Copyright © 2013 by Faith Andrews
Interior Design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Except the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles and lyrics contained in the book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To the man of my dreams and the two beautiful girls we created together. I love you always, forever and a day.
I pace the pale green carpet in my room, back and forth, over and over, twirling a chunk of my hair into an unruly knot. “Do you think he’ll be there, Grace? I really don’t want to go if he’s not.” I don’t hide the embarrassing fact that I have no desire to attend this thing if Noah isn’t going. Grace gets me, even if she thinks it’s pathetic to swoon over the one person I am invisible to.
But this is my last shot.
High school will officially be over soon. Sure, I’ve done my job of cozying up to Noah. We’d swapped calculus notes a bunch of times, sat together in the cafeteria for lunch on occasion and even attended the same parties on the weekends now and then. He may even consider me a friend, but there is nothing special that ties the two of us together. And soon we’ll graduate and go our separate ways.
“You have to go, Mia. Who cares if he’s not there? Your friends will be. And besides, you’ve spent the last four years popping up where you knew he’d be. Look where it got you.”
I take the cordless phone away from my ear, and stare at it, practically snarling. I don’t need a reminder of what a loser I am. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re right. But what about the what if? This has to happen. I have to kiss him before he leaves for college and I never get the chance again.”
“Arrggghhh!” Grace groans in agony. “Mia, I love you like a sister, but you have got to stop this! You could have any guy in that school and you can’t stop obsessing over the only one who has no idea you exist. I swear, if he’s there tonight I’m going to flip out on him for being so blind.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” I growl into the phone.
“Too bad this isn’t middle school. I would just dare you to a round of seven minutes in heaven or spin the bottle!” We giggle together at the thought, but deep down inside I actually wish she could do just that.
A silly game may force him to understand the connection. Because I know if we ever touched—in that way—it would be like a thousand sparks of meant-to-be coming to a culmination. Surely he’d realize what he was missing out on. And I—who am I kidding? I wouldn’t be able to form a sentence, let alone explain to the guy that I’m the girl destined for him.
Grace interrupts my pointless train of thought. “Mia, we’re going. It’s your rite as a senior. And I have to live vicariously through you because you won’t be here for my senior year in that crappy hell hole of a Catholic school. We’ve always had a good time with Lisa and Kristen without Noah. And when you’re all away at college you’re going to regret that you didn’t go to these last few parties because of your Noah obsession.”
I hate to admit it, but she is right.
I’ve lived the last four years on the edge of my seat just hoping and praying for the opportunity to be in his presence. It’s absurd—I am absurd! If I ever have a daughter, I will be sure she knows that no guy, no matter how hot, is worth making her second guess herself, making her consume her day around his every move.
“Fine, we’ll go.” I whine, resigning to the fact that I’ll probably still have a good time, even if he doesn’t show.
I hang up the phone and drag my feet to the closet, taking a good look around. I want to make a lasting impression. Make sure that even if I don’t get my wish tonight, Noah will remember how pretty I looked. Fat chance! Frustrated, I slide the closet shut, staring at my plain-Jane reflection in the mirrored door. Lifeless dirty blond waves and too-big brown eyes. Am I even Noah’s type? Hopefully, I’ll find out tonight.
I know I’m hovering over the threshold to Loser-ville, but I’m alone in my room so I mutter to myself, “Please God, let him be there, please, please, please.”
When we walk into Lisa’s, Kristen and a few of the other girls from my school are already huddled around a bowl of Doritos, gossiping. I help to fill the bowls with chips and pretzels, half-listening to the girls’ incessant chattering. My mind, however, is back on just one thing. The same one thing that’s always on my mind. Noah.
Maybe I should just ask if he’s coming. At least this way if he’s not, I can set the tone for the evening, get the sour mood out of the way and enjoy some of the night. But if he is coming—there’s a lot more internal preparation I need to do for that. Forget it! I decide not to ask; I don’t want Lisa to think that the possibility of being in the same room with Noah is the only reason I showed up tonight. Even though, really, it kind of is.
When the guests start to arrive, I make it a point to be part of the welcoming committee. I usher girls in tiny cut off jean shorts and spaghetti strap tank tops to the living room where The Fugees croon the hit of the year. Everyone sings along, the lyrics so engrained in our heads it’s nearly impossible not to join in. It represents something kind of ritualistic and no party this year has been complete without it being played at least three times.
When a couple of the guys from the baseball team show up I hold my breath as the hope warms my cheeks, thinking he has to be right behind them. Two of them walk past me, bumping my fist in greeting and as I’m about to close the door behind the last of them, feeling disappointed, I see him walking up the stairs. My heart stops and leaps up into my throat. It’s the same reaction every time I see him, whether he’s in his dirty baseball uniform, a pair of jeans, or this time, khaki shorts, a white t-shirt, and canvas flip flops. Damn it, even his feet are sexy.
