Page 107 of Backslide
I have to escape.
“Tomorrow is fine!” I say with a forced smile. Oh so casual. I shake my head. I take a step toward the bedroom. But Noah stops me, reaching out and gently resting a hand on my shoulder—which I realize in that moment hasn’t bothered me all day.
“Hey,” he says, and I turn back around to look up at his stupid handsome face. That face I’ve thought about for all these years, that I fell in love with when I was just a kid, that has been, at times, both my favorite and least favorite face. His expression isinscrutable. At least to me, in my current fugue state. “I just want to say because I didn’t get to before,” he says, “about the hot tub: For the record, I didn’t panic.”
This is unexpected. And also, I suspect, untrue. “You did panic, actually.”
“Fine. But not about being with you.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Was there someone else there? Hiding in the cold plunge?”
“Nope,” he says. “It was just me and you. Alone.” There’s a meaningful pause. “Just like now.”
And those words send shivers of possibility through me that I can’t shake off.
“What was the panic about then, if not me getting the wrong idea?”
He looks down at the ground, then seems to steel himself, exhaling a rush of breath. He looks back up, his eyes boring into mine. “Aboutlosingyou again.”
The silence takes on weight as our eyes lock.
I try to speak, but all that comes out is the quietest sigh. Like a whistle.
“Anyway,” he says, an almost apologetic smile playing on his full lips. “I just wanted to say—Ilikedthat things got out of hand. And I wouldn’t mind if that happened again. As soon as possible.”
I am heated up like a brick oven. No, I am on fire. And I know Noah can tell.
Because when I don’t move, he does. He reaches out and takes hold of my elbow, runs his palm down my forearm, stopping to encircle my wrist. Like when he examined me that first morning. Only this time it’s different. He leaves trails in his wake.
He yanks me lightly toward him. And I am gone.
I look up into those hazel eyes, the ones I know and don’t, flecked with doubt and reason and need. And I realize I want more. And I don’t care about the fallout.
He can examine me all night long.
“Maybe oystersareaphrodisiacs,” I say, like I don’t know I’m speaking out loud.
“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I just want you.”
Noah pulls me closer to him, firmly, like he’s taking the reins. He’s towering over me, so that I’m suddenly extra aware of how much bigger a human he is than I am. By how much I want him to subsume me.
He brings a warm hand to my cheek. I lean into it.
I can’t take it anymore. I am in.
And, as soon as I am, I don’t feel hesitant anymore.
I am on a mission.
Now, I take a step closer, so that my body is brushing up against his, my breasts—through my thin tee—brushing against his chest. I look up into his face, let my eyes drop to his lips.
My breath is shallow. His is ragged.
“I swear to God, if you stop this time…” I start.
