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Noah takes my hand and leads me into his bedroom, and I find myself wishing we would have simply agreed to go shopping in public together instead of meeting at his house.
Being this close and alone with him isn’t going to help me make rational decisions. I can tell that much already.
* * *
Noah steps out of the bathroom wearing black jeans, a checkered red and blue summer shirt, and a bolo tie.
“Well, what do you think?”
What do I think? I think this is a train wreck, but I don’t say that. The bolo tie is a deterrent to making me jump his bones, so I focus on gratitude for that.
“First, lose that tie.”
“Got it.” He whips it off and chucks it over his shoulder with a grunt.
“Let’s aim for a solid shirt. And isn’t that an entire blue suit?” I ask, pointing to a wool suit next to me on the bed.
When Noah had led me by the hand into his bedroom, my mind quickly did the math as I perused his things. The blue trousers and matching jacket looked promising, but I knew I was going to have to gently nudge him in that direction. He’s a jeans guy, through and through.
“Yeah.” He winces. “I got that for my sister’s wedding a few years ago, and unfortunately, I’ve packed on a few pounds since then.”
What does he mean, unfortunately? The more there is of Noah, the better.
“Try it on and let’s see,” I say, swallowing the water filling my mouth at the mere thought of him in a suit. “Worst case scenario, I can let out the seams for you.”
“You can do that?”
I shrug. “You’re the chef, I’m the tailor.”
He smiles so brightly at that I almost forget about the tragic shirt he wears. Almost. “Perfect match.”
I roll my eyes. “Go change.”
When he emerges again a minute later, I choke on my after-dinner coffee. Holy shit.
“That bad?”
“Bad? No.”
That suit may have been bought off the rack three years ago, but if he thinks it is too small, then it was purchased a size too big. The overall effect is a snug fit showing off every well-fed inch of this man.
I rasp, “Um, unbutton the jacket please? I need to see something.”
Noah removes the jacket entirely and hooks it over his shoulder and twirls. What a freaking ham. But I’m eating it up. When he turns around, the fit over his tush is so perfect I want to bite it. This? This is my date?
“Noah, this suit is perfect. And you’re crazy for never wearing it.”
“Don’t have much call for it around here,” he says, pulling at something in the front.
“What’s going on? What’s wrong with it?” I ask.
He turns around and blushes. “It’s the… I don’t know…crotch seam?”
Oh. Oh…my gosh. I see what’s wrong, and I’ll have to fix it. But maybe I’ll stall for a second and admire the outline of all those parts of him hanging to the right. Wow. Double wow, and please pass the inhaler.
“Ursula? You okay?”
No, I’m not. The outline of your dick just turned my brain to scrambled eggs.
