Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Morgan
I'm panicking.
He kissed me; I kissed him?
We kissed.
I haven't felt the touch of a man's mouth on mine in five years. My lips tingle, and my stomach is still flipping. It hasn't escaped my notice that Noah is facing the counter while drying already-dry bowls; hiding a bulge?
Thank god I'm a woman and you can't tell how wet my panties are…from a single kiss.
A brief, aborted kiss.
But holy hell, what a kiss.
Mallory suspects something, I can tell. She's got that mischievous smirk that she gets when she knows something she shouldn't.
I scratch my nose, using the movement to disguise a quick swipe of my wrist over my lips. Thankfully, I was running behind this morning and skipped even the most rudimentary of makeup, so there's no lipstick or lip gloss to get smeared.
"Captain Austin was kind enough to drop me off," I tell her. "I may have injured poor Cherry. We’ll have to call Ed's in the morning."
Noah hangs the towel up and turns around, seemingly having gotten himself under control; my eyes steal to his zipper, which only makes me blush because now I'm wondering exactly how big the bulge was.
My god, Morgan, get a goddamn grip. You’re a thirsty-ass bitch, all of a sudden.
"I got it handled," Noah says. "You got somewhere to be in the morning?"
"Noah, you don't have to—" I start.
He smiles and shrugs, shoving his hands in his hip pockets.
"Ed'n, I go way back. Don't worry about it.
Soon as he lets me know what the deal is, I'll let you know.
" He has his phone out, types rapidly, and then I hear the bloop of an outgoing text message.
A moment later, I hear the incoming message bloop.
"He's on the way and will have Jake take a look at it tonight. "
Part of me revolts against his ham-handed maneuver, getting my car towed for me without so much as asking if that's what I wanted. My mouth opens to tell him off, but Mallory beats me to the punch. Sort of.
"That's so thoughtful of you, Coach," Mallory says. "Right, Mom?"
Noah's lips twitch. "Morgan, I'm just trying to be nice." He gives me an earnest look, then. "If I'm overstepping, please let me know."
"No, no," I say, sighing while covering my face with my palms. "I've been taking care of everything myself for so long that I've kinda forgotten how to let anyone do things for me."
"Well, I've got a ton of homework to do," Mal says, a little too loudly. "So I'll just go upstairs to my room and put on headphones."
Noah's snicker of laughter prompts a snort from me. "Subtle, Mal."
She gives me a wide-eyed, innocent look. "What?"
"You just spent the last…what?…four hours studying at Gemma’s? You don't have homework. Stop being nosy, sit down, and eat some dinner."
Mal rolls her eyes as she takes a seat at the island, reaching for a slice of crusty bread while Morgan ladles stew into a bowl.
"Well, maybe there's nothing going on—I don't believe that for a second, but I won't push it. I’d just like to go on the record that if there was something going on here," she gestures from Noah to me, "then I'd approve. "
"Noted," I say, avoiding Noah's gaze.
Noah's phone dings. "Hey, did you leave the keys in it, or do you have them with you? Ed's at your car right now."
"I have them," I say. "Not in the habit of leaving my keys in my car, dead or not."
"Well, drop them off at Ed’s whenever, and he'll have Jake take a look and see what's what. Or, if you'd prefer, I can take them. I pass Ed's garage on the way home."
"Just give him the keys, Mom," Mallory says without looking up from her bowl. "Let the man do something nice for you. Also, good stew. Thanks."
I do mental battle with myself, following Noah as he heads for the mudroom, sits on the bench, and laces up his boots.
"I'm really not trying to get into your business or step on your toes, Morgan," he says, his voice pitched low.
"I know, I know," I mutter. "I just…look, Noah—I’ve been taking care of myself since I was sixteen. I don't know if I know how to let anyone…” I shrug, at a loss for words.
He stands up, tugs his pant legs down over his boots, and faces me. "I get it. I really do, I promise."
I stare at him. Glance over my shoulder toward the kitchen—Mal has her spoon clenched in her mouth while using her hands to whip off a message to someone. She's not looking or paying attention. "Noah, I…" I swallow hard. "About the…um…before."
He grins at me, and his thumb traces my lower lip—my flesh burns where his thumb touches. "Later. I think we both may need a minute to process it. Yeah?"
I nod. “Yeah," I whisper, grateful. "I just—I'm not sure if I—"
"I know," he interrupts. "Same. I promise, I understand."
"Wait a second." I grab my keys, slide my ignition key off the ring, and hand it to him. "Just…just don't pay for the repairs or anything noble like that."
"Moi? Noble? Never." Noah pockets the key. "Soon as I hear anything, I'll let you know."
