by RC Boldt
When this ends—and it will, because she deserves so much more than me—Noelle will be taking a part of me with her.
* * *
“This next song goes out to the loves of our lives—Lee and Laney,” Lawson announces.
He and Zach are currently on the karaoke stage preparing to sing. I shake my head with a chuckle, recognizing the first few beats of The Proclaimers’ song, “I’m Gonna Be.” They get a lot of cheers and laughs once they get to the familiar part of the song most people know, mentioning how they would walk five hundred miles and five hundred more just to be their man.
Soon, the entire bar is singing along with Lawson and Zach, in between laughing at the two men’s crazy on-stage antics as they pretend to march-walk in place, really getting into it. Those two are something else.
Leaning over to my sister, who’s sitting to my left, I raise my voice to be heard over the loud music. “Ever have any second thoughts about marrying that yahoo on stage?”
Granted, I’m always giving her shit about Zach but I feel like I have to check, to be sure he’s making her happy. Because if he isn’t, he’ll be answering to me.
She looks at me strangely for a moment before shaking her head, her lips forming a smile full of happiness.
“Nope. Not one.”
Her eyes flicker off to the side before coming back to me. Leaning closer, she nudges me with her elbow. “You’d better watch out or someone else is going to snag her tonight.” She nods toward where Noelle is seated at the table, far enough away from me that it doesn’t look suspicious. Far enough away to make me angry because I want her sitting closer to me and not beside the guys I was talking to earlier. And, really, how the hell are they that fucking funny? Watching her tip her head back while laughing at something one of them says makes me grind my teeth together.
“You could always sing a song to her.” Laney’s suggestion is spoken in my ear, causing me to stare at her in a mixture of disbelief and horror.
“You know I don’t sing,” I shout over the music. She smiles wickedly, and I instantly recall what I forgot to do.
Fuck. Me. My own sister threw me under the bus. I had forgotten to buy myself immunity, so entranced by Noelle’s entrance to the bar. And my own damn sister had signed me up to sing.
Glaring at my own traitorous flesh and blood beside me, I declare, “You’re dead to me.”
Laughing with far more joy than should be acceptable, considering what she’s just done, she shakes her head. “Trust me, Fos. You’ll be thanking me later.”
“Doubtful,” I grumble.
So fucking doubtful.
Chapter Fifty
Noelle
I’m having a pretty good time even though I’m not nearly close enough to Foster. But it’s for the best. I don’t need another episode like the one involving Miller earlier. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t give my left arm to sit beside him, just to be close enough to feel the heat of his body, close enough to accidentally-on-purpose brush my arm or leg against his. To be close enough to witness the way his eyes appear more golden when he looks down at me teasingly.
The guys I’m sitting between seem nice enough, but the one has already exceeded his quota of the whole eyes-slipping-down-to-check-out-my-boobs thing. I know my dress has that slim V-shaped cutout but it’s not obscene or anything. At least, it hasn’t been any other time I’ve worn it. It’s getting a little exhausting trying to refrain from pointing to my eyes and saying, “Eyes up here.”
When I excuse myself to use the restroom, it’s more to give myself a reprieve from his eyes. Weaving my way through the karaoke bar to slip through the entrance to the attached martini bar where the restrooms are located down a long, much quieter hallway, I’ve only taken one step into it when my wrist is caught. Startled, I stop and turn, only to sigh in relief.
“Foster,” I sigh before tensing and glancing around us. Noticing my apprehension, his brows furrow and he leads me down the hallway, past the doors leading to the restrooms and to the end of the darker hallway, steering me into a supply room with the door propped open. As soon as we’re inside, he closes it, ensconcing us in darkness.
“Uh, Foster? What are you doing?” My voice wavers because we can’t get caught. We don’t do—haven’t done—this kind of thing before. We’ve kept it restricted to my place or his. Aside from that slip-up at the office, of course.
