Frisky Business (Chick Flick Club Book 3)

by Lila Monroe

  He laughs and leans over to kiss me. “Thank you for believing in me.”

  “Thank you for the pizza,” I tell him playfully.

  I sink into his embrace, but what started out as a playful kiss changes quickly. This is not just a “thank you for understanding” kiss.

  It’s an “I’m sorry and let’s make up—horizontally” kiss.

  “Want to take this pizza to the bedroom?” he asks, kissing along my neck.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head.

  Seeing his surprised expression, I grin. “Put it in the fridge. We can eat it later. Much later.”

  Noah does so in double-quick time, then we head upstairs to my bedroom, undressing

  in between kisses. Hot, wet, delicious kisses. We strip down in no time at all, but I don’t want to rush this time, I want to savor every inch of him. I sink back onto the bed and pull him closer, leaning toward his hard cock. I lick the tip, making him groan as his fingers twine in my hair. “Eve, God . . . that feels . . .”

  He groans again as I take him all in, licking and teasing at his length until he’s panting. Then Noah slowly pushes me back down on the bed and crawls up my body, touching and kissing my naked skin until I’m begging for more. He fishes his jeans off the floor and grabs a condom from his wallet, then he’s right back beside me, reaching between us, stroking my slick heat until finally, he sheaths himself inside me with a groan.

  Yes.

  I clench around him, wanting more, and Noah grabs one of my legs and brings my foot up against his shoulder, pushing himself even deeper. Then he starts to move.

  It feels amazing and perfect, but something makes me look up at his face. He’s looking at me, and as our eyes connect, he smiles, even as he’s moving inside me. I smile back, feeling vulnerable, but connected and trusting at the same time.

  It’s never been like this. With him, or anyone else. And something tells me he’s feeling the same, especially as he reaches down and lays a palm on my face before he kisses me, tenderly. I wrap my arms around him, gasping for more, and then he rolls us, bringing me down to straddle him. It’s a new angle, deep and hard, and fuck, it feels so good. I ride him, setting the pace, chasing my pleasure as Noah grips my hips hard, driving up into me. He’s panting, murmuring my name, and it’s so damn sexy, I can’t hold back. I come with a moan, clenching around him, and Noah surges up inside me with a roar, setting off another wave of explosive pleasure, slamming through my body.

  But it’s not just the way he makes my body feel. As I tumble into his arms, gasping for air, I realize.

  I’m falling for him.

  For real.

  18

  EVE

  I WAKE up in my bed—well, Viv and Colin’s guest bed—alone. It’s been three days since Noah and I had our fight—and the night of stellar makeup sex that made it all worthwhile.

  Although the non-makeup sex we’ve had since has been just as stellar.

  I’m starving, thanks to my many bedroom “workouts,” so I throw on a tank and flannel shorts and head downstairs for something to eat. And maybe some kitchen sex, if it’s on the menu. But just as I’m smiling over that thought, I enter the room and stop in my tracks.

  There’s a woman sitting at the kitchen island, focused on her phone. She’s definitely pretty, with auburn hair in a messy braid, wearing a cute sundress that I would ask where she bought it if I wasn’t still scrambling to figure out what’s going on.

  And also in my PJs. No bra. With bedhead and no makeup.

  Wait. That’s not what’s important here.

  Who is she? I know Noah is a player, but I’m guessing this can’t be one of his hookups. We never talked about exclusivity, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be brazen enough to parade his next conquest through the house like this.

  Brazen, or stupid.

  The woman looks up and sees me standing there. She smiles. “Oh, hey!”

  “Uh, hi?” I say, folding my arms over my chest. Because again: no bra.

  “Noah will be right back. He went to grab coffee, because apparently he is afraid of the espresso machine.” She waves toward the appliance. “I’m Poppy, by the way.”

  “Eve,” I say, still confused. “And you are . . . ? I mean, do you guys work together, or?”

  She laughs. “He hasn’t mentioned me then? Typical. I’m his big sister,” she explains. “Great to meet you.”

  Sister!

  I exhale in relief. “Hi!” I exclaim again—with feeling this time. “And nope, he didn’t mention you.”

