It makes me smile, finding a quirk about her. Popping her knuckles and always tapping her fingers on my thighs, on the car door, everywhere. Subtle things you wouldn’t even notice if you don’t look hard enough. But I do. Every damn second.
“You just stopped walking and looked really…sad,” she explains, frowning herself. “Was it something I did?”
“Why is your first thought that you made me sad?” I ask her curiously before downing a lot of my frozen drink. I groan as my head gripes and freezes over; she bites her lip to refrain from smiling, more finger tapping, picking out the crunchy chocolate bites from the popcorn.
She shrugs. “I dunno…it was the first thing that came to my mind.”
“It shouldn’t,” I tell her, and she nods wordlessly, but her eyes scream for the answer. I don’t want to make her feel bad on our date if I tell her the truth, but I want to be honest with her. There’s been enough dishonesty between us to last a lifetime. “I was just thinking about how odd it is that you felt threatened by Rachel.”
“Who?”
My shoulders slump. “Come on…Rachel…”
Her brows furrow, and I shake my head. I toss a popcorn kernel at her, and she tosses one right back.
“My girl friend, from yoga…” I laugh softly.
I can’t tell if she’s just being her natural mean self and pretending like Rachel doesn’t matter enough to remember her from hours ago or she just has shit memory. The latter could mean she doesn’t register girls I consider friends, maybe because she’s possessive as hell.
For example: she’s never held my hand tighter than she did when we were entering the theatre and noticed a group of girls ogling me. I smiled politely so as not to appear rude, but she cursed them out and held me close. I couldn’t have blushed any harder; her hostile approach to anyone that hits on me shocks me every time.
Not that I’m saying I’m any better. Every curious or intrigued glance by guys directed at her when we were walking from my car to the building was scared away by my own look—a murderous look.
Are we both insanely possessive or just insane? Either way we balance each other’s crazy just enough so we’re sane…mostly.
She quite literally growls. “Don’t call her that.”
“What?”
“Girl friend.”
“Why? It’s just a phrase.”
“So is murder.”
“No, that’s just a word,” I prolong teasing her. It’s cute to watch her snarl and her nimble fingers crunch in a fist. Okay, I think I should cool her down before she blows her top—literally. I cup the side of her face and kiss her nose. She loves it when I do that. Her grin is a testament. “There isn’t another soul that I love more than you. So you can stop being jealous of Rachel. She means a lot to me.”
She rolls her eyes, pushes my hand away. “You fucked her too, didn’t you?”
What? “No, of course not.” An explosion drowns out my denying, and I sigh. She has her stubborn wall thrown up, and she’s blocking me out, arms crossing her chest. “Red, I didn’t fuck her. She’s just my best friend.”
“Who means so much to you!” she snaps.
I laugh.
“Why are you laughing?” she gripes.
“Because you’re insane,” I say.
“Can you two shut the fuck up?” a bald man snaps over his shoulder.
“Maybe your hair’ll grow back if you quit stressing about us, you big fuck-ball,” Red shouts.
The man shrinks in his seat and faces the screen; Tom Cruise and some model are making out while shooting a room of bad guys. I will never understand action movies or how they throw in sex scenes when more important things are happening.
“Red.” I sigh and gently take her hands, forcing her to face me. She’s scowling, and I’m smiling softly. “I’ve never kissed her, touched her that way, or even had a single thought about having sex with her.”
“Then how is she so damn important to you?” she snaps.
I smile wider. “Because she was by my side every step of the way when you…when you left me.” The hostility slides off her face, plopping into the popcorn. I reach in and stuff a handful in my mouth, satisfied that she understands now. But when I try to face the screen, she grabs my hand and forces me to look at her sheepish smile.
“I’m sorry I doubted you like that. I just see fucking red when I see a girl checking you out or, you know, when one of the bitches means something to you.” She pauses, and lust flashes across her eyes. She gently grips my thigh, and I suck in a sharp breath. Her smirk grows. “I wanna be the only one in your life that you want.”
