“It just seems wrong of you to judge her like that. You don’t even know her.”
“You’re probably right,” he sighs. “I’m always telling my students that they shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
Another car drives by, windows down, rap music spilling out. The bass echoes in its wake.
“Exactly,” I say. Still smelling him. Still horny. The bubbles from that beer are going straight to my …
“Come back here,” Noah commands in that other voice of his. Deeper. Edgier. Needier. I can’t refuse him.
“I am here,” I say, resting my head against his chest.
“Not like that.” He places a quick kiss on the top of my head and speaks quietly, confidently, and calmly. “I want you to sit on my lap.”
It’s like the barometer just dropped out from under me. I swear I can smell ozone. And then I do see a flash of lightning in the distance. I look up at the dark porch ceiling.
“You what?” I whisper, already unfurling my legs, shifting my weight onto my left hip. The humid air is charged, and so am I. Waves of wanting him are pounding against my shores of self-control.
“I want you”—he places a helpful hand on my hip—“to sit on my lap, like you did the other day.”
“Like this?” I gather my sheet skirt up and press myself against him, legs parted, heat undeniable, and I grip the back of the floating bench.
“Yes,” he nods. “Good. Now sit still. Let me rock you.” Noah pushes the swing with his good leg, and I close my eyes, enjoying the sense of weightlessness.
“Are you going to say ‘this isn’t the time or the place’ again?” I ask, as his hands begin to expertly unlace my placemat corset.
“No, I am not,” he says, “because thisisthe time.” He cups a breast in each hand and leans forward to plant a kiss on my breastbone. “And thisisthe place.”
I gather a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back, and kiss him with wild abandon as we rock and grind, tongues thrusting, hips undulating, a tornado unleashing.
Another flash of lightning rips the sky open and lights up the porch like a strobe, followed by a sudden deluge of rain and hail, tiny balls of ice bouncing off the railing and pelting us.
“Christ, Kenna …” Noah grips my hips again, pulling me closer against him, positioning me. The only thing keeping him out are the thin layers we are both straining against. “I think we need to go inside now.”
It isn’t the ice balls that do it. It’s her name. The minute I hear it, I may as well be out on the front lawn, soaked and shivering and definitely not in the mood anymore. Once again, the image of toothless, little princess Kenna skips across my imagination.
Fuck. I promised. I cannot do this.
“Fuuuuck,” I say, climbing off him and standing up.
“If you insist.” Noah smiles. His large, brown eyes are shining, and his lips are a bit swollen, redder from the kissing. It softens the angular lines of his jaw. His floppy, brown hair is pushed back from my attention, and he looks wolfishly wild, beastly in the best way. Like he could devour me. And I want him to. I really do. But …
“There’s something I have to tell you,” I say, “inside.”
* * *
Noah sits on the couch, staring at me in disbelief as I tell him about the swap. I retrieve the spare, brown wig I’ve been saving for the swap back out of my bag. After quickly pulling my natural hair back into a pony, I tug it on. Along with the wig, I tug on my old public persona. The stony, resting bitch face. The distant stare.
“What. The. Fuck?” he says. “I mean, what the actual fuck?”
I shake my head apologetically.
“But … you’re Kenna. You look just like her.” He is scrutinizing me now. “I mean, how do I even know you’re telling me the truth and not just Kenna punking me?”
“The earth is a small place for fugitives.”I recite the Kyrgysz proverb from the Titanium Man film that my character Ember is famous for, in Kyrgysz. Then I spit, dramatically, on the floor. It’s way cooler in the movie because the CGI fireballs and my spit just instantly turn into steam. Kind of like dragon fire and steam.
“Did you just spit on my floor?” Noah asks, incredulous.
“I did. Would Kenna do that?” I put my hands on my hips, raising my brows. I’m pretty fucking certain she wouldn’t.
