I type my response quickly and then lock my phone, placing it screen down so I can get a grip on myself. She makes me damn crazy. She always has, and while I fucking love it, there is a time and a place. Getting a raging hard on at work is neither.
Chapter Thirteen
Noah: If you’re going to tease me, Sidney,
you need to expect consequences.
I’ll be over at six, be ready for me.
Is this flirting?
My stomach does a little flip as I re-read his messages, my cheeks turning hot. It feels like flirting, but it also feels likeus.We’ve always had good banter, the lighthearted teasing and back and forth that can last hours, if not days. Have we been flirting this entire time?
And what the hell does he mean,be ready for him.
I almost reply but lock down my cell instead. If I keep texting him, I’ll never get these orders completed in time, and I pride myself too much on meeting my deadlines.
There is a sense of satisfaction in knowing Lauren saw that calendar invite. I don’t know why Noah’s assistant hates me, and as someone who likes to be liked, it irked me when I first met her almost two years ago. She smiled at me at first, asked for my name, and was kind, but as the weeks turned to months, her demeanor toward me changed. I’ve had to handle other women in Noah’s life thinking I was something more than his best friend, and I didn’t mind it then, but now…
It isn’t hard to figure out that Lauren has a crush on Noah, one that has made her look at me like a competitor, and I’d gotten over the fact that we would never be friends. But now Noah and I are doing things that cross the line of friendship into somethingmore,however temporary that may be, it makes me feel a little possessive over him.
Of course, I have no claim to him; we are just friends after all, but that man has been in my vagina, I’m allowed to be a little smug about it.
Giggling and shaking my head at myself, I force my focus back to the task at hand and get going on the projects I need to finish today, only stopping a few times to serve customers who want to grab the ready-made bouquets off the shelf. By the time five rolls around, my tasks are complete, all but one has been collected, which will now get pushed to tomorrow since the customer missed their slot, and I can lock up and head home.
I grab a bottle of wine and some chips from the store on the way and then kick off my shoes the moment my apartment door is closed behind me. There’s a chill in the air; the city is in that awkward time between seasons, summer is ending and fall is creeping in at the edges. The heat clings on during the day, but then the sun falls, and a chill settles. I can’t wait for fall to be here; there’s something about the bright, crisp leaves setting fire to the trees in a mash of reds and oranges and yellows. The bouquets I get to make throughout the season have always been some of my favorites.
Placing my purse on the kitchen counter, I strip out of my clothes, leaving a trail behind me. I’m completely naked by the time I make it to my bedroom, reaching for my lounge pants and sweater to pull on before I bundle my hair into a messy bun on top of my head and scrub my face clean of makeup.
Dragging a blanket from the base of my bed into the living room, I grab a glass and the bottle of red wine and then curl up on the couch. At just after six, the lock on my front door disengages and the hinges squeak as Noah lets himself in with his key.
He’s ditched his jacket and undone the button at his collar, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. His eyes land on me immediately, the gray of them turning from rain clouds to thunder, darkening as his lips curl up in a smirk.
“That doesn’t look ready to me,” his head tilts.
“Ready for what, exactly?” I squirm, placing my glass down on the coffee table to give him my attention.
“Consequences,” the tap of his heel sounds across the hardwood floor, his steps purposely slow as he advances on me.
I swallow thickly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How was it working at that desk all day?” He asks, rounding the couch, “Could you picture me between your thighs?”
My lips roll and the lie slips out, “I was too busy.”
He chuckles darkly, “That right?”
His hand curls around the edge of the blanket and he tugs it off, throwing it onto the back of the couch. “Stand up.” He orders.
There’s no room in his tone to disobey him, so I uncurl my legs and rise, tilting my chin to keep my eyes on his. Slowly, he lifts a hand and trails a finger along my jawline and down my throat before he lowers it to the hem of my sweater.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He flicks his eyes from his hand to my face, to my eyes, and then my lips. My heart thuds, stomach tightening as he bends forward, pressing his mouth to mine.
We really should be putting boundaries in place during whatever this is. Kissing seems like one of those things that shouldn’t be happening. It begs for a level of intimacy that we do not have, but I don’t say any of that as I part my lips to let his tongue in. I angle my head, feeling his mouth turn up in a knowing grin just as his other hand dives into my hair and his fingers curl.There’s a bite of pain before it turns to pleasure, my skin erupting in goosebumps as he tugs my head back, kissing me like he owns every part of me, body and soul.
An ache forms at the tops of my thighs and low in my abdomen, spreading to the space between my legs. It turns to a throb, hot and wet, his kiss stroking the embers, willing the fire back to life.