“I want you all the time, love.” I reach over and cup her palm, and she leans into my touch and purrs lightly. But then I feel her fingers dance along my thigh. I let out a low growl as she palms me. I harden instantly. “Oh no, we’re in the movie theatre.”
“So?” She’s shamelessly unzipping me now, and I’m glad there’s a loud car chase.
“So there are cameras in here,” I say breathlessly. Why am I fighting this? Am I even a guy?
“Then we’ll give ’em a show. This movie sucks, don’t you think?” she rasps.
“Red, this is wrong…oh fuck,” I hiss as she takes me in her palm. Her thumb brushes over the tip of me, and her eyes are dark as she reaches over and kisses me on the mouth. Even though we are in public, even though this is wrong on so many levels, even though there’s a list of morality staring me dead in the face via Tom Cruise’s penetrating gaze, I grab her hair and yank her closer, kiss her harder.
I groan against her full lips as she strokes me slowly, deeply. With each meaningful stroke of her hand and her tongue, I can feel the ribbon of pleasure begin to loosen. I pull her closer but manage to not pull her onto my lap and just outright fuck her right now. This is more than enough but still not enough.
“Fuck,” I mumble and bite her lip.
She sucks my upper lip and picks up speed. “You like that?” she whispers and licks my mouth. I nod in a frenzied response, thrusting my hips up and down, greedy for more. I need her mouth, need to hold her hair as I slam into her. Need to feel her sweet, warm pussy clench around me. I reach for her waist to drive us home and do just that when I remember she’s on her period.
I begin to curse about not having the ability to take her to bed, ravish her beautiful body, but the cursing turns into a very low, almost completely suppressed, growl as she pumps faster, whispering dirty words in my ear like the siren she is. No, I decide as I stare at her through my hooded eyelashes—she’s a goddamn minx.
One that knows exactly what she’s doing and the effect it has on me, because she bites down on her lip and cocks her head to the side, revealing her long neck. My eyes follow down, down, down to her cleavage peeking at me through her tight black shirt, and then they keep traveling south to her tight black pants and—oh fuck me.
“Jesus, Red. What are you doing to me?” I mean morally, but who could really care at this point? My hips thrust, and her small hands jam down, then up again—over and over, milking me—into her mouth. Her tongue flicks, and she moans low, and I thank the universe for this obnoxiously loud action movie and Tom Cruise for blowing up buildings and swinging out of a helicopter.
My vision begins to blur as she sucks and bobs her head. I can feel my love for her grow and grow until it overwhelms me, and I pull her back and cup her flushed face. Her hair is wild and her throat bobs, tongue swiping her wet lips.
“Enjoy having your innocence shattered, pre—” she gloats.
I shut her up with a long, tender, feverish kiss. It lasts forever, and I don’t want to see it come to an end. I’m blind with desire and longing and euphoria—they collide and form this gaping hole that she fits like a key.
“I wanna take you out of here,” I whisper against her lips.
She smiles and kisses me again. “Please do. This movie sucks.”
“To be fair, we haven’t watched any of it.” I laugh and flush as I look a
round the dark room. With how intimate we just were, I sort of forgot where we were. I had tunnel vision, and she was on the other end of the tunnel, waiting for me to emerge with wide arms. I fix myself and stand up, grinning.
“I wonder why.” She smirks, and I blush even harder. How does she do it? Turn me into a puddle of hormones and puppy love this easily? I take her hand, and she sucks the thumb of the other one, the one that was around my cock just a few moments ago.
“You are absolutely insatiable, Red Sylvetti.”
She looks over her shoulder as I follow behind her on the stairs. “And you taste delicious, Noah Wells.”
“How about getting a room next time, you degenerates!” screams the guy we pissed off earlier.
“How about getting a girlfriend, bitch!” Red screams back. Of course. She’s huffing and red in the face, gripping my hand way too hard for my sake. I shush her gently, promising her food. That, of course, disarms her quickly, and I chuckle at her as we leave the movie theatre.