Pressing my back against the door, one of his fingertips grazes a trail from my shoulder, over my collarbone and down the center of my chest left bare by my dress.
His hot breath washes over my skin. “You’ve been driving me crazy tonight in this damn dress.”
“You don’t like my dress?” I ask softly.
A huff of breath against my neck sends shivers through me. “I like it too damn much.” There’s a pause and his voice is lower, quieter. “Those two dudes seem to like it, too.”
A smile plays at my lips, and I’m glad we’re in the dark, so he can’t see it. “Are you jealous, Kavanaugh?”
“No.” The sharp denial startles me enough to make me jump. I can’t deny the fact that his answer is disappointing. But, hey. I should know better.
“Gotcha,” I say softly. “Well, I’m sure they’ll be missing us back there so we should—”
“Yes.”
His random response is confusing. “Yes, what?”
“Yes.” It sounds like he’s gritting his teeth as he speaks, “I’m jealous.”
My lips part in surprise—shock, really—because, holy shit. Foster Kavanaugh just admitted to being jealous.
“I’m jealous as fuck,” he whispers against my throat, dragging his lips down the length of it. “Jealous of the fact that they get to sit next to you, jealous of the way they’re making you laugh.” He presses his body against mine, and I feel his arousal. “Jealous of the fact that they can look their fill and not care about anyone noticing. Jealous that they’re up close and personal with you looking fucking breathtaking in this dress.”
When his teeth nip at my shoulder before darting out his tongue to soothe it, I gasp. “But they’re not here right now. You are. You’re the one whose mouth is on me.” My hand moves between us to cup him, loving the way he thrusts into my touch. “You’re the one I want to touch, the one I want inside me.”
“Noelle.” His voice is gravelly. “I want my cock inside of you now, so you’ll go back to your seat at that table still feeling me inside you, still slick from me making you come.” I’ve already begun unfastening his jeans, frantically shoving them down along with his boxer briefs while his fingers delve between my legs, giving a sharp tug on my thin, flimsy thong, and it gives way.
“You owe me,” I gasp when his fingers slide deep inside of me, “a new pair of underwear.”
“Done.” He pumps his fingers a few times, in and out of my wetness before fumbling to find a condom in his wallet. I hear the crinkling sound of the wrapper seconds before he turns me around to face the door. “Palms against the door,” he commands. I do as he says, his hands gliding over my ass before the tip of his hardness probes my entrance.
He pushes inside of me slowly. “The way it feels, to slide my cock inside of your wet pussy is … fucking bliss.” He thrusts in deeper, inch by inch, before he’s fully seated inside of me. And I’m already feeling my inner muscles clench around his hardness, at the way he feels even deeper than any of the times before, at the way his piercing is rubbing against my inner walls.
“Foster,” my breathing is ragged, “please move. Please.”
His teeth bite down gently on the top of my shoulder, and he starts pumping in and out of me in such a way that makes me whimper, my fingers curling against the door, nails scratching at the surface. The way he grips my hips, tipping his own in order to angle his thrusts better combined with the words he’s saying, work to push me over the edge, while I thrust myself back onto his cock.
“That’s it,” his voice is guttural, “work your pussy over my cock. Fuck my cock.
” At the first sign of my orgasm, my inner walls clench around him. His grip on my hips tightens and I know I’m going to have slight bruising but I don’t care. Biting down on my lip to try and contain my moan as my inner muscles spasm around him, he lets out a low groan before giving two more deep thrusts, finding his own release.
Resting my forehead against the door, I listen as our harsh breathing begins to even out and realize, with embarrassment, that my orgasm was so powerful it’s going to require a bit of a clean up.
“Uh, I sure hope there’s paper towels in here somewhere.” I’m cringing as I say this because, gross.
Foster presses a light kiss to my shoulder and I relax a bit. “I’ll take care of it,” he says softly against my skin. Backing away from me, I instantly miss him, miss the weight of him against me. Hearing the sound of him fastening his pants—thankfully, he doesn’t turn on the light—then some rummaging around before, “Hold still.” I jerk at the feel of him wiping me with some paper towels.
