Chapter 22 #2
“No. I bet we wouldn’t. Kara is going to lose it. She is the worst when she wins. One time she beat me at a game of Uno and I swear to god, she gloated for a month. Dammit.”
Noah’s face is a wash of amusement as he watches me spiral through the five stages of grief.
Maybe I don’t need to tell Kara. God dammit, why did I let myself fail like this?
It was in my hands. Surely she won’t expect me to actually pay.
She’ll be too caught up in the romance of it all, right?
Fuck it. I’m going to be saddled with the entirety of our rent next month as well as Kara’s insufferable I told you so taunts.
“Tell me,” Noah says, spinning back to the stove. “What did you sacrifice in the name of an impassioned night of incredible sex?”
Hearing him describe it as incredible does help quell the sting of my loss, but I pout my lip out and balance my chin in my palms. “I have to pay her half of the rent next month.”
He laughs and turns with the skillet of eggs and dishes some of them on my plate. “I suppose I’m technically to blame, so I feel it my gentlemanly duty to offer to pay some of it. If you want.”
This pulls my frown deeper. “I thought we learned our lesson about throwing pity money around after the dress fiasco. Besides, I’m fairly confident that’s considered prostitution, and while Flourish might be able to get over our dalliance, I don’t think they’ll take kindly to a charge like that.”
He adds two slices of bacon to my plate and then rounds on the countertop before slipping into the seat at my side. Turning, his knees brush my thigh and all thoughts of Kara and our bet melt away. His voice is low and tender as he speaks.
“How about we set some new rules?”
“Because those worked out so well the last time.”
“I propose,” he says, ignoring my jab and spreading my napkin on my thigh with a flick of his wrist, “that we keep this between us. At the very least until we know what we want from whatever this is.”
Usually, when a man offers to keep things quiet, it’s a half assed attempt at covering up his own fetishes.
Guys don’t like to admit they like fat girls, or the practically homeless girl with blue hair and both mommy and daddy issues.
But Noah offering to keep this between the two of us reminds me of the way his hand felt on my back at his parent’s house: protective, edging on possessive.
I sense he doesn’t want to hide me so much as he wants to shield me from the way this could hurt me.
The sharp edge of uncertainty dulls under his proposal.
“She’s not the only one who might benefit from hearing about this,” I say, thinking of the office and the sneers I’m sure to endure if they found out.
“Then it’s settled,” Noah says, resting his hand over the napkin he spread there. “Rule number one is what happens on this trip stays here. We keep our business between us.”
I pretend to weigh his suggestion, already knowing it’s exactly what I want. While I can’t presume to keep it from Kara forever—I’m sure she’ll smell it on me when I get back—I am comforted by the idea of it staying our business.
“Alright,” I concede, my nerves already twirling with the next question on my mind. “And, if it’s more than a one night thing, regardless of what it is outside of this weekend, does that mean . . .” The words stick in my throat, all of it still too much like propositioning him.
“That I have more plans for fucking you?”
My body is charged—liquified awareness pulsing in all the places he licked and kissed me last night. I nod, unsure the sounds I can utter in this moment will be anything more than strained peeps.
“Yes,” he says, his gray eyes boring into mine. He leans in closer, his voice barely a whisper in my ear. “I plan to make sure you are so thoroughly satisfied, you lose your taste for fucking hipsters in dingy bar bathrooms.”
“We’ve only got three days,” I squeak, desperate to have him either make good on this promise, or refocus on breakfast.
“I’m up for the challenge. Be like my own personal olympics.”
“Sex olympics?”
“Mmm,” he muses, flicking a piece of hair over my shoulder. “A marathon of games if you will.”
The moment stretches, teasing the arousal he’s awakened and conjuring all sorts of ways we could play these so called olympic games.
In the next breath, he sits up, clears his throat and digs into his food.
I’m frozen in place, the weight of his words swirling into a delicious promise.
I want to hate the way he’s dangling temptation, but under my surface annoyance is the kind of thrill I’ve spent ten years searching for—the kind that promises to deliver ten fold later.
“Eat, Lottie.”
His command, reminiscent of him prompting me to drink the water after my near fainting spell at the spa, spurs me into compliance and I dig into my plate. Sex olympics with Noah Graves as a teammate. This is exactly the sort of challenge I can get behind. Or, under?
When my food is finished, I take my dishes to the sink and rinse them under a stream of warm water.
Moving to ask Noah if he wants me to clean up while he gets ready for the day, I’m surprised to find him stepping towards me, his hands coming down and resting against the counter on either side of my hips.
“Oh,” I breathe, the warmth of his body growing closer still.
He leans down, his whisper graceful along my collarbone. “Now that you’re properly fed and we’ve established last night wasn’t a fluke, there are a few more things I can think of to keep between us.”
“Like the broken vase.”
His laugh rumbles in his chest and spreads along my neck, his breath warm. He traces my jaw with his lips before nipping at my earlobe. “Exactly.”
I loop my arms around his neck and we close the distance with a kiss, softer but still eager. I pull back, my voice hoarse as I remember my offer last night before he fucked me.
“I think there’s a favor I’m due to repay.”
His hand finds the curve of my neck, his thumb running on the lower pout of my lip, and my body warms, every point of contact hot under his touch. With the weight of what comes next held back by our new agreement, I’m ready to let him take me right here on the counter.
And then the phone rings—the ancient landline connecting us to the reason we’re here in the first place. Our jobs. The Barkers. Mending relationships and not accidentally giving our hosts a naked show when they come looking for us after the unanswered phone calls.
As it trills a second time, the ear piercing clang is like a shot of cold winter air stunning us back into reality. Noah steps back to pick up the vintage receiver.
He nods thoughtfully as someone sounding an awful lot like a stressed out Cheryl chatters in his ear and I make every effort to focus on making sure I keep my face neutral.
This is growing more difficult due to the wildly inappropriate fantasies running rampant in my brain.
Was Noah’s shirt that tight earlier? What would that shirt would look like crumpled up on the floor behind him as he eats me for an early dessert?
“Yes, I understand completely,” Noah says, his tone serious. “Of course, I’ll send her over soon.”
He clicks the receiver down and turns to me with a wry grin. “Sounds like our plans will have to wait. Cheryl needs help. Something about preparing for the dinner party and a daughter who won’t be in town until tomorrow.”
“Too bad,” I say, pouting my lip out playfully. “I was really looking forward to that favor.”
Noah’s jaw feathers and I savor the satisfaction of knowing he wants me on my knees as much as I want to be there.
We pause, the tension coiling tighter, like we are both doing the math on how long Cheryl expects me to take getting out to help her.
His face betrays it as I accept it; regardless of how good I am, it would take too long.