Chapter 17 — Good Part （Nora）
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I woke before Beck and stayed perfectly still because I didn't want to break the quiet. Thin gold bars lay across the quilt, striping his shoulder, the sheet, and my bare arm while the radiator ticked under the window.
Frost feathered the corners of my bedroom window, and where the sun had started to melt it, the clear patch had run into the shape of a play arrow, sharp and straight and aimed right at the bed.
“Okay, weather,” I whispered. “I see you drawing up routes for my boy.” His wristband lay dark against the pale sheet, the little green thread I had knotted into it catching the light, and his hand rested open near my cheek.
I counted his breaths without meaning to, one and then another and then another, the way you count rain on a roof.
“Three breaths, four,” I breathed into the pillow.
“Five, and you are still here.” Then he shifted in his sleep and murmured, “Nora,” low and certain, like even dreaming he knew exactly where he was, and something in my chest folded over warm and helpless.
His eyes opened, gray-green and sleepy, and he caught me staring and smiled like I was exactly what he had ordered up.
“I've never watched anyone sleep without feeling weird.
You're the exception,” I said, and my voice came out husky with sleep.
“How long were you watching?” he asked, all gravel and morning.
“Hours,” I said. “Days. I took notes.” “Show me the notes,” he said, and I laughed, and he pulled me in.
“You're up early. Come back here, I've got you,” he said, and tucked me against his chest, his thumb finding my cheek, rough and warm.
“Bossy in the morning,” I accused, with zero conviction.
“Yours in the morning,” he said back, eyes still half closed, and my heart did something completely illegal.
“Say that again,” I whispered. “Yours,” he repeated. “All morning.”
“Your feet are ice,” he muttered, trapping them under his calves, and I squeaked, and he laughed, low and wrecked with sleep.
His fingers found my ponytail where it had come half loose and worked the elastic free, spreading my hair over the pillow.
“There,” he said, brushing his mouth across my forehead.
“Now you look like morning.” “Careful,” I whispered.
“You keep that up and we'll never leave this bed.” “Stay,” he said. “That's the plan. Stay.”
“It's Wednesday and the world wants me back by noon, but that's hours away,” he said, simple as breathing, when I glanced toward the clock.
“Twist my arm,” I said, and tucked my head under his chin.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked, fingers drawing slow lines down my spine.
“Just now. You had a face on.” “Nothing,” I said, too fast, and he waited until I caved.
“Everything,” I admitted. “You. This. How quiet it is.”
One cold fact still waited outside the room: Priya was tracing the shared file while Beck and I held the only real playbook between us. But for once, the threat did not sit between our bodies.
“What do you want this morning?” he asked, mouth warm against my temple.
“You. Specifically. Exclusively.” I pushed him onto his back and climbed over him. “And this time I want the view.”
His eyes darkened so fast heat rolled through me. “Bossy tutor.”
“Your favorite kind.”
I kissed him first, slow enough to feel his restraint snap one careful thread at a time. His hands found my waist and stayed there, warm and broad, waiting for me to decide the route.
“Green?” he asked once.
“Green. If that changes, you'll know.” I rocked my hips over the hard length of him. “Until then, hands on me.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
His palms slid beneath my sleep shirt and cupped my breasts. He rolled my nipples between his thumbs until they peaked, and my head fell back on a gasp.
“Look at you,” he said, voice rough with wonder. “Morning made for you.”
“You look at me like I'm the good part.”
His hands tightened at my waist. “You are.”
The answer cracked something open. I pulled the shirt over my head, then bent and kissed down his chest, tasting sleep-warm skin while his breath went uneven under my mouth.
I took his cock in my hand and stroked slowly, watching his jaw lock and his fingers flex against the quilt.
“Tell me what you see,” I whispered.
“You over me. Your hair in the light. Your hand making it hard to count.”
“Good. Stop counting.”
I took him into my mouth. His hips lifted once before he caught them, and the sound he made went straight between my thighs. I sucked deeper, then dragged my tongue around the head until his hand fisted in the sheet.