  She grins. “Like I said, typical. Do you have siblings?”

  I shake my head.

  “Noah’s a pain in my ass, but he’s a sweetheart, really. Although, don’t let him know I said that.” She winks. “I’m probably supposed to be telling you stories about how manly and brave he is.”

  I smile, relaxing. “I’m more interested in the stories that involve public humiliation. And maybe photos?”

  Poppy laughs. “So, how long have you two been dating?”

  I try to figure out how to respond. Does what’s going on between us qualify as dating? Would he think so?

  “Ah, I see.” Poppy gives me a knowing look. “Not necessarily dating, but here you are, jealous about discovering a strange woman in the kitchen. A strange woman who maybe you thought was a hookup.”

  My face heats up. Am I really so obvious? “To be honest, I’m not really sure what we’re doing . . .” I admit.

  “Say no more,” she says, holding up a palm. “Not my business. Although, I will say, Noah’s never even allowed me in a hundred-foot radius of anyone he’s interested in, but he invited me to hang here today . . .”

  “Never?” I ask, though I’m more focused on the fact that she just referred to me as someone Noah is “interested in.” What does that actually mean? And how does she know?

  A second later, the front door opens. The dogs go snuffling and scrabbling down the hall to greet Noah.

  “SHHHHH! He’s back!” Poppy stage-whispers. “We should stop talking about him!”

  “Very funny, Pops,” Noah says, arriving with a tray of coffees and a bag of something delicious-smelling. But I can see a glimpse of unease as he looks back and forth between the two of us. “So, what have you two been saying about me?”

  I grin. He really is worried that she’s been spilling his secrets. I have to admit: It’s kind of adorable.

  “Oh, just your deepest, darkest, most embarrassing secrets,” Poppy teases, giving him a friendly shove. “I definitely didn’t tell her you wet the bed until you were eight.”

  “Because that’s a lie! It’s a lie,” he tells me quickly.

  I smirk.

  “Is it a lie, though, that you couldn’t sleep without your Star Wars snuggly toy?” Poppy adds, and has to dance back as Noah throws a muffin at her. “It’s true.” She grins at me, retrieving the muffin from the counter and biting off a chunk. “He cried for a week when it finally fell apart in the wash.”

  “It was my friend!” Noah protests, blushing.

  Like I said: adorable.

  “Let’s change the subject,” Noah says firmly. “How about those Knicks?”

  Poppy snorts. “Me and sports? Nice try.”

  “I want to hear more stories,” I say sweetly. “Poppy, tell me everything. Better yet, do you have photos?”

  “Do I ever!”

  AFTER OUR BREAKFAST—AND a dozen embarrassing childhood stories—Noah sees Poppy off and we get ready and head to the shelter. We only have one booking today, but it’s a doozy: We need to take a litter of adorable cockapoo pups to a kid’s birthday party.

  When we arrive, Sadie, the poor birthday girl, is in tears. Alone. Her mom draws us aside and regretfully explains none of the other kids they invited showed up. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry to waste your time.”

  “It’s not a waste,” I insist. “Look, she’s having fun.”

  Sadie is sitting on the floo
r, suddenly giggling because the five pups are crawling all over her, desperate for her attention.

  “Let’s stick around,” Noah suggests—right before I was about to make the same offer. “Maybe we can salvage this day for her, after all.”

  I smile, because that’s exactly what I’m thinking. We stick around and play, acting as Sadie’s “guests,” making sure her party is awesome. I get down on the floor with her and teach her about puppy care. She’s a quick learner and handles them perfectly. She bonds with the runt, a fluffy little fawn-colored girl with a big white spot on her chest. She’s my favorite too, and is completely content to lie in Sadie’s lap and be loved on.

  After an hour, Noah and I need to round up the exhausted puppies to return them to the shelter, but I can see that Sadie isn’t ready to let the little pup go.

  “Mom!” she says. “Shelby doesn’t want to go back to the shelter. She should probably stay here with us.”

  “Shelby?” Mom asks, looking at me. “Who is Shelby?”

  “This is Shelby.” Sadie hugs the sweet puppy to her chest. “She wants to live here with us.”