"I am grateful," I tell him. "Accepting help is hard, but that doesn't mean I'm not appreciative."
"Just bein' neighborly is all," he drawls.
I step into the garage, closing the door to the house behind me. Noah is one step down. He pauses, turns. His hair is shaggy under the back of his navy blue TFFD beanie, and his royal blue eyes are searching me… lingering on my lips.
A squadron of butterflies takes flight in my belly.
His hair is silky soft under my fingers, and his mouth is warm and wet, and his tongue stabs into my mouth, and he growls a rumbling sound in his chest as I lean into him, onto him, one step above him so my face is angled down to his.
He tilts his face to one side and opens his mouth wider, and I do the same, tilting the opposite way and slithering my tongue along his and gasping at the heat and thrill of the kiss.
Noah's hands wrap around my waist, pull me to him. He lifts me as if I weigh nothing, spinning me around, setting me on the floor with my back to the rattling garage fridge. His bulk presses me into the fridge, and his body is hard and solid and hot, and his hands nearly span my waist.
Jesus, the man can kiss.
I hear myself whimper—again.
I clutch the bearded angles of his jaw, the butterflies morphing into a fiery tornado of heated need. I'm ravenous for his kiss, suddenly. Unable to stop myself, unable to even remember why I'd want to stop kissing him.
God, it's been so long.
Slowly, gingerly, reluctantly, Noah pulls away. "Holy shit," he whispers.
"Holy shit," I agree.
"I should go," he whispers.
"Yes, you should,” I agree.
“Or we'll get carried away."
"Can't have that."
"No, we can't." He steps back, but his thumb grazes my lips, and his eyes linger there, and then he's stepping back into me and kissing me again, hungrily, aggressively. He yanks away again, staggering out of arm's reach with his wrist against his mouth. "Jesus, Morgan. I…shit."
He whirls around, but not before I catch a glimpse of his zipper—straining to contain the bulge.
My cheeks burn, and I'm thankful yet again that my arousal doesn't show like that, or he'd see exactly how turned on I am. I'm also glad he's far enough away that he can't smell my arousal, which I’m all too certain is probably pretty pungent.
He shoves his hands into his pockets—adjusting himself surreptitiously, probably. He glances at me over his shoulder. "Morgan…"
I climb the three stairs up and stab the button to open the door for him. "Just…go."
He nods without a word and ducks under the opening door.
I jog after him as he climbs into his truck. "Wait!" He pauses with one leg hanging out of the cab, watching me approach. "I don't have your number."
He grins as he takes my phone and enters his name and number and then calls himself from my phone. "This mean I can text you?"
Blush, blush, blush like a schoolgirl with her first crush. "Yeah," I whisper. "I wouldn't hate that." I back away. "See you later. Thanks again for the rescue."
"And thank you for the stew. It was delicious."
"Maybe I can try your chili next time you make it."
"I'm sure that could be arranged." He starts his truck but leaves his door open…seeing as I'm standing in the way and all.
Funny how I don't want him to leave.
I force myself away from him, push his door closed. Back up into the garage, waving as he reverses, watching his taillights depart.
Back in the kitchen, I find Mal ladling herself another bowl. I prepare myself mentally for whatever she's about to say—likely something I won't have any good answers for.
"So that was a whole moment, huh?" She smirks at me over her spoon.
"Dunno what you're talking about," I tell her.
"Okay," she says, a little too agreeably.
"Mal, if you've got something to say, say it."
She shrugs. "I did. I like Coach Austin."
"He’s a likable guy. I'm pretty sure everyone in Tomlin Falls likes him." I toss our empty beer bottles into the recycling bin just outside the door to the garage.
She grins at me. "Not what I meant, but okay."
"Mal."
She indicates the garage. "You were totally making out with him in there, weren't you?"
“Nope.” Pretty sure my scarlet cheeks give away the lie.
Mal snorts. "Mom, you're a terrible liar. You can talk to me, you know."
"Mom," I say, pointing to myself. "Child," I say, pointing to her.
She rolls her eyes again. "Okay, sure, but here's another take on that." She points at me. "Adult." She points at herself. "Adult."
"You're not eighteen for another three months, sweetheart," I point out.
"Sure, but when we're discussing maturity, does three months really matter? I'm your daughter, yeah, but I like to think we're also friends, right? Like, I know I can talk to you about anything, and I do. But why is that a one-way street? Why can't you talk to me about things?"
"’Cause that's not how it works," I say, rummaging in a cabinet for something to put the leftovers into.
"Says who?"
She's got me there, I guess. "Mal, I…"
“I'm almost eighteen, and I've never known you to even go on a date."