Slightly chilly air meets us outside since the sun’s slowly melting from the sky. I shrug off my jacket and slide it over her shoulders even though she’s already wearing her own. I doubt her jacket can contain her body heat, and I want to make sure she’s warm enough. I don’t want her getting sick on me.
“I already have a jacket, babe.” She cocks a mocking eyebrow.
I shrug, stuff my hands in my jeans. “I don’t want you getting sick.”
She rolls her eyes, and we leisurely begin to walk toward the restaurant down the road. “Okay, over-achiever.”
“What? I already have achieved something bigger than giving you my jacket.” I take her hand. I like the way it fits mine. I also practically melt over her thumb caressing the back of my hand, sending scorching goosebumps over my body, coating me in smiles and ecstasy.
“And what is that?” She looks up at me and groans. “Oh no, do not say me—”
“It’s you, Red!” I say over her plea, and she groans some more and shakes her head at me, almost disappointed. “What? I can’t love you? Can’t achieve having you as ma girl?” I swing our linked hands back and forth between us.
“Do not say ‘ma girl’ ever again, please,” she begs lightly and bursts into laughter when I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively. “Noah!” I swing her into my chest and continue walking forward; we’re near the restaurant. “I can fall backward!” she complains through a shit-eating grin. Her ears and nose blush a dusty pink, and my cheeks hurt from how hard I’m smiling.
“Okay.” I nod, and I bet she sees my plans before I even formulate them, because she says “no” repeatedly and attempts to run away, but my reflexes are like lightning. I bend down and grab her waist, pulling over my shoulder.
“Noah!” she squeals.
“Red!” I spin us round and round, and a couple walking by watches us with mixed expressions. More people are walking by us, gawking, some smiling, and others weirded out as I playfully bite her hip.
“Noah, ouch!” she fusses.
“Oh, calm down, Red. I thought you could withstand anything!”
“Put me down!” she demands.
“You sure you want me to do that? You sound like you’re really enjoying yourself,” I point out, and she stays silent. I spin around once more before she cries out, forcibly stifling her giggle.
“I would like to be put down,” she says calmly.
I hum and walk a bit toward the close restaurant. “Fine. On one condition.”
“What would that be?” she asks.
“You don’t hit me when I put you down.”
She takes a moment.
“Red?” I smooth my hand over her round ass in her jeans—oh, these jeans. I bite my lip and envision sliding them down her slender legs. I can just hear her moaning to go faster.
“Fine,” she says, and I’m lost until I remember what I said a while ago. I flush and am glad she can’t see me. Slowly, cautiously, I set her down. Her hair is a curly mess, tendrils running about, and her cheeks are pinched red.
And then she pinches me.
“Ouch! I thought we had a deal!” I shout and rub my arm. It doesn’t hurt one bit, but I like to act like it does for her sake.
“You said not to hit you. Last time I checked, pinching isn’t classified as hitting.” She is so clever but at the wrong times.
“My clever girl.” I tip her head back, and she tries to hide a smile. Too bad I can spot one a mile away. I dip my head and brush my lips against her, teasing, in retaliation for her little technicality.
She moans in annoyance. “Stop stalling.”
“Maybe later.” I stand back, and she growls, shooting daggers at me. I laugh through it all and take her hand. I’m starving and want to shovel food down my throat. I lead her to the restaurant with an amazed grin. Despite the barely there swirling gust of wind, people are eating at patio tables. String lights are strung along in the air, creating a twinkling effect, and the smell of food seems to dance out of the propped-open door.
And then I see him.
“I can’t wait to eat. I’m fucking hungry,” she groans behind me. She runs into my back as I’m frozen, staring at him like a statue. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like that? Noah?”
I just point at him, unable to speak. I point at my father…and a woman having dinner.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I know I shouldn’t, but I jump to assumptions: my father is outright cheating on my mother. How else you do explain my father at a candle-lit dinner with another woman? Either that or he’s a spy and has been lying to Mother and me for my whole life…Okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but my brain’s taking its time processing this rationally.
