“I wish she’d stop, Noah,” I said, whispering into his chest.
He nodded against me as he stroked my hair. “I know what you mean. I feel so bad that it makes you feel this way.”
His soft touch, his complete understanding emboldened me. “I hate lying for her and covering for her and I hate that I know all these things she’s done,” I said, admitting more, letting go of the secrets I’d held dear.
“It was like that with my mom too,” he said, keeping me close as he shared more of himself. “With her drinking, that is. It’s so hard. I wish I could tell you something wise and insightful and all, but it’s just hard. And I know how you feel.”
I felt safe there with him, unburdened for a moment.
We untangled ourselves and it was time to say good-bye. “Here,” he said, reaching into his pants pocket for his phone. “Take my music,” he said, and mimed tapping. “Listen to Les Miz when you walk back into the house. It’ll shield your ears and you’ll have no choice but to think of me.”
I grinned, knowing what he meant, as I reached for my phone. He tapped mine with his, and modern technology sent his playlist to my phone.
“I’d think of you anyway. All night long,” I said, as I scrolled through the screen for his current show tunes playlist.
He placed his fingers under my chin so I was looking at him. “Come over tomorrow. You can see all my shirts.”
The next day I counted down the seconds until he left the office and texted me that he was on his way home. I was at my dad’s house that night, so I told him I was going out with some friends from school. I’d never been to Noah’s apartment before. He lived in a doorman building off Madison Avenue in the Fifties. The doors had brass trim and a green awning. The doorman had been given my name, so I simply told the mustached man in the suit that I was seeing Noah Hayes in 6E, and the man gestured to the elevators at the other end of the small lobby. Sparks rose inside me as I pressed the button and waited for the door to slide open. I stepped inside a tiny elevator; one side was mirrored top to bottom. I took in every detail of his place; it was as if I’d gained admission to a secret hideout, the treehouse at the top of the street that I’d only seen from a distance before.
A man’s home. My man’s home. Such a rush, such a thrill.
Giddy with excitement, I nearly skipped out the doors when the elevator opened on the sixth floor, then I walked down the carpeted hallway and knocked on the last door on the left, waiting for him to answer, feeling like I was on a sugar high already.
He opened the door, lips curled up in a smile that said we have a secret. He swept out his arm, letting me inside, watching me as I drank it all in—the dark-oak hardwood floors, the pewter coffee table laden with his gadgets, phones, tablets, then the tiny sliver of a kitchen with its white counters, a steel fridge, and the obligatory espresso machine that he told me he never used, since he preferred to grab a cup from the deli on the corner. A sleek television screen hung on the living room wall; I did a brain sweep to erase the image of him watching Lords and Ladies on that screen on Sunday nights. In my world, there was no Lords and Ladies. In my interpretation of Noah’s apartment, he only watched sports on the big screen. Across from the TV was a dark-gray couch, then an end table with a few framed photos. I checked out the pictures; one of his mom, one of him in a graduation cap and gown, and one of Noah and his mom when he was my age.
“You in high school?” I asked, holding up one of the frames.
“Yep. Back in the day.”
“You were handsome,” I remarked with a sly smile.
He wrapped an arm around my waist. “Were?” he asked then nibbled on my earlobe, and I shivered against him. “Were, Kennedy?” he asked again, this time in a firmer voice, demanding an answer.
“Were. And are,” I said as I turned around to face him, tracing his jawline with my fingertips, watching his breath hitch. He tugged me closer, held me tighter, made me feel wanted, then erased all thoughts in my brain with a deep, hungry kiss that made me weak in the knees.
Noah
I took her by the hand and led her to my bedroom. My fingers gripped hers more tightly, as if that would keep me from throwing her down on the bed and touching her in all the ways I wanted to. Restraint was my watchword, and that’s why I held her hand tight. The tension was my reminder to keep everything on the level, a task made even harder as she trailed a finger across the edge of the navy comforter. I groaned, a rumble working its way up my chest just from the sight of her touching my bed.
I shook my head. “You in my bedroom is dangerous,” I said, and I was grateful to open the closet door seconds later. My work clothes hung, pressed and draped. She let go of my hand, glancing back at me with a naughty look in her eyes. Like I’d just escorted her into her fantasy realm. Maybe shirts truly were her weakness. I watched her every move as she reached out to touch them. It was insanely arousing the way her fingers traced buttons and cuffs and collars as she felt them all. The blue ones, the green ones, the pink ones, the purple ones, the white ones.
She was mesmerized, and so was I. It was like witnessing her being turned on by an idea.
Without asking, without saying a word, she reached for a cobalt-blue shirt, took it from its hanger, and slipped it on over her black shirt.
“How do I look?” she asked, both sweet and seductive, as she buttoned herself up in my clothes. My clothes. The girl I wanted, the girl I’d tried to resist, then stopped resisting, was wearing my shirt, standing in my closet, mere feet from my bed. My breath fled my chest. She was so gorgeous and so damn edible. I was getting a medal for restraint because my hands itched to strip and explore every inch of her. But my brain and my heart kept me in control. I wouldn’t do something she wasn’t ready for.