Page 52 of Cluelessly Yours

Noah contemplates my apartment in front of him for a long moment, seemingly studying the layout before meeting my eyes again. “I think abstractly, it was always on my radar. When my sister had the seizures as a baby, everything changed between my parents. My dad sought every bit of information he could from the doctors, and my mom turned in the other direction. She felt betrayed, I think, that they’d messed up her healthy baby and couldn’t figure out how to fix it. Her answer was denial. That it was happening, that it wasn’t changing, and that doctors were imperfect humans doing their best.”

“So, you believed in the doctors, or you didn’t?”

Noah smiles. “A little bit of both, I think. I wanted to prove something to myself. Make something concrete out of the information I’d been given. And probably, at the same time, I was hoping I’d somehow be better than them. That I’d have all the answers.” He shrugs a little. “Of course, I don’t. None ofus does. Diagnostics is all educated guesswork.” He turns around and leans against my kitchen island. “Anesthesia? That’s pretty much science. A calculation of sorts. Hard to screw up if you pay attention.”

I roll my eyes and drop my purse on the counter next to him. “I think you’re selling yourself a little short. I’m decent at math, but I wouldn’t want me at the head of any surgeon’s table.”

Noah chuckles. “That’s just because you haven’t been to med school for it. That’s where the confidence comes from.”

I walk around the counter and grab two glasses from the cabinet, offering one to Noah as I do. He accepts with a jerk of his chin, and I grab a bottle of water from the fridge to pour us each a glass as I contemplate my own life.

“Unlike you, I never knew what I wanted to do,” I say, blowing out an exaggerated breath. “I went to school because my parents said I had to and then married Todd because that was the thing women did where I grew up.” I take a quick swig before continuing, gesturing to the living room couch. Noah follows dutifully, taking off his shoes and sitting back so he can rest his feet on the edge of the coffee table. “Don’t get me wrong. Plenty of women from there went another route or actually married someone they’re still happy with, but not me. I was lost.” My laugh is dry. “In some ways, I guess I still am.”

“But aren’t we all a little lost, Sammy?”

“I don’t know. Are we? Most of the time, it feels like everyone else is riding on their track and I’m out floating in the wind.”

“I think everyone is a little lost. Even the people who seem like they have it all together. They’re either faking it, or they’ve come to terms with the fact that they hardly know anything at all,” he says and reaches out with a gentle hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

Instantly, his touch urges goose bumps to roll up my arms. My nipples are already hard beneath my lace bra, and my eyes can’t focus on anything besides his perfect mouth.

“Noah?”

“Yeah?”

“For once. Just once,” I whisper, “I’d really like to feel found.”

Silence breathes between us like a pulsing wave. My stomach flips on itself, and my chest heaves. I don’t know what I mean when I say that I want to be found, but I do know that I mean it to the very depth of my toes.

Noah moves slowly, his feet coming off the coffee table as he sits up straight and removes his suit jacket. He tucks it to the side of the couch behind him, and then he faces me with a burn in his eyes so hot I feel like I’m being licked by the flames.

A vise clamps my throat closed, keeping me unable to say anything, but all I want to say is yes.

Yes to whatever he’s thinking, yes to whatever he wants to do. Yes to the possibility of being found, even if it’s just for tonight.

Fingers shaking, I pull at the buttons of my blouse, undoing them one at a time from top to bottom, saying all the things I can’t actually seem to say. Noah watches avidly until I’m done and then scoots forward to the space directly in front of me.

My heart feels like a thoroughbred in the starting gates, and I know at the very first contact, it’s going to kick up into a gallop.

Noah skims my blouse off my shoulder enough to kiss the skin next to my bra strap, and a shiver runs the length of my spine. I’m warm and cold all at once, and the combination of the two seems to have the sensory receptors in my skin on overdrive.

I haven’t been touched like this by a man in almost three years. Since Todd, I’ve been alone, and at the end of our marriage, I hated his guts.

And, well, if I’m totally honest, I haven’t even touched myself in that time. I know that sounds crazy, but between my shitty marriage and the stress of starting my life over with two young kids, any drive I had toward sexuality at all dried up until it cracked.

But I’m aroused now, damn near to the point of desperation, and my body aches to have Noah touch me even further.

It feels like a new part of me is awakening, like the sun is shining after a long,gloomy stretch of night. Like I’m a woman who deserves to feel sexy and experience pleasure. Like I’m worthy of…something.

I moan, and Noah takes the fabric of my shirt all the way down my back. Nothing but my lace bra remains to cover me, but with as feverish as I feel, it’s still too much.

Noah’s touch is soft, delicate even, but unbelievably deliberate. His fingers skim my skin like it’s a sheet of braille with all the answers.

“You’re so beautiful, Sam,” Noah whispers, his voice steady, strong, and soft all at once.

My first instinct is one I’m ashamed of. I want to belittle the comment—to question it—but that would be so unfair to the reverence with which Noah said it.

I know he means it, even if I don’t yet understand why. A little bit more of this, though, and I might start to believe it.

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