Page 69 of Into The Light
She blinks rapidly. "God, Bear, you really have a way of hitting me in the feelings, you know that?"
"Sorry?" It comes out like a question—I'm not sure if I’m supposed to apologize for that or what.
She laughs, leaning against me, head on my arm. "No, no, no, silly. It's a good thing! You just say the sweetest things." A quick pause, her tongue swiping raindrops away; my eyes follow her tongue across her lips. I remember the way she tasted, the way it felt to kiss her. "You've become one of my best friends, Bear."
That makes my heart flip.
We reach her house a minute or two later, right as the rain slackens to a steady drizzle. Nolle just laughs as she opens the door for Panzer, following me in.
"I'll get a towel for the dog. Stay here."
I can see him preparing to shake off. "Panzer, Nein."
He whines but doesn’t shake. A minute later, Noelle returns with a stack of navy blue towels, and we scrub, blot, and dab Panzer as dry as he can get and then spread them out on the kitchen floor for him to lay down on. She fills a bowl with water for him, too.
"Our turn," She says, taking my hand. "Come on. The bathroom is this way."
She seems nervous for some reason.
Her bedroom, which I didn’t see last time I was here, is a calming, peaceful space. The walls are a soft, oceanic turquoise, a shaggy white rug covering the wood floor beneath her bed, which is antique with tarnished wrought iron headboard and footboard, a thick white duvet, and roughly fifty different pillows of various colors picked to complement the wall color. A white chest sits at the foot of the bed, a dove gray throw blanket folded and placed on it at an angle. A five-drawer bureau, old looking, solid, and thick, once probably stained oak, has been painted a bright, vivid sapphire with a matching oval mirror on top.
In addition to the bathroom in the hallway, she has an en suite, the doorway on one side of her bed, a door to her closet on the other, that door closed. The bathroom is more white, with subway tile on the walls, and long, narrow, rectangular tiles on the floor in a herringbone pattern. A square mirror ringed with bare lightbulbs is mounted on the wall over a deep porcelain sink, the hardware burnished copper. A freestanding tub dominates the space, deep and high-sided with more bronze hardware. A narrow shower stall takes up the far back corner, glassed up to the ceiling, with a toilet opposite.
I admit to being confused though—we're in her room. I expected her to give me a towel, or show me the guest bathroom in the hallway.
Instead, she draws me by the hand into her bathroom, stops, and turns to look up at me.
My heart is pounding out of my chest.
Her teeth are chattering.
"You should get changed," I tell her. "Take a hot shower. I'll dry off soon enough. I'll wait with Panzer."
“Bear…wait." Her voice is soft, barely audible. "Stay."
"I…" I look into her eyes, searching—and all I see is nerves…and need. "You want me to…stay? In here? With you?"
She nods. "I have no idea what I'm doing right now, but…yeah."
I can't swallow past the lump in my throat or the jangling, screaming nerves in my chest. Bats flap around in my belly.
"Okay," I whisper.
She reaches for me, hands hesitant, fluttering near the hem of my shirt, and then she finds her courage and lifts the hem. Rises on her toes and peels it off my head, letting it drop to the floor at my feet with a wet plop.
Her fingers touch my chest, one hand on each pec. "God, Bear. Do you have any idea how sexy you are to me?"
I can only shake my head.
She runs soft, quick fingertips across my chest, making my breath come in short quick puffs of searing nervousness—I haven’t been touched like this…ever.
"Is…is this okay?" she asks, looking up at me.
"Yes," I say, my voice raspy, grating, gravelly. "Here for you, Noelle. Whatever you want. Whatever you don't want."
She flattens her palms against my pecs, presses her fingertips in, dimpling, testing, feeling. Down over my diaphragm. My abs. "Does it feel good?"
I try to swallow past my tongue, which is thick and dry in my mouth. In the end, I can only nod. "Yeah," I manage, a hoarse, gritty syllable.