  “Oh really,” Mom says. “You know that, do you?”

  Sadie nods, her eyes as big as the puppy’s. I’m desperate to take a photo but don’t want to ruin the moment.

  “She is available for adoption,” I say helpfully.

  “I don’t know, Sadie,” Mom says. “We’d need to talk about it as a family.” But when she looks at me, she gives me a wink. I know what that means: That “Shelby” will be getting adopted very soon.

  “Shall I put a hold on Shelby?” I whisper to Mom.

  “That would be great,” she says, smiling down at her daughter who is saying her goodbyes and really doesn’t want to give up that puppy. “We’ll discuss the responsibility of pet ownership and will come by tomorrow to do the paperwork.”

  “Perfect,” I say. “I’m so glad this worked out.”

  She nods, though she gives her daughter a concerned look.

  “If it makes you feel better,” I say. “I moved around a lot as a kid, so I grew up without a lot of friends except for a dog that I loved with all my heart. She’ll be OK. That unconditional love will make the difference.”

  That gets me a smile and a hug. Also, several slices of cake made up into a care package for Noah and I to take with us.

  All in all, a great appointment.

  After I sneak the pups back to the shelter, we head home. Noah has a weird smile on his face, and finally, I have to ask what’s going on

  “We did it,” he says, grinning at me.

  I frown. “We did what?”

  “Made it to the finish line. Today’s earnings, they put us over the top. Ten thousand, two hundred and fifty-seven bucks, to be precise.”

  “WHAT?” I gasp. “Are you serious?”

  “As an overpriced crystal chicken!” Noah scoops me up and spins me around.

  “Oh my God!” I exclaim, overcome with relief. “We don’t have to tell them we fucked up! I won’t get arrested! I don’t have to wear orange!”

  Noah laughs, setting me down and giving me a sizzling kiss.

  “We need to order the replacement, right now,” I tell him. “We can’t leave anything to chance.”

  He pulls up the website, and finds the listing. “One Lalique chicken, coming right up.”

  “I feel physically ill,” I tell him. “I can’t believe we just spent that much money on one thing, and it wasn’t, like, a car.”

  “Shipping is ten days,” he says, putting in the credit card details. “It’ll be here before Viv and Colin get back. They won’t know a thing.”

  Ten days . . .

  “Just in time,” I say, and then push away the next inevitable thought: that our days here are numbered. Nope, not going there until I absolutely have to.

  “That just leaves one thing,” he says, closing his laptop.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  He answers me with a kiss—and then throws me over his shoulder, caveman style. “Noah!” I squeal in protest, but who am I kidding? It’s sexy as hell. He carries me up to the bedroom.

  Not that I’m complaining. I mean, we earned a celebration.

  Multiple celebrations. Because that ugly chicken was spendy as hell.

  19

  EVE

  THE NEXT DAY, we decide to take a much-deserved day off. Noah’s just run downstairs to let the dogs out and I’m still in bed, thinking we should just set up camp here. Not a bad way to spend a day, if you ask me.

  Until I get a group text from Zoey and Gemma—are we up for going to a Renaissance fair?

  Staying home to MAKE ART, I send them, smiling at my own joke.

  But my friends are having none of it. Scratch itch now and come with us! Zoey texts, adding a string of eggplant emojis.

  Gemma sends a bunch of thumbs-ups.

  OK, I send back, laughing. Count us in. I’m nervous but also excited for my friends to meet Noah again in this new light—where he’s not just an annoying houseguest I’m trying to get rid of.

  But more. What kind of more, I don’t yet know, but I feel like this is a good step towards finding out.

  We get ready, then meet everyone at the entrance to the park. It’s a whole group of us: Zoey and Gemma with their boyfriends, plus more of the group we’ve fallen in with since everyone started pairing up.

  “Uh, so . . .” Gemma starts, looking around. “Are we the only ones here not in costume?”

  I scan the crowd and realize she’s right. It’s like Game of Thrones central casting around here. Then I notice a booth marked, appropriately, “costume rental.”

  “Well,” I say. “If we’re doing this, we should do it properly.”

