by Alex Rosa
I lift my hand up to Noah’s face, and revel in the grainy feel against my fingertips. He lets out a soft breath, but doesn’t speak.
I want this. I think I do.
He leans in slowly, and I don’t let myself lose another second as I lift my mouth to meet his, seeking answers in his lips.
His lips are soft and commanding among the stubble, but I love the feeling. I drag my hand, farther up his jaw and into his hair, anchoring his face to mine as he dips his tongue into my mouth.
An involuntary moan escapes me as my tongue greets his with equal effort. He tastes of the peppermint tea, icy cool among a raging wild fire of warmth in his mouth.
He shifts his body on top of mine, and I spread my legs, cradling him against me. His hand moves to my face, brushing my hair aside, but continuing a trail down my neck, and over my breasts. My back arches into his grasp, begging for more.
My body is overheating, and the burning sensation rises to the surface of my skin as my free hand takes a firm grip of his bicep to steady myself even though I’m lying down.
I keep telling myself I want this.
I take Noah’s bottom lip between my teeth and suck, convincing myself. His growl is hot, and everything low in my abdomen clenches deliciously.
He grinds his hips into me, and through the thin material of his pants I can feel his hard, throbbing erection, and my lower half soaks with anticipation.
However, something’s amiss when he pulls his lips from mine, trailing delicate, deliberate kisses down my neck, letting his hands take a leisurely journey to my thighs.
It’s only the second date.
When I feel his fingertips reach the waistband of my pajama bottoms, right on the brink of tucking his hand inside, I grab for his shoulders, tensing.
“Noah,” I whisper.
He stops instantly, because Noah would, but he doesn’t move his face from my neck. I can feel and hear his heavy, humid breaths against my skin as he tries to calm.
He doesn’t budge as he says, “Sorry. That escalated quickly.”
His tone tells me he feels bad. He still doesn’t move. My body is tingling, as if toying with the idea that it want’s what Noah can give, but my brain is screaming bloody murder; things like you didn’t leave California to jump into bed with a guy on the second date! If you just wanted sex you should have stayed in LA!
I shake my head. This isn’t right. I like Noah. I like Noah a lot.
“No,” I squeeze his arms adoringly, and drag them up and over the contours of his broad shoulders to his face, forcing him to look up at me. “You read all the signals right. I wanted you to kiss me. I want this, and if you really want to get technical, I also started it.”
His eyes look a bit wild in the sexiest way, but his lips widen in that normal sense of charm. I know now that Noah does in fact have a bite to him, at least.
“You did kind of start it,” he quips.
We both share a few laughs. He leans down and places a soft kiss against my collar bone. My body feels gypped when he pulls away, but I don’t fight for more.
“I like you, Noah. I need you to know that.”
“Call me crazy, but I think do.” He kisses me on the lips, and I feel his wonderful smile against mine.
Lucky for me he pulls away. Little does he know I wouldn’t have been able to fight him off otherwise, but I’m thankful nonetheless that he’s showing the restraint that I think both of us need.
“This is literally our second date, and …” I release a cathartic breath. “I don’t want us moving too fast. I didn’t come to New York to leap into a relationship after getting out of one.” His brows furrow. He doesn’t like that statement. I try to recover. “Please don’t look at me that way. I’m not saying this isn’t what I want. What I’m saying is I would like it if we moved … slower.”
“Can I still kiss you as much as I want?”
“Please do, but maybe we need to try and show some restraint—“
“—For now.” He adds, cutting me off.
We laugh again, and I know in that instant I could probably fall for Noah, hard … if I let myself.
I gulp down the thought, basking in the feeling of Noah’s body still molded against mine, finding a sense of calm in it now that I can tell we’re both okay.
“For now,” I repeat as confirmation. “Just give this new girl some time.”
There’s that full HD grin again. “I can do that.”