“Nora, if you keep—”
I eased off with a wet smile. “I know. Not yet.”
He pulled me up and rolled us just long enough to kiss his way down my body. His mouth closed over one nipple, then the other, before he spread my thighs and licked my clit with one long, deliberate stroke.
I cried out and grabbed his hair. He smiled against my pussy like he had found the exact picture he wanted.
His tongue circled faster while two fingers pushed inside me, curling until my body clenched around them.
“Beck. Right there. Don't change it.”
He held the pattern. I came hard against his mouth, thighs shaking around his shoulders, every thought burned down to his name.
When I could move again, I reached into the nightstand and tore open a condom. “My turn isn't over.”
I rolled it down his cock with both hands, then climbed over him again and settled the head of him against my entrance.
His gaze stayed on mine. Not asking me to perform certainty. Trusting what I was already doing.
I sank down slowly. His cock filled me inch by inch until I sat flush against his hips, shaking from the stretch.
“God,” he said, hands braced on my thighs. “You're everything quiet. Everything good.”
I planted my palms on his chest and rode him, slow at first, learning how deep I could take him and how his face changed when I rolled my hips just right.
“Mine,” I whispered.
His mouth opened on a rough breath. “Yours.”
I moved faster. His thumb found my clit and circled in time while his other hand gripped my hip, helping me rise and fall over his cock.
“Harder,” he said, the word almost wrecked. “Take what you want.”
So I did. The bed creaked beneath us. Gold light moved across his shoulders. His eyes never left my face as pleasure climbed again, hot and merciless.
I came with his name breaking out of me, pussy clenching around him, and he followed seconds later with both hands locked on my hips and my name torn raw from his throat.
I folded over him, laughing and breathless. He caught the laugh-snort against his neck and held me tighter.
“Favorite sound,” he murmured.
“You're legally required to stop saying that while I'm naked.”
“Never signing that rule.”
He dealt with the condom, brought me water, then returned with cinnamon tea while I stayed wrapped in the quilt. When he sat beside me, I tucked my cold feet under his calves and handed him the first sip.
“You always know when I'm cold,” I said.
“I pay attention. You're cold every morning. I'm warm every morning. Math.”
I snorted again, and his grin made the whole room brighter.
Somewhere in that gold light, I stopped bracing for the catch. Being wanted this steadily let me say mine back without fear.
“Look,” I said, pointing at the window with my mug.
“The frost melted into an arrow. See it? Pointing right at the bed.” He squinted past me, then laughed, soft and surprised.
“Route drawn up for me,” he said. “Even the weather's calling plays.” “What play is it?” I asked.
“Four verts?” “Nah,” he said, mouth grazing my temple.
“Just one route. Right here. Stay open.” “Always open,” I said, and he groaned.
“Don't,” he warned. “You'll start something.” “Promises, promises,” I said, and drank my tea to hide my grin.
A knock came once on the kitchen door, and Priya called, “Tea bags are on the counter, lovebirds, I'm gone,” and her footsteps faded before either of us answered.
“She is never going to let me live this down,” I whispered.
“Good,” he said, and kissed my hair. “I like her,” he added.
“She brings tea and leaves. Perfect roommate.” “I'll tell her you said that,” I warned.
“Please do,” he said. “I want the tea alliance.”
Getting dressed took twice as long as it should have, because he stole my favorite soft shirt and pulled it on, sleeves past his hands.
“That's my shirt. You've stolen it and I'm not getting it back,” I said, hands on my hips.
“It's warmer on you. Keep it, I'll steal another,” he said, and stripped it off and dropped it over my head, tugging me in by the hem.
“Hold still,” he said, stealing the argument with his mouth till I forgot it.
“They're my clothes,” I reminded him. “Details,” he said, and stole my hair tie too.
