Page 20 of They Are Mine

Noah isn’t like that.

Noah would mean it.

If I want him forever, I have to be patient. I have to do it right.

Because I don’t want a man who uses me and walks away.

I want a man who worships me.

And that takes time.

So I exhale, keeping my hands in my lap, and pretend to watch the movie.

But I don’t blink.

I don’t breathe properly.

Because I feel him shift, just slightly.

A small adjustment.

His fingers twitch against the couch, and my pulse pounds.

I imagine them curling, reaching for me.

His leg moves, just barely, his knee tilting toward mine.

I imagine him turning his head, his lips brushing my temple, his breath warm against my skin.

I imagine it so vividly I can almost feel it.

Almost.

My fingers press deeper into my lap, nails biting into my thighs.

Wait.

Be patient.

Because when he finally does touch me, when he finally realizes what this is, he’ll never stop.

The movie drags on.

Popcorn is gone. Pizza annihilated. Soda half-empty.

And Noah?

Still not touching me.

The flickering light from the screen casts soft shadows across his face, painting him in warm gold and dusky blue. He looks so beautiful like this. Relaxed, unguarded. His jawline sharp in the glow, his lips parted slightly, the soft rise and fall of his breathing too steady, too unaware.

He doesn’t realize what tonight is supposed to be.

But I do.

I watch him from the corner of my eye. The way his fingers tap against his thigh, a restless little habit, like he’s keeping himself in check.

He wants something but won’t take it. He’s waiting. Because he respects me and that’s part of why I love him.

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