5. The Date #3
And I can’t fucking think of anything but Liam.
“Let’s go to your room,” I blurt.
My eyelashes tickle my skin as I flutter them closed. Do I sound desperate or what? At this point, I guess I am…Desperate to get Liam Anderson out of my mind.
“Fuck, yes,” Noah groans, leading me from our position on the couch to his room down the hall.
When he opens his door, my face twists. It smells like sweaty boy and dirty socks.
Gross.
His room is a disaster—clothes thrown about, football equipment shoved into the corner. But I’m willing to overlook all of that as he pulls his shirt off.
Good fucking Lord.
Yeah, I totally wouldn’t last ten minutes in a church without combusting. But go ahead and send me to hell because Noah Pierce is sinfully hot.
Okay, fine—maybe I won’t kill my cousins.
I can totally work with this. I can do this. I can sleep with him. I want to sleep with him—
My stomach sinks. Oh, seriously, who the fuck am I kidding?
Noah strides toward me, very large and intimidating. The back of my legs slam into his bed. And I can’t help but wonder: when was the last time he washed his sheets? How many girls have been all over them? I shiver just at the thought.
Noah loops his thumbs around his sweatpants, pulling them down. His dick springs free...basically staring right at me.
I tilt my head, letting out a deep breath, suddenly feeling a lot less nervous.
Because why is it smaller than I imagined?
I try not to think about whose...thing...I’m currently comparing Noah to, which is totally unfair.
He leans in, towering over me, which isn’t unusual considering I’m barely five-four. His lips crash into mine, demanding a response. He kisses me quickly—urgently. Nothing at all like the passionate, slow ones I was once so accustomed to.
Nope.
Don’t think about that.
Noah pulls my shirt over my head, his fingers searching for the clasp of my bra. In a quick motion—that suggests he’s done this one too many times—my bra falls to the floor. He bites his lip, taking me in.
“Liam Anderson is a fucking idiot,” he murmurs as his thumb flicks over the peak of my breast.
I freeze. Is his room getting smaller? Has he always been this tall, this imposing?
“What did you say?” My words feel breathless, my body suddenly chilled.
“You used to mess around with Liam Anderson, didn’t you?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
I think dating is a little more than messing around—but guys like Noah Pierce don’t understand that concept.
I nod, just once, as he leans in to kiss me again and says, “Yeah, well, he’s a fucking idiot because you are way too hot for that has-been.”
I blink, waiting for reality to set in because there is no way he actually just said that.
Before I second-think it, my hand smacks him across the face.
A sudden, sharp pain stings in my hand. I attempt to shake it away, the uncomfortable feeling shooting across my palm, but the motion is useless.
Noah curses, hands clenching his jaw. I stand there frozen, wide-eyed at what I’ve just done, before I frantically start searching for my clothes, a difficult task given that his room is nearly pitch-black.
“What the hell?” He starts, but I shove my shirt over my head, no longer concerned about finding my bra at the moment.
“Liam—the ‘has-been’—is twice the man you will ever be,” I snap, bolting for his door.
“Wait, I’m sorr—” he calls after me, but I shoot him the bird, trying to quickly zip June’s heeled leather boots as I find my way outside.
My chest rises as I pull in a heavy breath, pressing my back against the cool metal door as tears begin to stream down my face. Curling my arms around myself, I instantly wish I’d remembered to wear a coat—actually, I wish I remembered why I thought this date was a good idea in the first place.
I exhale, my shoulders relaxing as I try to steady myself.
What a fucking disaster.
I pull my phone from my pocket, pressing my thumb over Reese’s contact. But it goes straight to voicemail…Which is odd because Reese almost always answers.
My hands shake, and I tell myself it’s just from Michigan’s frigid cold as I try calling June next. But about three rings in, my phone shuts off.
Dead.
“Shit!” I curse, shoving my phone back in my pocket. I turn around, looking toward the door as I briefly consider going back in and asking Noah for a ride back.
But fuck that guy. I’d rather walk than spend another second with him.
With my head held high, I start down the road, June’s heels clicking against the asphalt as I make my way home.
A few seconds later, I nearly lose my balance, the narrow heel of the boots making it hard to navigate the icy pavement. I grit my teeth as I try to find my footing. Looking upward, I find a dark, gloomy sky, and let out a string of curses as a steady stream of snow falls.
God, it seems, is enjoying punishing me tonight.
Thankfully, I don’t feel the ache of the cold or the chill of the plummeting temperatures as I continue home.
No, because inside, I’m burning—a flame still flickering with heat for someone who left me a long time ago.