I try to hide the excitement in my eyes, the smile that’s itching to stretch across my entire face. Our eyes meet and he, too, flashes a smile—the smile that makes my knees feel like jelly. When he gets closer, he rests his hand on my hip. I stop myself from doing a double take, but I want to look down to make sure I’m not imagining that Noah is actually touching me. Thankfully, I can’t pull my eyes away from his gorgeousness.
“Hey, beautiful,” he whispers in my ear.
My first reaction is to scan my surroundings to see if anyone’s witnessed this so that I can be sure I wasn’t hearing things. My heart takes over the second reaction, thumping wildly, fueled with the newf
ound knowledge that Noah Matheson thinks I’m beautiful.
I muster up the ability to speak. “Hi,” I say with a voice smaller than the one I’m familiar with. I want to say more. I want to walk into this party with him and take advantage of his attentive mood. But I’m momentarily frozen.
I break free of my motionless trance, turning to accompany him inside but then I’m nearly knocked over by one of his teammates, shoving his way through the crowd into the kitchen yelling, “Where’s the keg?”
I regain my footing, but Noah is no longer by my side. I look around frantically, afraid that I’ve imagined those amazing seconds. He said two words to me and I feel like they were a marriage proposal. It’s a start, no? He hasn’t said anything like that to me—ever. Maybe tonight he’s feeling the same sense of urgency to get things off his chest as I am.
In a whoosh of hopefulness my crush-sick mind envisions a first kiss, a long distance relationship, and a happily ever after.
“You are one pathetic chick, Mia Page.”
“I know,” I answer my inner thoughts.
But the voice is so vivid. Come to think of it, it sounds a lot like Grace’s. “Seriously, Mia. Snap out of it! You’re practically drooling over him. Way to play it cool.” Grace biffs me off the back of the head, bringing me out of my Noah-induced stupor.
“Where were you ten seconds ago, Grace? He called me beautiful! You missed the whole thing.” I can’t even hide my excitement, not even if I tried, which I’m not.
“Okay, so you’re not invisible, but calm down. That doesn’t exactly mean he’s yours forever,” she says with a condescending truth.
“I know, Grace. I know, but it’s something. I just have this feeling. I don’t know, but I think tonight is the night.” I grab Grace’s hands and half-successfully resist the urge to jump up and down. He said I was beautiful and that tiny phrase resembles a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, if given the opportunity, Noah will act on his earlier affirmation.
But my ridiculous feeling turns out to be nothing, after all.
For the rest of the night I watch Noah—from a distance. He’s surrounded by his buddies and chatting it up with the more outspoken, flirty girls. I’m so damn close, this is my last shot and I’m blowing it. Maybe I should make my way over to him and twirl my hair and lean all over him the way Lila does. But I can’t even scrounge up the nerve to get into the same room as him, let alone beg him to whisper those sweet words into my ear again. Why can’t I just tell him? Come clean, make the first, well in this case the last, move. It doesn’t matter. The night is nearly over. And I’m on the unavoidable verge of living in regret for all of eternity.
By the time the party’s over, Noah is nowhere to be found.
Grace appears next to me with a stack of used Solo cups and crumpled napkins, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mia. I know this is not how you wanted this night to go. But maybe it’s for the best. You’ll probably never see him again, anyway.”
“Oh, Noah…” I moan against his mouth. My lips are swollen from his rough, breathtaking kisses. I savor every inch of his body, as it glides over me—and into me—so powerfully. My nails dig into the glistening skin on his back with each invigorating thrust.
“You like it rough, don’t you, Mia?” his warm breath lingers at my ear, tickling and electrifying every nerve ending.
I answer him with my body, arching to meet him in uncontrolled passion. The rawness of his words carries me to unknown heights. What the hell is it about him? This unwavering feeling that I just can’t get enough. I still can’t get enough and I’m sure I never will.
I wrap my legs around his body, pulling him closer and giving me the leverage to position myself on top of him. When I’m nose to nose with him again, I lick his lips and then bite the plumpness, tugging gently. I place an unsteady hand on his smooth chest and push him down so that I am now in control, peering down at him. I love what I see. Same Noah, just better. His sandy blond waves are neatly trimmed now, shorter than in high school. Instead of a growing boy’s maturing physique, he is all man; sculpted and strong. Sinewy biceps, deltoids and other muscles I never knew could be so defined. And those goddamn eyes—magnetic; pulling me in to their jade green stare.
“You feel so good, baby. So damn good.” His throaty groan ignites a fire in my already heated body, stimulating me to move faster, meeting his bucking hips. My release builds inside of me like a violent, spinning tornado. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.