The real notebook sat locked in my desk drawer, the decoy waited in his locker, and Priya's metadata search ran on my laptop. Nothing dangerous was hidden between us anymore. I touched the green knot on his wrist. “Still here?”
“Still here,” he said. “Not going anywhere. Neither are you.”
? ? ?
The Main Street diner smelled like grease and coffee and syrup, and the bell jangled when we walked in late in the morning, hand in hand.
“Sit anywhere, hon,” the server said, swinging past with a full pot.
“Back booth?” I asked him. “Back booth,” he agreed.
“Lead the way, Quinn.” “You always let me pick?” I said.
“I like watching you decide,” he said. “You get a crease right here.” He touched my forehead, and I swatted him.
I slid door-side by habit before I even thought, and then caught myself.
“You don't have to do that. I can sit anywhere, really,” I said, starting to slide out.
“I know,” he said. “Stay there.” He took the wrong chair facing the room without a word, settling his big shoulders to the noise like it cost him nothing.
“See?” I said softly. “You didn't even blink.” “Nothing to blink at,” he said.
“I like this one. Sit down, I've ordered already,” he said, nodding at the two steaming mugs already waiting.
“You sneak,” I said, sliding in. “I plan,” he corrected, lacing his fingers through mine.
“You always plan?” I asked. “Around you?” he said.
“Always.” “Smoothest thing you've ever said,” I informed him.
“Write it down,” he said. “Filed forever,” I said, tapping my temple.
I took one sip and nearly melted, because it was mine exactly, oat and extra shot and heavy cinnamon.
“You remembered the cinnamon. God, I'm so gone for you,” I said, and then I snorted, loud and mortifying, and hid my face.
“Nope,” I announced from behind my fingers.
“You've never met me. I'm new here.” “Hi, new here,” he said, deadpan.
“Come out. I like your face.” “It's red as a tomato,” I said.
“My favorite color,” he said, and I peeked out, and he was grinning.
He tugged one of my hands down, lacing his fingers through mine, and just grinned at me, warm and wicked.
“Don't hide that laugh. It's my favorite sound, you know,” he said, low, for me only, and my face burned hotter.
“You're the worst,” I whispered, beaming.
“I'm the best,” he said. “Drink your latte, Quinn.” “Yes, sir,” I said, saluting with the mug, and he snorted, and I pointed in triumph. “Ha. Got you.” “Worth it,” he said.
We split pancakes I did not need, and he stole the crisp edge off every one, and I let him, his thumb drawing shapes on my hand.
“That one's mine,” I protested when he speared my last bite.
“Share with the quarterback,” he said, and ate it.
“Backup quarterback,” I corrected. “Your quarterback,” he said, and my heart flipped.
“Say that again,” I said. “Your quarterback,” he repeated. “Mine,” I said. “All mine.”
His phone buzzed once with practice, and he silenced it without even looking.
“Show-off,” I teased, kicking his ankle.
“Focused,” he corrected, stealing my last sip.
“Hey,” I said. “Tax,” he said. “For the shirt.” “That was my shirt,” I reminded him.
“Was,” he agreed, and I threw a sugar packet, and he caught it one-handed.
“Show-off,” I said. “Yours,” he said, pocketing it like a trophy.
The diner faded to a hum around us, plates and chatter and the grill. “We're really doing this,” I said, tracing his palm. “The scary part and the good part. Both.”
“Both,” he agreed. “No separate teams.”
“Good. Because Priya's pulling the access history, and tonight we compare everything we know.”
“After pancakes,” he said.
“Obviously after pancakes. Justice needs syrup.”
He laughed and squeezed my fingers. When the server called after us, I answered, “We're good,” and meant more than breakfast.
We stepped into the cold bright air hand in hand. “Tell me one thing you'll remember about today,” he said.
“Easy. You in my shirt, losing your mind under me, stealing my pancakes, and refusing to look at your phone.”
His ears went red. “Long list.”
“What's yours?”
“You.” His one-word answer stayed warm in my chest all the way home. I was his good part.