Booming laughter tears from within him. “Holy shit, your face,” he laughs. “That was good.”
“What?” I grunt, completely confused.
“I told you back at school that I’d be the perfect gentleman. I don’t know about the guys you hang out with, but I stick to my word,” he tells me. Relief washes through me, but there’s still a slight pang of hurt. I mean, does he not want to sleep with me? Does he think I’m used goods like all the skanks at school keep suggesting? “Though,” he says with a wink, “maybe next time I’ll offer you something a little more than just a ride home.”
Ahhhh, that makes more sense.
I cross my arms over my chest. “You really think I’d be interested in ‘a little more than just a ride home’ with you?”
“Spitfire,” he grins, looking at me as though the thought of taking me for a ride is the only thing keeping him breathing. He gets up and walks around to my side of the counter before stepping in behind me. He doesn’t touch me but is close enough that I feel the heat of his breath on my neck. “You’re more than interested,” he whispers before bringing up his shirt and pressing it into my stomach. Forcing me to take it from his hands.
“You’re delusional,” I murmur, trying to give the shirt back once again. “Stop giving me your damn shirt and put it on before the neighbors assume I opened a brothel.”
He laughs, stepping away from me, leaving the shirt in my hands. “Can’t,” he tells me, “some crazy psycho covered me in spaghetti.”
Oh, yeah.
A wicked grin spread across my face. “If you’re not careful, I’ll cover you in more than that.”
He stops walking away and grins back at me with a raised eyebrow. “Is that a promise?”
Huh? I think over what I just said and realize, way too late just how dirty it sounds. Shit. Now it looks like I’m coming on to him.
He lets me off the hook as he heads for the internal garage door. “Oil in here?” he questions, walking straight in, not bothering to wait for my confirmation while still confusing the ever loving shit out of me. I mean, why the hell is he doing this? There has to be some kind of twisted end game here that I can’t see.
I follow him into the garage and turn on the light as I pass the switch. I point out the oil before realizing that within the space of two seconds, Noah is already distracted. “Fuck me,” he breathes. “Your dad has a fucking awesome setup.”
“What did you expect?” I question. “His truck is his pride and joy, and not to mention, our only source of income. If he doesn’t look after it right, we could be digging ourselves a pretty nasty hole. I don’t even want to begin to think how much buying a new truck would cost.”
“Trust me,” he says as his eyes run over all of dad’s tools like a giddy child in a candy store, “it’s not cheap.”
As he gets distracted by all the gadgets and gizmos, I take the opportunity to roam my eyes over his tattoos, and I have to admit, they’re done to perfection. Whoever his artist is, is damn good.
I take in all the typical ones. You know, the naked chick who looks absolutely terrifying and the patterns and twists which seem to protrude from his skin. There’s a skull which looks as though it’s melting and makes him look even more terrifying, though I think that was the point.
As my eyes scan over his chest, I find myself zoning in on one particular design as this one stands out in contrast compared to the rest. It’s different. This one isn’t about making himself look like a work of art. This one is personal and it screams of heartache.
I take in the lily that completely takes over the right side of his chest, but what catches my attention is the soft line of a heartbeat which fades into a flat line. I don’t know why, but something tells me this is real. This is a dedication, something that means something to him, and I’d dare say, this is for someone he’s lost.
“You’re staring,” comes his deep voice from across the garage.
My eyes flick up from his body and realize he isn’t even looking at me, he just senses my heavy gaze on his body. “You covered your body in art and expect people not to stare?”
His lips lift up into a playful smile as he turns to face me front on. “I’m going to keep you,” he tells me. “Now, where the hell is this oil?”
Chapter 4
“Tell me, Spitfire,” Noah says from underneath dad’s old pick up with his legs hanging out from under the hood, giving me the perfect view of his tight abs. “Who do you hang out with?”
I scoff. “Is that a trick question?”
“What?” he grumbles from under the hood, clearly not understanding where I’m going with this. I mean, that’s not the usual response someone would expect from a question such as ‘who do you hang out with?’
“I don’t hang out with anyone,” I clarify.
“What do you mean you don’t hang out with anyone? Who do you talk to?”
Shit. Why didn’t I just go inside when he started working on the truck? I just had to awkwardly stand around passing him random tools instead of going in and getting myself lunch. I could have had the house clean by now, but instead, I’m standing here, letting some strange guy from school drill me on shit that isn’t his business. Yet, here I am, about to give him the answers he’s looking for.
“No one,” I tell him. “I don’t have friends.”
“What?” he grunts again before wriggling his way out from under the truck. He looks up at me from the ground as though I’m some kind of puzzle. “Of course, you have friends,” he says, deep in thought. “I’ve seen you talking to…shit. I don’t know. There’s got to be someone.”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Why would I want to bother with that?”
“Wait,” he grunts with an amused grin, looking at me like the pathetic loser that I am. “You have no friends on purpose?”
I raise my eyebrows, daring him to challenge me on it. “Correct.”
“Why?” he scoffs as though it’s the most moronic thing he’s ever heard, and he might be right.