I pace my living room as I listen to the tunes of Sam Smith blaring through my overpriced speakers, gifted to me by my father as a house-warming present, or as an apology, depending on how you look at it.
I hum the sexy melody as my strides meet one side of the room and then the other far too quickly. Noah has been too busy to text me back all day because fighting crime takes priority over his neurotic girlfrie—girl that he’s seeing. Actually, I think he said he had a family thing to do tonight or something. Whatever.
I have instead received four texts from Troy just within the past two hours. I don’t know why it has me so antsy, but it does. All of them were pertaining to our plans. One was about the club we were going to —which we argued about, but he won the argument because his evidence was that he knows the city better. Then he told me what time he’ll be here —we even argued about that as I explained I could get there myself, which he also refused. Not to mention the text that told me about the town car he rented for the evening and for me not to worry about anything, and to keep my head on business —I huffed out loud to myself in my empty living room when I received that one. As if my head is the one that needs to be kept in check.
Regardless, I wanted Noah to text me back so I could somehow feed off of his inherent confidence through the cell tower satellite waves. Good vibes, I need his good vibes. Yeah, that’s it.
And all of this because I can’t decide what to wear. I peer down at my kimono robe thinking I’m an instant failure.
Knock. Knock.
My head turns to look down my hallway. Who could that be? I have no intention of opening it as I approach my front door. I’m merely feeding into my own curiosity. Unless it’s Noah who’s here to convince me that he wants to make love to me instead of working and me going out. I’d so be for that right now.
I roll my eyes as I stand on my tiptoes to look through the peep-hole.
Megan!
Without hesitation I fling the door open and blurt out, “I need you, right now!”
She laughs. “Okaaayyy. I mean we barely know each other Jules, but I am kinda diggin’ the skanky kimono right no—“
I wave her words off with my laughs. “No, no. I need your expertise. I have this—ugh, it’s hard to explain. Do you have a minute?” I ask her a bit too frantically, and then notice she holds a bottle of wine in her right hand. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing at it.
She shrugs. “I felt I owed you a bottle replacement. You saw me at my lowest and it’s the least I can do, but we bonded, don’t you think?”
I shake my head through more chortles. “Uh, yeah. Most definitely.”
“Do you have a hot date tonight with that hunky boyfriend of yours?”
My cheeks heat. “I wish. It’s kinda complicated. Come inside, maybe we can start early on that bottle.”
Her high-heeled boots enter my apartment, passing me as she makes it to my kitchen, setting the bottle down on the bar. “Nervous?” she asks through a wicked bright, red smile that matches her white ruffle blouse and designer pencil skirt.
I let out my billionth huff of the night, but it’s far more embarrassing in the presence of someone else. “Let me give you the run down. I have this super aggravating work associate …” I pause, knowing that the incoming fact is unfortunately relevant to my nerves, “… and he’s also annoyingly hot. Anyway, we have this shmoozing thing to go to. We have to take these two clients out clubbing and drinking tonight. We need to show them a good time in order to convince
them to work with us—“
“—What do you do for work, Jules?” She asks with surprisingly no judgment, and I love her for it.
I smile, running a hand through my overly blow-dried hair. “I’m an interior designer, particularly for nightclubs.”
“Far out,” she says whimsically.
“Not as cool as your job!”
She snorts. “I may work for Cosmo, but my job usually involves me finding new ways to cook kale, or the newest vegan eatery. It’s whatever. What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know what to wear.”
Her face brightens like her eyes are little balls of hazel sunshine. “Ya know, I’ve always wanted the fashion column instead. Can I use you as a Guinea pig then?”
I shake my head entirely confused. “What? No!” Then I can’t stop laughing as I move to find a corkscrew, feeling that Megan and I are long lost friends. I think this city has more hidden gems than I first thought. “You always look so fantastic and I can’t compete. In LA, I could literally put on any short skirt and heels with a crochet top and be done for the day—and night. It’s, like, five degrees outside, and I can barely walk in heels in the snow.”