“Foster,” I hiss. This is beyond weird. And way too intimate. “What are you doing?”
“I’m cleaning you,” he says this as if it should be obvious—as if it’s no big deal.
Groaning, I softly let my forehead thud against the door. “So embarrassing.”
“Why?” He’s done now and is doing his best to rearrange my dress before he tugs at my wrist to turn me to face him.
“It’s just really … personal. I mean,” I shrug even though he can’t see me in the darkness, “do you do this for every woman you sleep with?”
There’s a considerable pause before he finally answers. “I’ve never done this before.” It’s clear from his tone he’s just now catching on to the fact that this is something pretty damn intimate. Especially for a person who is anti-relationship like him.
Oh, boy. Can I please get a large platter of uncomfortable moment with a side order of uncomfortable moment, please? With the dessert special of—wait, you guessed it—uncomfortable moment?
“Okay, well. Thanks so much for helping me clean up. I’m going to run over to the restroom real quick. Seeyoulater.” My words are rushed and end up running together in my haste to escape this moment of awkwardness. Luckily, he’s still in a daze, and I twist the door knob, managing to rush out and sprint—like I’m attempting to qualify for the Olympics—the necessary ten feet to the women’s restroom, only letting out a tiny sigh of relief once I’m safely inside one of the stalls.
I’m getting in too deep with Foster. A part of me is screaming to end things now before it gets even messier and more confusing.
The other part of me, though, is digging in its heels because it knows the truth. It’s already messy, and there’s no confusing one fact.
I’ve already fallen in love with him.
Chapter Fifty-One
Foster
Fucking Laney. She signed me up to sing with Lawson. And to sing a George Michael, song, no less. “Freedom” is actually not the worst song choice in the world, but still. I don’t sing—can’t sing to save my life—so this is the equivalent of torture for me even as I make it through the first few lines of the song.
Just when I’m ready to hand the microphone over to Dean, the karaoke DJ, and pay to get out of this, Noelle joins us up on stage with an additional microphone. Stepping between me and Laws, she starts right in, singing on cue perfectly and … saving my ass from any more embarrassment. She moves around us as we all sing—with me singing softer to let her take the attention away from my off-tune singing—and I’m reminded again of how incredible she is. The way she’s smiling makes her unbelievably gorgeous, and the fact that her messy bun is messier from what we did earlier just does something to me.
Watching her as we—thank fuck—finish up the song, I’m reminded of the fact that she’s not only incredible in so many ways—beautiful, smart, witty, funny as hell and sexy—but she’s also so different from me. She deserves the real deal—the husband, the house with the white picket fence and the two perfect children. She deserves it all.
And, for the first time ever, I realize I’m gutted by the fact that I can never be the guy to give a woman all of that.
* * *
“Come home with me?” I whisper to Noelle as everyone’s saying their goodbyes at the end of the night. And a successful night it was—over a thousand dollars raised.
Her reaction isn’t at all what I’m expecting and I notice the indecisiveness in her eyes. Before she can form a response, Laney swings an arm around her shoulders, tugging her close, saying something to her. The picture they make, the two of them smiling at one another, gives me pause. Makes my mind veer off into dangerous territory, into the land of If things were different… And that never does me any good.
As Noelle and my sister, now with her cell phone in hand, have their heads together as they peer at something on the screen, I step closer. “Break it up, you two troublemakers.”
Laney glances up briefly before returning her attention to whatever she’s showing Noelle on her cell phone. “I just sent this one over to you. That’s a good one.” Something flickers across Noelle’s face but it’s gone before I can decipher it, in its place a smile I’m familiar with.
Zach walks up to where the three of us are standing, sliding his hand to Laney’s back. “Hey, gorgeous. You ready to head home?” His gray eyes look down at her with ardent affection and seeing my sister return it puts me more at ease than I can explain. It also makes me feel something I haven’t felt ever before.