Why am I entertaining this? It’s none of his business and hell, why does he want to know anyway? Nobody wants to know shit about me. I roll my eyes and play into his line of questioning, not yet ready to lose this rare moment of human interaction that doesn’t involve me getting ranted at by skanky cheerleaders.
Letting out a low breath, I give him my hard truth. “All friends are good for is stabbing you in the back.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes and I’m saved from having to explain myself. He knows what I’m referring to. Everyone in Haven Falls knows what I’m referring to.
“You’re seriously disturbed,” he tells me, sliding his way back under the truck and getting on with changing the oil, which he shouldn’t be doing anyway. I should have taken it to the mechanic like a good little girl instead of setting myself up to owe somebody something. I can only imagine what a guy like him is going to request as a reward for his troubles. “Tully’s the same. She’s a total psycho bitch. I’ll introduce you.”
Oh no. Tully Cage. She is not my kind of girl. She’s…kind of fucked up. She’s forward and hard, and hell, from what I’ve seen, she’s as loyal as anything and won’t hesitate to cut a bitch. Ugh. Me and her equal a bad idea. “Uh, thanks, but no,” I tell him. “I’ll pass.”
“It’s not like you’ve got anything better going on,” he says, calling me out with a scoff.
Damn it, Henley. Clean up the boy’s shirt and send him on his way before he uses you as his chew toy. It’s the smart thing to do. You do not need this kind of drama in your life.
Fuck, I’ve got to stop talking to myself. Is this the first stage of insanity?
“I… do too have something better going on,” I lie.
His scoff from under the truck is loud enough that the spoiled rich kids in Broken Hill could probably hear. A few grunts and groans are heard before Noah wriggles out from under the truck and props himself up on his elbow to look at me. “You’re a shitty liar.”
<
br /> “And you’re cocky with a big ego.”
He winks and I don’t doubt the typical ‘that’s not the only thing that’s big’ response is on the tip of his tongue. A sly grin spreads across his face and I can't help but notice how good it looks on him. "Aren't you supposed to be making my lunch?"
That little...
You know what? Maybe removing myself from this situation is actually a really great idea. Something screams that I'm toeing the line of dangerous territory and that's the kind of shit I don't need in my life. I salute this weird stranger. "Hope you like noodles."
With that, I turn my back and scram inside. What the hell is happening here? The Haven Falls pack leader is fixing my dad's truck. What the actual fuck? Did I wake up in an alternate universe? Why is he even entertaining this? He puts on such an act of being untouchable, yet here he is, being the complete opposite of the guy he is at school.
This sort of stuff doesn't happen. Losers like me get pushed aside, forgotten, and disregarded. We don't have the future prom king walking around half naked in our homes, quizzing us on our social skills, and giving secretive little winks as though we've known each other for years.
I walk back into the house and figure that Noah will still be working on the truck for another half an hour or so and decide a little cleaning would go a long way. Hell, assuming he stays here to eat, I could probably get his shirt through a quick wash and have it dried in no time. Maybe I might even wash a few of my own clothes.
But...first things first. These wet jeans have been sticking to my ass all day. I mean, what a day to go commando.
I find wherever I had put Noah's shirt down and toss it into the wash before heading down to my room. I quickly glance out the window and make sure Noah is still outside and see his body completely bent over the hood. I have to smile as from this angle, it looks as though dad's old pick up is trying to swallow him whole.
With Noah occupied, I try to wriggle my way out of these tight jeans and end up having to sit down so I can work one leg at a time.
I pull off Candice's black tank and toss it into my laundry basket before spying a pair of knickers in the very back of my closet. Score! I must have missed them in my rush this morning.
I quickly step into them and slide them into place before finding something that's not wet or dirty to wear. When I'm finally comfortable, I hurry around my room collecting all the laundry which I tossed around this morning and quickly straighten up my bed, not that anyone will see it, but having a good looking bed just makes the rest of the room seem so much cleaner.
I take the laundry basket up the hall and dump it in front of the washing machine as it’s already busy with Noah’s shirt.
Next up, the kitchen.
I get some noodles cooking and clean around me as I go before remembering dad’s note and the cash in the back pocket of my jeans. I hurry back to the laundry and scramble through the basket searching for the jeans, horrified by what could have happened if that money had ended up in the wash.
I go back down to my room and double check Noah is still occupied outside. With the coast clear, I get down on my hands and knees and pull up the old floorboard which has been broken for the past few years. It’s been my secret hiding spot since the day I discovered it and as far as I’m concerned, it’s still secret.
I reach in and pull out the old, silver jewelry box my parents gave me for my eighth birthday. I still don’t understand why they gave me this thing. I mean, it looks freaking expensive and ancient, but I’ve never been one to wear jewelry. Maybe it’s like one of those special things parents just like to gift their children; like fathers give little boys motorbikes and shotguns, while mothers hand out jewelry and dresses.
I flip open the silver lid and grab the roll of cash that I’ve been working on for the past few months. It’s my ‘get the hell out of here’ fund and at this rate, I’ll still be adding to it until I’m an old, old woman. I hate it here. Well, to be honest, I only started hating it since the whole ‘Jackson and Kaylah’ thing, and since then, all I’ve been able to think about is getting the hell out of here.
