CourtShip
Page 10
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story wasn’t on my regular release schedule. It came to me randomly one day, and I had it completed four days later. I do have a couple of ideas for at least one more novella like this one—friends to lovers, spanning multiple years, all from the hero’s POV—so you can be looking for another Best Friends novella in the next few months. I don’t know exactly when it will come out, however. It will depend on when I can fit in writing it between my other upcoming releases.
If you enjoyed this story, you might enjoy another one of my books, Part-Time Husband, the first book in the Trophy Husbands series. An excerpt from that book can be found on the following pages.
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Excerpt from Part-Time Husband
HE GIVES ME HIS SMUG look as he gets into bed. “I usually sleep in my underwear, you know. I’m wearing pants out of courtesy to you. But if it gets too hot in the room, these things are coming off.”
I try not to gulp. “I don’t care if you sleep in your underwear.” I’m not being entirely truthful. I’ll be much more comfortable if he keeps the pants on.
He’s arranging two pillows on top of each other. The covers are down around his belly button, leaving far too much masculine chest exposed to my view.
Is it entirely necessary for every part of the man’s body to be so appealing? The universe seems intent on torturing me with Trevor’s unrelenting sexiness.
I stare down at my e-reader, trying to focus on the words on the screen rather than Trevor’s body in bed beside me. There’s at least a foot between us, but he’s way too close and way too shirtless.
“Is it a good book?” he asks.
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. It’s okay.”
“Just okay?”
“It’s good enough. There’s a lot of it I have to skim.”
“What parts do you skim?”
I look up, and he’s giving me only a very faint lift of that eyebrow, proof that he’s mostly in earnest. The higher the eyebrow goes, the more ironic his attitude. “There are all these pages of introspection and background and every detail the author researched about the main character’s job. I don’t need to waste my time with all that wordage. Just give me the good stuff.”
He gives a brief, soft chuckle. “What’s the good stuff to you?”
“Dialogue and action. I don’t like to be bogged down with all that nonessential stuff.”
“That sounds about right for you. Dialogue and action. No wasting your time with nonessentials.”
I check his face, but he doesn’t appear to be mocking me. He does look like he’s laughing at me but not in a mean way. “I would have thought you’d approve of that approach.”
“I do. Dialogue is one of my favorite things. And speaking of action...”
I frown. Call me clueless or naïve, but I honestly have no idea what he’s about to say.
No idea at all.
What he says is, “You want to have sex?”
Just like that. As bland as can be. He asks me if I want to have sex.
I gape at him, trying to wrap my mind around what just came out of his mouth.
I can’t get my vocal cords to work.
Did I mention he just asked me if I want to have sex?
“What?” he says, cocking his head slightly.
“Did you just ask me if I want to have sex?”
“I think you heard me since your mouth is hanging open.”
“Are you insane?”
“Not last I checked.”
“You just asked me if I want to have sex!”
“I think we covered that point. Didn’t we agree that if I want to have sex with someone, I tell you.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think it would be me.”
“Why not?”
Why not?
Why not?
“You really want to have sex with me?” My voice isn’t as controlled as I’d like it to be, but I’m having another hot flash I definitely don’t want him to see.
He gives a half shrug. “We’re married. We’re in bed together. We might as well have a little fun.” His tone is as light and cool as it always is—with absolutely no sign that he’s invested in the outcome of this discussion.
Maybe he really thinks about sex as a minor, recreational activity that can be performed in any context without affecting anything else in his world.
But that’s not how sex has ever worked for me, and I’m still having trouble articulating my response.
And he’s lounging there against his pillows, waiting for me to answer.
“I’m not having sex with you, Trevor,” I finally manage to say. “I don’t even really like you.”
I’m not trying to be mean. He knows perfectly well how I feel about him. He feels the same way about me. I’m trying to explain that I have to at least like someone to have sex with them.
“What has that got to do with it?” He turns slightly toward me. “You’d enjoy it.”
“I would not.”
“Yes, you would.” His eyes suddenly take on a smoldering heat that makes my breath hitch, that makes every cell of my body scream about how much it wants Trevor to touch it. “Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it.”
YOU CAN FIND OUT MORE about Part-Time Husband here.
About Noelle Adams
NOELLE HANDWROTE HER first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and currently resides in Virginia, where she writes full time, reads any book she can get her hands on, and offers tribute to a very spoiled cocker spaniel.
She loves travel, art, history, and ice cream. After spending far too many years of her life in graduate school, she has decided to reorient her priorities and focus on writing contemporary romances. For more information, please check out her website: noelle-adams.com.