That and I just came out of watching a cheesy, everything-blows-up action film. I expect this from Tom, but my own father—eh, he’s a bit of a sleaze bag, so I can’t be too surprised. I wouldn’t be remotely shocked if he has another mistress in one of our beloved cities we used to visit when I was younger.
“Well, don’t have a heart attack because of the man.” Red tugs on my hand, dragging me into my shitty reality, where I have an even shittier father.
“You’re right,” I mumble, wondering what lie he told Mother. Does she think he’s working late or out having a drink with some fellas?
“What are you going to do, Noah?” Red asks, eyeing me inquisitively.
“Obviously I’m going to give him a piece of my mind,” I scoff. “He’s blatantly cheating on my mother.” He didn’t even have the decency to get a table inside of the restaurant. Having her out in the open like this is beyond disrespectful, and a surge of anger pulses through me. My mother may be a bit of a…hard person to manage at times, but that doesn’t mean he should take random girls out on dates in public.
She stiffens as if going over there is the last thing she wants to do but lets out a firm breath and nods. “Let’s go then.” I take her hand and hide my smile; now is not the time.
The closer we get to the patio, the more I feel disgusted. My father looks more than presentable in his cut-clean suit; she’s dressed in a tight red dress. I watch as she flips her wavy brunette hair over her shoulder; a ring glimmers on her hand. Wow. So not only is he cheating on my mother, but she’s cheating on her husband. This just makes for a wonder couple, don’t you think?
“Hey, Dad,” I chirp in front of their table. They stop chatting, and her hand steeples together on the table, while he mumbles incoherently. “What a lovely date; wish I’d been invited.” I gesture passively to Red. “We could’ve made this a double-date thing.”
“My son, always the dramatic.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder, laughing like I’m some sort of joke. The lady cracks a wide smile but doesn’t laugh. At least she doesn’t humor the old quack.
“Who is this, Father? Does Mother know you’re having dinner with another woman?” I give the woman the evil eye.
Father sighs, shakes his head. “This isn’t what you think it is—”
“It seems to me you’re cheating on Mother!” I snap. She may not be the…warmest person, but she doesn’t deserve to be cheated on—no one does.
He sighs again and pinches his noose bridge. “This isn’t that. Geez, do you think that little of me?”
“Yes,” I say without any hesitation.
Red coughs behind me, and I look at her. She’s scratching the side of her neck, like she’s embarrassed…for me.
“Noah, this is Marilyn…Paul Archer’s wife.” Ellis’s mother, oops.
“Okay…and why are you on a date with her?”
“I’m not. This is a formality,” he says and removes his pinching fingers to mildly glare at me with a smile. “Her husband’s sick, so I’m telling her some business plans so she can relay them to her.”
“His assistant would have sufficed, don’t you think?” I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m just humiliated that I straight up accused him without any thought. But how could I not? I mean, there’s a freaking candle and a bottle of champagne.
“She’s the better choice…and we were going over details of the work our businesses will work on together. The deal was made last week, but I felt it would only be appropriate to show my appreciation and excitement with dinner.” He gestures to the bottle I’m eyeing. “Hence the champagne. And there are candles on every single table.” He leans back and lazily gestures around like the smug bastard he is.
“Oh, well…” Is there any way to rewind time and not come off as a dumbass?
“Yes, son.” His eyes dance with amusement. “We were also discussing her and her family hosting a dinner, where you and your mother would be invited to attend. As their expression of enthusiasm after the gala.”
“What gala?” I ask.
Disappointment ripples through his sigh. “The one we throw annually, at our home.”
Oh…he means the party where tycoons and gold diggers visit our house in New York. Memories flood my mind, and I barely hold back a groan. I would be uncomfortable in my tomb-like tux, hair painfully stiff, as my parents—mostly my father—wheeled me around the ballroom like a trophy.
Red: Fiery Finale (Spectrum Series Book 8) Page 26
