Page 32 of The Photo
Fling. I had a fling. So that’s what it was. There’s a name for a one-night stand with feelings attached. “He wants to keep in touch.”
“And you said?” Her words trail off, and she observes me expectantly.
“He took my number, and I said goodbye.”
“So you’re pen pals?” Her nose wrinkles. “Or virtual valentines?”
My attention drifts to a couple kissing with gentle pecks. Their fingers lock. They smile lovingly, and they respond to each other's touch with shy glances. That’s real. That’s what it’s all about.
“I have three words for you, Chelsea. You fucked Saaaaaaaam!” I change the subject abruptly.
She snickers behind her fingers. “It was kinda hot, if I’m being honest. And, by the way, I’m blaming you for my temporary insanity. This is all on you for leaving me alone with him and alcohol.”
“You're a grownup.” I offer her a polite, smug smile. “The decision was all on you. Think of it as a holiday hump. Like an Ibiza all-nighter.”
“Hmmm, well, it wasn’t shots and swimming pool sex.”
“But it was sex. With Sam. On a trip,” I point out.
She sighs. “I guess so.”
I shove my case next to hers. “Keep an eye on my luggage. I’m going to the washrooms before we go through security.”
My eyes are gritty from lack of sleep, and my mind is tired from overthinking. The airport smells like coffee and toasted bread. I’m not hungry enough to feed my self-pity. I need sleep and an alone zone to flick through the photos Noah took of us smooching.
I dodge a kamikaze suitcase and dance around a party of five, all sipping from paper coffee cups bigger than their heads.
One minute, I’m among insignificant people, the next, I’m trapped by powerful arms, and my torso is crowded by leather. I instantly recognize that particular scent of man, a familiar mind trip that carries me back in time to my fling. It wasn’t just a fling, though. I crossed a line and allowed my infatuation to flourish. Just like that. I couldn’t stop myself from falling. It was hard and fast, stupid and foolish.
I tilt back, greeted with dark sunglasses that keep his eyes hidden. I study the angular jaw with just the right amount of coarse hair and glistening wet lips. A sports cap nestles over pitch black hair and shades my captor's handsome face.
“Noah?” I say his name at the same time as my brows nip together.
“Rowan.” The corner of his mouth lazily lifts.
My nails bury into his biker jacket. “What are you doing here?”
“Keeping my promise.” His face is so close. A large hand secures my nape. Before I can think straight, Noah tips me backwards so my spine arches, and his arm hooks me into place. My thumping heartbeats explode as he arcs over me, our lips barely touching.
Everything stops.
My breathing.
The crowds.
The noise.
He swipes the sunglasses away from his eyes. “When I first saw your pretty face, I felt something.” He doesn’t kiss me, yet his mouth hovers like he’s considering it. “I made a promise that we’d see each other again, and here I am.”
I reach up, gently scraping my nails across his prickled chin. “Kiss me.”
And he does. Noah presses his lips to mine with such enticing tenderness. His tongue dips inside, and I know he’s sincere. A kiss like that couldn’t be less than heartfelt. Hot lips sear my fascination with passion, it’s more than lust - it’s real.
The truth only taints our hunger. I’ll be going in one direction, and he’ll be leaving in the other.
Gently, he straightens. I hold tightly to him, our lips clinging ever so slightly until he breaks their wish to stay together. “Let’s have a tradeoff,” he suggests.
“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?”
