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“Aren’t you cold in…that?”
He gestures vaguely at my outfit.
Thatis an outfit which took me hours of planning, curating and styling.Thatis a cropped satin bustier with puffed sleeves, high-waisted velvet trousers with embroidery I stitched myself down the sides, and vintage Dolce & Gabbana gilded gold heels. My long blonde hair is lightly waved and half gathered in a ribbon of blue satin, and necklaces of gold and pearls complete the look.
I could be freezing to my literal death in this outfit and it would still be worth it.
I wave a hand at Noah. “Don’t be silly.”
“Alright. I can lend you a jumper if you need.”
“Maybe,” I say—not because I have any intention of ruining my outfit with his ugly clothing, but because I don’t hate the thought of leaving his place with a trophy of some kind.
He smiles and points at the kettle. “I need to go shower, but I can make you a cup of tea if you like?”
Brits in their tea. Ugh. That’s not my main concern, though. If Noah disappears to shower, it would give me the perfect opportunity to snoop around, but equally, I don’t want to risk the potential soul-crushing embarrassment of being caught snooping around. So I say, “Yes, that’s fine. Can I look around?”
“What, at my flat?” He seems a little taken aback. He looks around, perplexed. “Um, there’s not much to look at.”
“Then I can look?”
“I mean, yeah, alright. It’s pretty boring, though. I’ve only been here a year.”
“Where did you live before?” I ask, following him as he makes his way back to the corridor.
“I lived with my mum in Fernwell.”
“Right.”
He opens the door to a small bathroom and stops just as I’m about to follow him, his hand on my shoulder. I look up at him.
“I’m going to shower.” He gives me a pointed look. “Unless you want to stay for that.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head with a slight smile. “Or join me.”
I swallow, suddenly a little more flustered than I should be, and shake my head. “I just want to look around.”
“Then go look around,” he says with a half-smile.
Noah’s smile suits him. It makes a crease appear in his right cheek that’s a little too deep to be a dimple, and it brightens the autumnal grey of his eyes.
Spearcrest boys don’t smile—they smirk and sneer and grin. Everything they do is calculated to give them the appearance of control and superiority over everyone around them. They think smiling will make them look weak.
But Noah’s smile doesn’t make him look weak.
It makes him look like I want him to kiss me.
He waves. “Right. Have fun looking at my boring stuff, then. See you in a sec.”
He closes the bathroom door behind him. I don’t know why, but there’s something attractive about the fact he doesn’t seem to have any urge to keep things private or hidden from me.
The men I normally sleep with are all about protecting their privacy and their self-image. Even casual dating comes with its own set of boundaries: you can text but never call, you can post pictures but never tag them; you can go to their hotel rooms but never to their homes.
Noah has me in the heart of his home, and yet he doesn’t seem to care at all about his privacy. I suppose he set a boundary by not letting me follow him into the bathroom, but even then, he’s not forbidden me to go in. And from the sound of it, he hasn’t even bothered to lock the bathroom door.
The fact he doesn’t seem at all protective of his personal space feels… I don’t even know. Sexy in a way I can’t explain. Like his life is a treasure chest he’s opened for me, and I just get to plunder those treasures as I wish.
With a little shiver of excitement, I go back into the main room, to the small chest of drawers near his bed. It’s covered with bottles of body wash, shampoo, deodorant and sprays. Next to it is a wardrobe with a hoodie slung over one door.
Against the wall, there’s a yoga mat with an assortment of exercise equipment—weights, jump-ropes, ab-rollers—and a massive gym bag stuffed full of creased, peeling boxing gloves. So he wasn’t lying about his boxing.