She sighs, but it’s adoringly. “No worries, Padawan. You are not yet a Jedi, and Yoda can teach you.”
My eyebrows scrunch together as I manage to pop the cork from the bottle. “Who’s Yoda in this analogy?”
“I’m Yoda,” she says while her bright turquoise fingernail pokes at herself through a mess of ruffles.
“You can’t be Yoda. You’re too pretty.”
“Well, of course I am, Jules. I’m just saying I’m a pro. Let me teach you the ways. I know what we need.”
I pour each of us a glass and hand one off to her. “What’s that?”
“The quintessential item that every girl in NYC needs. A little black dress. Take me to your closet.”
I cringe as I watch Megan frolic toward my bedroom with a wine glass in hand, looking like a blonde, pixie-cut, wino nymph as she goes.
I will never be that graceful even if I tried.
She helps herself to the only good thing about this small apartment —my walk-in closet. It’s about a quarter of the size of my bedroom.
She sips as I gulp and watch her.
She trifles through my rows of clothes, huffing and puffing as she goes. “Why is your wardrobe so colorful?”
I shrug, hiding behind my glass. “I used to live in the sun.”
“Well now honey, you live in the dark, hip, stylish city of the Big Apple. Wear your blacks and greys, even your navy blues and dark purples. Accessorize, mix and match, and be adventurous!”
I want to argue that my wardrobe is adventurous if she really thinks about it, but she gives up on my clothes and starts focusing on my scattered piling of shoes on the floor. It takes her less than a minute to spot my holy grail.
“Oh-em-gee, these!”
She grabs my sleek Louboutins from the floor, and holds them up, presenting them to me. “These are killer and a godsend.”
I nod, basking in how, no matter the woman, they’d appreciate every curve of the shoe and every bit of the wickedly gleaming red on the sole just as much as I do.
“Those shoes changed my life,” I reply. It used to be something I’d say and everyone would gape at me like an idiot, but not this time.
Megan nods as if we attend the same church and pray to the same god as she says, “Oh, I know. I have a pair too, and I’ve never looked back. They saved me.”
Amen.
She gulps down the last bit of her wine like a champ, stuffing the pair of shoes under her arm as she grabs for my wrist, tugging me back out of my bedroom. She clumsily places the glass on the counter, but let’s me keep mine as she continues her journey with me in tow out toward the door.
“Where are we going?” I ask as I try to keep the rushing wind of her strides from blowing my robe open, but only because it would reveal to my entire apartment building that the only item that I could decide on was my scandalous black, lace panties.
“My closet. Now!” she barks.
I sit tapping my foot anxiously from inside the town car, staring up at the tall brick, slightly dated building thinking, how many times was Julia going to tell me no via text today? Couldn’t she just relax and go with the flow for one moment in her life?
I tug at my blue blazer, and then fiddle with the knot of my red tie.
The town car has been sitting idle outside her building for ten minutes now, and I wonder if she’s making me wait out of spite.
My throat tightens as a slender leg is the first thing I see emerge though the double doors of her building. Unfortunately, I couldn’t mistake whom those long, shapely stems belong to. I might’ve spent the occasional office window snooping, committing them to memory as I sulked in my office with my blinds open, watching Julia's hip-sway her way from one side of the office to the other. I only feel mildly guilty about it.
She appears fully on the top step. Her black heels accentuate the feminine but muscular curve to her calf, and I start with her feet and move on up. I make sure I take my time cherishing the revealed skin of her thighs. Those legs should come with a warning label.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, thankful I’m alone inside the car. That dress. If you can even call it that.
How am I supposed to stay focused? She looks like bait, and I can only imagine that Louis and Jacques won’t be able to resist her either. Maybe that’s her plan. Maybe it’s a business maneuver. I have to try and think that way. She’s already told me no, maybe I should take the hint. I’ll focus on other leggy woman tonight … maybe.