  Twenty minutes—and a lot of laughter—later, the whole crowd of us are in Renaissance-y clothing. The guys look cute in their Robin Hood-type outfits and us girls are basically in peasant outfits with corsets that push our boobs up. Waaaay up.

  We emerge from the changing rooms and it’s clear the men approve.

  Noah’s eyes goggle as he comes up to me. “You should wear this every day,” he says with a flirty grin. “Every. Single. Day.”

  I laugh. “My eyes are up here.”

  “Eyes? You have eyes?” he teases. “Oh, there they are!”

  I smack his arm playfully. “I’ll have you know, I’m a very respectable wench!”

  “Of course, you are,” he says. Then he leans down and gives me a kiss, in public, in front of all my friends. It’s not a super-hot kiss, but still . . . that he’s not shy about it feels like a big deal. Or maybe he’s just dazzled by all my boobage that is seriously defying gravity right now.

  “So, what are we supposed to do at this thing?” Zach, Gemma’s tech-nerd boyfriend, says as he looks around.

  Gemma grins. “Uh, get some Vitamin D? Bigfoots are meant to live outside, you know.”

  He smiles down at her. “I don’t see you complaining about waking up indoors. You know, in my Bigfoot bed.”

  Gemma laughs. “Come on, let’s get some food. I’m hankerin’ for a ye olde-timey turkey leg.”

  “You won’t touch turkey when I make it!” Zoey cries in mock offense.

  Gemma rolls her eyes. “Because I hate turkey,” she says, waving down at her clothes. “But we’re at a Renaissance fair, m’lady. A giant turkey leg is the accessory this outfit needs. I’m not going to actually eat it.”

  “More for me,” Zach offers without hesitation.

  We all laugh and head over to the food booths. They’re doing their best to get with the theme of the fair: turkey legs, of course, but also various meats on sticks, and mead, along with the regular stuff like pretzels and funnel cake.

  “I love fair food,” Noah sighs happily.

  “What should we have?” I say, scanning our options.

  He squeezes me into him. “The right question is what should we have first.”

  We start with turkey legs and tankards of mead. We
settle in on the bleachers to eat and watch the jousting. The competitors are wearing what look like legit suits of armor. You have to appreciate them committing to their roles, riding in a heavy outfit of metal.

  We get caught up in the competition, cheering for our knight, the guy on the big black horse that Zoey—who is sitting beside me—keeps calling The Mountain, from Game of Thrones. Every time they gallop down the field toward each other, I have to cover my eyes. It’s just way too scary.

  “You OK?” Noah asks, pulling me into his side. “They’re just pretending. No one gets hurt.”

  I take a gulp of my mead—which is actually really tasty sweet wine—and look up at him. “I know. I’m just scared for the horses. You never know . . .”

  Noah gives me another squeeze and a kiss. “I love that you love animals so much.”

  “Except chickens,” I say with a grimace, making him laugh. Then he kisses me. And this one’s not just a peck, but a real kiss. With tongues and everything.

  “Ugh!” Zoey smirks. “Get a room!”

  Noah slowly pulls back and smiles at me. “I don’t think that was ‘get a room’ level makeout, do you?”

  I smile back. “Nope. Maybe ‘make Grandma blush,’ but not room-worthy.”

  “What?” Zoey demands. “Are you calling me Grandma?”

  I grin over at her. “Inside joke.”

  She leans into me with a grin. “Inside jokes means he likes you,” she whispers into my ear.

  As I look at Noah and we smile at each other, I know she’s right.

  THE GUYS DECIDE to try their hand at some of the games, so we head over to the axe-throwing contest, where anyone can enter.

  “What do you say?” Noah asks, raising his eyebrows. “Want to go guys versus girls?”

  “Ha!” I snort. “If I lifted that thing, I’d fall out of my dress.”

  “And . . . ?” Noah smirks.

  I laugh. “You go right ahead and prove your manliness. I’ll be over here watching with the cakes.”

  I settle in with my friends, who also figured it was better to sit in the shade and watch, rather than get all hot and sweaty . . . especially when the scenery is hot and sweaty enough for us all.