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Noah is drawing lines from freckle to freckle. Slow, easy lines, and his eyes are glued to the paths he creates.
“Fucking love them, Gorgeous,” he says and okay, that’s better and maybe if he hadn’t begun this with how many women he’s fucked I’d really love it. Right now, I’m only envisioning a sea of a million women standing in line for Noah’s dick and I’m the last one in the line.
Shit.
“Um… maybe…”
“I’m not going anywhere Rory,” he says, like he can read my thoughts. Since that’s exactly what I was going to suggest, maybe he can—but I’ll never admit it, not completely.
“I wasn’t going to—”
“Yes, you were,” he says interrupting me again.
“Noah, you can’t tell me what I think,” I grumble, annoyed with him.
“You telling me that’s not what you were thinking?” he asks and I let out a large sigh.
“I was just thinking you should go back to the couch before Ryan wakes up,” I tell him, kind of lying, but whatever.
“Gorgeous, Ryan has to get up at six thirty in the morning for school. He’s not going to move until I go wake him.”
“You can’t be sure—”
“If your moans didn’t wake him up, he’s good,” Noah says and mortification spreads quicker than lightning through me.
“Noah! I didn’t moan!” I hiss.
“Sweetheart, you did.”
“Well, even if I did,” I start, because I’m pretty sure I definitely moaned… a lot. “I—”
“And you were loud,” he says, interrupting me again and countering my denial that even if I moaned I was quiet.
“Are you ever going to let me finish a sentence,” I growl.
“When you give me an honest one, sure,” he says and then he kisses my shoulder. That kiss feels almost as good as the way he keeps drawing imaginary lines on my stomach and for a moment I’m at a loss of words.
“Haven’t had better, Rory,” he says and there goes that icky feeling again.
“I’m kind of not digging the whole I’ve-had-a-million-lovers after sex talk, Noah.”
I feel his body jerking beside me and I look over at him and he’s laughing. He’s doing it quietly, but enough so the laugh lines around his eyes have crinkled and it’s jarring his body. Normally, I’d like it, but considering what he’s laughing at… right now… not so much.
“I never said a million, Gorgeous,” he denies and I find myself staring at the ceiling and probably rolling my eyes.
“You said a lot,” I remind him.
“A lot can mean different things to different people.”
“Okay so, how many?” I ask, looking at him.
He looks surprised, and I am too, this is not how this conversation was supposed to be going. I was supposed to be extricating myself from Noah and this house—not have a deep conversation about how many lovers came before me.
“You really want to do this now?”
“You ever hear the saying that you don’t just have sex with a man, but you have sex with every partner he ever had?” I ask him, completely serious.
“Never heard it, but then again I don’t fuck men. Which means, I might have missed that bulletin,” he says, sitting up so that he’s leaning on the headboard and pulling me so my head is on his stomach—whether that’s what I want or not evidently.
“Whatever. It just means a man has… a lot… of women then he increases his chances to catch things, which increases my chances. Which means—”
“Picking up what it means, Rory. Not understanding why you’re worried. We did use a rubber,” he says and now he sounds annoyed. I’m annoyed with him, so that works. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss his laugh or the way his face relaxed during said laughter.
“Condoms only work ninety-eight percent of the time,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” he asks, and now he looks like he’s fighting a smile.
“Yeah. So, that leaves two percent of the time that it doesn’t. That two percent doesn’t sound like much—”
“It doesn’t,” he confirms.
“But say your…a lot… means a million girls. Two percent of a million is freaking scary.”
“Get your point,” he says, his eyes staring at me closely.
“So how many?”
“Don’t know,” he says, watching me closely—a bit too closely.
“You don’t know?” I gasp, not being able to wrap my head around that answer.
“Never counted, Gorgeous. I was too busy enjoying.”
“You can’t even… say… give a ballpark kind of figure?”
“I don’t see how this is important,” he grumbles and I’m trying to stop myself from yelling at him. If I do that we’ll probably wake up Ryan and I need to be out of this bed before that happens.
“It’s important,” I insist.
“Why? You don’t see me asking how many men you’ve slept with before me,” he reasons.
“Well if you did, the answer would be three.”
“Three?” he looks like he doesn’t believe me. That’s easy to understand since he has laid more women than there are orange groves in Florida.
