphne, too, for being the reason I dropped out of college.”
He picked at the edge of the sandwich that was a tad burnt. “Then I realized my anger was masking my sadness. That no one made me do anything. I’d do it all again for Daphne to have a fair chance.”
I handed him a napkin that had been sitting on top of a pile of mail. “Fair chance at what?”
“At life, I guess.” He shrugged. “Most of what I’ve heard about foster care isn’t great. I thought I could do better.”
“And you did. You shouldered a lot. At so young, too.”
“Like I said, I’d do it again.” He munched boyishly on his sandwich and finished it in minutes.
Noah absentmindedly washed the mixed dishes in his sink—the plate from the grilled cheese plus the pan and spatula, a ceramic mug that read #1 brother , and a bowl with a chip on its edge.
He grabbed a nearby black-and-white rag and proceeded to dry them.
The whole scenario felt so domestic—dinner and doing dishes—and it filled me with want.
Not want for one thing in particular, but for… everything.
Emotional intimacy was real, I thought as a tingly sensation fluttered through my stomach. I felt now, more than ever, that I could trust Noah. That he trusted me.
There was only one more thing I needed to know .
“Noah?”
“Hmm?” He opened the cabinet above the sink and placed the mug inside it. I’d need a stool if I ever wanted to get up there.
“Why are you fake dating me, instead of dating someone for real?” Before he could answer, I rambled on, “You want to quit social media, so couldn’t you have done a few more brand deals and clocked out? Or just tell your audience that you want to take a break?”
It wasn’t that Noah didn’t have a valid reason for us fake dating, but after spending time with him, I gathered that he’d been wanting to quit social media for a long time.
Sure, I agreed to help him figure out what to do after, but anyone could do that.
He could’ve hired a professional life coach.
Was I nothing more than an opportunity that fell into his lap that he decided to leverage?
Noah sighed before coming to stand in front of me. My back pressed against the island, and he towered over me. Uncontrollable thoughts raced through my “emotional intimacy turns me on” brain. Things like kiss him and climb him like a tree. I silenced them.
“You’re probably expecting an elegant explanation about why I suggested the ruse in the first place. But the truth is, I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. I thought honesty wouldn’t be enough, and I needed a plausible excuse.”
Classic case of quarter life crisis, then. Why go for a tattoo when you can quit your job and get a fake girlfriend?
“When we left the resort, I realized if we went our separate ways and things returned to the way they were, I would die inside. And I had no idea how to fix myself or my life, but I thought I’d have the best chance of it with you by my side.”
Breath left my lungs with a whoosh . “There’s nothing to fix about you, Noah. I don’t think any of us know what we’re doing, but what’s important is who we’re with. ”
“I like being with you.” His hand came to touch my collarbone, his thumb running back and forth around the base of my neck.
I rested my hand over his. “I like being with you, too.”
Sex had always been a simple thing in my mind. When you liked someone, and they liked you too, sex was the logical next step. It was like the next stage of a relationship, nestled between feelings and trust.
My past sexual experiences were all within the clear lines of a relationship, although I admired people like Britney, who didn’t need those lines. It had always been too difficult for me to separate feelings and sex. They bled into each other on a level I couldn’t control.
Standing here in front of Noah, breathing the same air, made me realize how layered and nuanced the whole experience could be.
Those clear lines that I mentioned, the relationship ones I liked to be in before sex? Yeah, they were looking really blurry right now.
Noah’s gaze traveled down my throat, pausing at where our hands were connected, leaving shivers on my skin. He stepped closer, our feet grazing, and my other hand went to the back of his head. I was shaky but confident. I knew I wanted this.
I stretched to the tops of my toes, nose brushing against his, and kissed him.
The kiss started off slow. Hesitant. Two sets of warm lips, pressed together but not connecting. For a second, I feared I’d misjudged the entire situation. That while maybe Noah was attracted to me and respected me, perhaps he didn’t think anything further was a good idea.
Maybe it wasn’t.
“Is this okay?” I pulled back just enough to whisper into his mouth. “Because it’s okay if you don’t want me. ”
His eyes darkened as our foreheads rested against each other’s. Noah’s hands touched me slowly, more like a gentle caress. It took me out of my comfort zone—I was used to fast movements and rushing to get all items of clothing on the floor.
Noah didn’t rush this. In fact, he seemed to relish taking his time. Widening his palm across my waist, letting each finger explore. His thumb slipped underneath my shirt, sending a line of goose bumps up my spine.
“You think I don’t want you?” His hands tightened on my waist and brought me closer to him. Instinctively and a little roughly. Like he wanted to pull me inside himself.
The hardness on my belly punched a moan out of the back of my throat. I leaned further into him, and his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow.
Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, he adjusted his position to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss underneath my jaw. I wondered how such a small action could be felt all the way down to my toes. “Why do you think that?”
His hands moved down my body, lingering on my ass for half a second before he lifted me onto the counter. Beneath the hem of my shorts, the granite cooled my flaming hot skin down. I was pretty sure I was on fire. Or close to it. “Answer me, Macey.”
“Because you’re so confident in everything you do and everything you post,” I admitted. “But you hesitate with me.”
Noah’s mouth dragged down my neck, teeth scraping against my skin. He paused at the strap of my shirt. “Why do you think that is?”
I whimpered, unsure when this had turned into a question-and-answer session. “I don’t know.”
He tugged at the strap of my shirt with his teeth and I gasped when it hit my skin.
This close, I smelled the aftershave Noah used—herbal, with a hint of mint. When I looked down, he was staring back up at me. His green eyes, normally bright and clear, were entirely different shades now, pupils wide.
“Because you made me nervous,” he said. “At first, it was because of how confident you were in yourself and your choices. Then it was because I realized that not only was I incredibly attracted to you, but I also cared about you.” He pressed his forehead against mine again.
“That’s not a combination I often feel.”