I shake my head and look down at the crotch of my pants. “Yeah, right. You don’t stand a chance tonight, little man.”
I run a frustrated, frantic hand through my hair, staring at her through the tinted glass until I see a visible shiver run through Julia’s petite frame, and I can’t help my manners as I reach out to open the car door.
“Damn you, Jules.” I utter quietly one last time before greeting the crisp evening air. I’m at least thankful that the heart shape to the top of her dress connects to long sleeves, but the length of the dress itself will not prove to be any match for the winter.
I step onto the curb, holding the door open. “Where’s your jacket, Jules?”
The Californian spitfire yaps, “I’ll be fine. We’ll be indoors all night.”
She approaches the open door and I can see her arms pebble with goose bumps. I grit my teeth and attempt a polite smile while battling some indescribable war going on in my gut. “Okay. Let’s get you inside the car where it’s warm.” I extend my hand out to help her inside as I hold the door open with my other.
She ignores my manners and assistance. I can tell this because she pauses, looking at me, then at the open door I’m holding. Her brows pucker skeptically between her deep brown eyes. She seems to accept it for what it is when she can’t fight back the second frigid, tremor to move through her body. She takes a step inside the car. However, her heel slips on the curb.
“Watch it!” I quip, jutting out my arms to catch her.
“—I got it!” she squeaks as she fumbles to get the rest of her body inside.
Even with her clumsiness I’m tempted to tell her that she looks stunning and that the shortness of her dress is terribly unfair to me, but I don’t want us getting off on the wrong foot.
If she realizes that I can’t stop staring at the hemline of her dress, whether it’s the one across her breasts, or the one far above her knees, she’ll never take me seriously in any sense.
I hold my breath until the moment passes and she’s safely inside the car, but unfortunately as she bends over to get inside I take the opportunity to note that this singular moment might be my only chance to openly gawk at her without her noticing, and I don’t mind the view. The curve of her ass beckons me, and the smooth flesh of her thighs mere inches away, I want—
She plops herself onto the plush leather seat, which ends my gawk and shuts down my thoughts before I can finish them. Thank god.
“Troy, c’mon! Louis has already texted me wondering where we’re at.”
Her words fling me back to the reality of why we’re here. This is not a date. Not even close to it. This is business. If it wasn’t, Julia would rather be with that dumb guy she might consider her boyfriend now.
“Why is he texting you and not me?” I ask while shutting the door behind me as I slide in next to her.
“Silly questions,” she purrs, and doesn’t offer any more of an explanation.
I don’t have the patience to look at her this time, nor speak. I wave at the open separator at the driver to signal us to move onto our next stop.
I look out the window at the passing buildings in the night, my insides knotting up with self-doubt.
Suddenly, I feel her hand softly swat at my own that I didn’t notice was fiddling with my blazer button.
My chest constricts as I turn to face her.
Her smile is adorably sincere while at the same time a bit mocking.
Not buckled in, she scoots closer to me, turning her body to face mine. “Relax, Troy.”
Her brown orbs hold my own apprehensive ones.
I’m on the verge of speaking but I stop because her hands reach out for me again, this time helping herself to my tie as she straightens the Windsor knot below my chin. I want to ask her when we became so friendly, but of course I don’t. I try to act like I understand, but I stare at her like she might bite.
“I like this color on you. It looks sharp,” she blurts out.
Was that a compliment?
Her eyes fall from mine as if she’s fully aware of the rosy color rising to her cheeks, and it gives me hope that I’m not the only one grasping at straws here.
“Thank you. You look stunning, by the way.”
Okay, so I couldn’t keep my mouth shut for long.
Her mouth slithers into a smile.
“Are you ready for tonight?” She asks, skipping my compliment entirely as she slips back into her seat, keeping a comfortable distance from me. The pang in my chest at the realization I might be wounded by it annoys the shit out of me.