Envy. Which is pretty damn crazy considering they’re in love and married and I’m never going to experience either one of those things.
“Ready,” Laney answers before stepping forward, wrapping me in a tight hug before pressing a quick kiss to my cheek, and whispers, “You deserve it, too, you know.” When she pulls away, at my questioning look she just winks and mouths, “Love you.” I mouth it back with a small smile, watching her walk off with Zach.
“Tonight was fun,” Noelle hesitates before offering an overly bright smile. “Well, I’m going to head on home. Bye.”
I’m still standing there, in a What the hell just happened? daze, before I manage to get my ass in gear and have the sense to go after her. Weaving my way through the attached rooms of the multi-room bar, I finally reach the door to the exit. Stepping out, I’m instantly hit with a wave of heat and humidity that encompasses Florida in mid-June. Finally spotting her walking along the sidewalk, I break into a light jog to catch up with her.
“Davis,” I call out, “you shouldn’t be walking alone this time of night.”
She doesn’t turn, even as I sidle up beside her, matching her pace. “Kavanaugh, it’s downtown Fernandina Beach. My pepper spray is in my hand and ready, just in case. I’ve got this covered.” Glancing down, I see that she does indeed have pepper spray at the ready. Still, I’m not a fan of her walking alone.
“Where’d you park?”
“Over on Alachua Street.”
It’s quiet and peaceful as we walk, now that we’re a distance away from the other neighboring bars and all the noise that goes along with it. Approaching her vehicle, I realize she hasn’t looked at me since we left the bar.
“You okay?”
“Yes.” She opens her car door, and I lay my hand on the top.
“What was my sister showing you on her phone?”
Finally, she meets my gaze. “She took some photos throughout the night and I was in a few of them. Said she’d send me the rest.”
“Oh?” As if on cue, I hear her phone beep in her small wrist purse. “Can I take a look?”
Letting out a long sigh, her lips press thin for a moment before her shoulders droop slightly. “Fine.”
She’s acting really odd, and I study her while she’s swiping the screen of her phone. I slide around to stand beside her, only to discover that my sister has sent her a buttload of photos she took of me and Noelle. There’re a handful of us on stage singing, which are actually pretty cool. But
there’s one that catches my eye and it’s … unsettling as hell. It must have been taken at the end of the song she rescued me from because we’re holding our microphones at our sides and looking at each other with smiles. That in itself isn’t bothersome but … it’s the way she’s smiling at me—the look in her eyes that’s making it hard for me to breathe. What’s worse is that, I swear, there’s almost a similar look on my face as I’m looking back at her.
We both fall completely silent, staring at the photo on her phone until it times out and the screen goes dark.
“You know what? It’s really late and you probably have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow, including running your bazillion miles in the morning and I—”
My mouth crashes down on hers, partially to stop her from rambling on with shitty excuses and partly because it’s been too damn long since I’ve tasted her. As soon as our lips meet and I slide my tongue inside to tangle with hers, angling to deepen the kiss, a sense of calmness comes over me.
Breaking the kiss, I’m stunned to realize the harsh breathing I hear isn’t just hers but mine as well. “Come home with me, please?”
My breath holds in my chest as her eyes search my face before answering softly. “Yes.” And that’s all it takes to make my night complete. For this woman to agree to be with me.
For her to choose me … at least for tonight.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Noelle
“What am I doing?” I ask myself in the silence of my car as I drive down Atlantic Avenue, following Foster’s truck. “What. Am. I. Doing?” I repeat myself.
I know what I’m doing. I’m following my vajayjay’s lead. Okay, no, that’s not entirely true. I’m following my heart’s lead, too. Which is even more frightening because, well, it’s Foster Kavanaugh, for God’s sake. He’s dangerously lethal to my heart, and I should just drive off in the opposite direction, lock myself inside my house and get my shit together.