“Shhh, baby, they’ll hear you.” His skillful hands are at my mouth now, muffling the loud cries that are dying to escape.
Who? I think to myself. Who will hear? I honestly couldn’t care less.
He tilts me, lowering me back down on the bed again. I writhe underneath him, staring into his captivating eyes. It’s amazing how they have always had a way of piercing right through me. Right through to my very core. It’s okay though because he’s mine now. I’m allowed to bare my soul to him, to abandon all the adolescent angst.
“I love you, beautiful. Oh my God, I fucking love you.” his voice is unsteady. I know he’s almost there.
With one more commanding thrust, matched by his, the intensity builds, the beautiful conclusion of the both of us coming apart in each other’s arms. And just as I am about to scream out how much I love him too, moan out his name…
“Mommy! Mommy! We’re hungry. Get up!”
Mommy?
With reluctance, I flutter my eyes open slowly and come face to face with a blond haired, blue-eyed angel.
“Mommy, me and Charlie want waffles and she needs you to wipe her butt. She just did poo.”
And there it is…hello reality. Little girls, ass wiping and breakfast at… six forty five! “Girls, are you joking? We need to go back to bed for a little while, Mommy’s tired.” And she was just about to get off to her high school crush.
“No! We not tired anymore,” yells Charlie from the bathroom.
“Well I am! Cara, go wipe your sister’s butt, please, please, please, do Mommy this favor?” Great, I’ve resorted to begging. I pull the covers over my head and let out an exaggerated, frustrated huff of air. I hear giggling on the outside of my cocoon. I peek out unwillingly.
“You like a cranky bear, Mommy. Like in the Goldilocks book.”
“Yeah, well, bears are cranky when they’re woken up from their hibernation.” And even more cranky when woken up from a steamy sex dream.
“I done, I done, I done!” Charlie chants impatiently.
I curse Declan and his business trip as I drag myself out of the bed, hobble into the bathroom, and complete the first ass-wiping of the day. After washing my hands and splashing some water on my face, I look at my daughters and am taken aback by the looks on their faces.
“What? What are you looking at?”
The little devils eye me with identical dancing, glacier-blue-eyes.
Charlie just points, giggling, while Cara rolls her eyes and says, “Your hair!”
I turn to the mirror and gasp at my reflection. “Wow, I really do look like a bear. Sorry girls, crazy dream.” Yeah, crazy and wonderful, and you pains in the asses woke me from it.
“You’re still beautiful, Mommy, don’t worry.” Cara hugs my leg.
“Yeah, you bo-oo-ful,” Charlie agrees, hugging my other leg.
“Not quite as beautiful as either of you angels. Now, let me brush up and then we’ll go down for breakfast. Meet ya down in five?” I tap them on their freshly wiped butts and nudge them off.
“Okay,” their voices already trailing off, “we set the table.”
“Okay, girls, thanks lots.”
I grab my phone, ignoring the early hour. Grace insisted I text her the next time I had the dream. So I do.
Again! 2 in 1 month. What the hell is wrong with me?
What the hell is wrong with me? For the past ten years, at least once every few months, I have dreamt about hot, steamy, glorious sex with Noah. Where our
hands roam each other’s bodies, leaving no flesh untouched. Where he claims me as his own and I let him wrap his arms around me and tell me how much he loves me.
But I digress.
That is not my life. And it’s not that I object. I’m happy. I’m in love. I have a great life. Okay, fine, I’m semi-happy, with my semi-eventful life. I know I shouldn’t be so ungrateful; there are people out there who would give a right arm for my life, but it’s just so…ordinary.
Grace’s text interrupts my recurring thoughts.
Hot and steamy again? Did you…?
I waste no time texting back.
Nope! Not this time :( Woken too soon!
An unexpected heat pulses through me, reminding me of what I was ripped away from. Grace breaks me free of that fantasy too.
Don’t worry. Declan will be home soon. LOL
She’s right. And I plan to plop the kids right off at their Nana’s so that I can jump his bones. Is it crazy that thinking of sex with another man makes me want to jump my husband’s bones? Something’s wrong with me.
I wash my face again, needing the cold sensation. “There’s nothing wrong with you. It was just a dream,” I reassure my reflection, wishing I actually believed it.
I would believe it, if it weren’t happening so damn frequently. I have no reason for these subliminal messages to be intruding my dreams. I haven’t even had contact with Noah since…See? I can’t even remember the last time.
Besides, Declan is a good man, a hot man. Damn great…at least, it is when we actually manage to find time for sex. When the kids aren’t lodged in between us in our bed, or when he isn’t away on business. It isn’t the glamorous life he’d promised me when he proposed to me in college, but almost five years of marriage and two kids will do that to you. The monotony of reality will suck the glamour right out of any desperate housewife’s life.
Man of My Dreams Page 1