Though, if I was faced with an actual chance to leave…I don’t know if I’d be able to go. No matter how awful it is right now, this is my home. This is where I grew up and where my dad is. I don’t exactly have any other family to run to, so for now, this is all I got.
I add the cash dad had left for me this morning to my fund before tossing it back into the box and cramming it down under the broken floorboard. I’m more than happy to eat toasted sandwiches and frozen meals for the next few days if it means getting myself ahead.
Hearing the garage door open and close, I scram out of my room and head back to the kitchen to find Noah leaning over the stove, looking down at the noodles. “Not bad,” he grunts to himself before walking over to the sink and washing his hands.
I make my way across the kitchen and grab the spoon before plunging it into the noodles and giving it all my attention as Noah opens the pantry cupboard. I tune him out as I focus on what I’m doing and before I know it, a well-defined arm shoots across my vision and dumps a shitload of chili powder into my noodles.
I screech as I scramble for his arm and shove it hard into his chest. “What the hell are you doing?” I demand, gawking at my noodles, hoping there’s some kind of way I can save them.
“What do you mean?” he laughs. “Everything is better with chili.”
“You ruined my lunch.”
Noah raises a smug eyebrow at me as he props his hip against the kitchen counter and crosses his arm over his wide chest. “Have you ever tried it before?”
“No,” I scoff, turning back to the destroyed noodles as looking at his impressive body and the sharp lines of his devastatingly handsome face is too much for me to handle, especially as the wicked sparkle in his eye is doing something to me which I haven’t felt since… since him. “Why the hell would I? Chili doesn’t belong in noodles.”
“That’s what I thought,” he says under his breath before an amused chuckle comes out. “Instead of scowling at the pot, why don’t you move the hell over and let the professional work? I’ll show you what noodles are really supposed to taste like.”
I can’t help it. I have to look back at him, only this time, it’s with a lethal glare. “I swear,” I tell him, holding my hand up and hovering my pointer finger just millimeters above my thumb. “You are this close to getting this pot tipped over your head.”
The smugness returns. “I dare you.”
I narrow my eyes on the bastard. “You don’t think I will?” I question.
“Pour scalding water all over me? No, I don’t think you would,” he says, completely calling me out.
I scoff and turn back to the noodles, stirring them with a little too much force. “You’re lucky I have decent morals,” I mutter.
Noah laughs as he steps into me and places his hand over mine on the spoon, sending a hot jolt of electricity shooting up my arm and forcing me to smother a gasp. “Move the hell over, Spitfire,” he says, taking the spoon out of my hand and bumping me over with his hip.
I step aside and then take another just to be safe; as watching a shirtless, tattooed Noah working the stove with a cocky smirk is nearly enough to make me explode.
I should probably check the washing. Maybe getting a shirt on this boy will help.
I fist my hand down at my side before shaking it out as the electricity still pulses strongly through my body. What is that and why does it feel so good? Nobody has ever made my skin burn from their touch. Why the hell is Noah Cage any different?
I shake it out of my head. What does it matter anyway? Noah Cage is just some guy, who after graduation, I’ll never see again. What does it matter if my body reacts to his touch? What does it matter that he’s probably the most attractive guy I’ve ever met? He’s probably a douchebag heartbreaker just like the rest of them. Besides, he’s only here to make a point to Monica about their trip to SplitsVille and cement the t
arget on my back.
He’s not interested in me. I’m a loser. A nobody. A pawn to use in his twisted games.
I scurry away, trying not to think about how much the thought bothers me. I search out some bowls and grab a couple of cans of soda from the fridge, hoping he’ll eat quickly and get the hell out of here.
Ten minutes later, Noah is dishing up a huge serving into each bowl, despite me arguing that my stomach literally can’t hold that much and reminding him that I’ll most likely not like it anyway. He scoffs and continues dishing it up.
I slide my bowl across the table and take a seat behind it on the stool before looking down at the chili noodles with a cringe.
This is not going to go well.
“What are you waiting for?” Noah asks, taking a seat on the stool beside me and cracking open his soda.
I let out a breath and ignore the prying eyes beside me. I guess it’d be rude to not eat it after he went to the effort to drive me home, fix the truck, and cook me lunch. So, with no other choice, I take my fork and dig in, praying that the chili doesn’t burn a hole in my esophagus.
I lift the fork to my lips and the second the noodles hit my taste buds, I melt.
It’s fucking heaven.
The guy must be some kind of modern prince charming. He ticks all the boxes that every woman around the globe is searching for. I always thought finding the perfect man was some kind of joke. It couldn’t be possible, yet here we are.
He’s funny, he calls me out on my bullshit while managing to somehow make me smile, he’s unbelievably good looking, and he has that whole ‘dangerous bad boy’ vibe. He’s perfect.
Only that couldn’t be the furthest thing from the truth. Noah Cage is untouchable.
I must be insane. While I’ve been going to school with the guy for the past few years, today was the first time I’ve ever spoken to him. What the hell do I know?
Untouchable: Haven Falls (Book 1) Page 4