Rash Decisions

by Alex Rosa

He snickers. I look up from the paper and his eyes are already on me. He’s much closer than I realized. I hold my breath.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing. The way you talk about the integrity of the building, it’s just …”

  I put a hand on my hip, raising a brow. “It’s just what?”

  He stands up straighter, no longer concerned with the piece of paper. He towers over me. I have the sudden urge to tug on his tie and I don’t even have an ounce of liquor in me.

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “It’s … cute.”

  My lips squirm, trying to find a way to wrap around words, but they fail because the temperature in the room has just skyrocketed, and I’m more embarrassed by the burning blush on my cheeks.

  He licks over his bottom lip, his eyes darting all over my face again, and that damn smirk seems like he’s privy to his own joke, but I catch his eyes falling on my mouth every time.

  I release the breath I was holding and he has the nerve to chuckle.

  “I’m not cute.”

  “There are many versions of Julia that I’m getting to know, and, unfortunately, downright adorable is one,” he pauses chewing the inside of his cheek, as if treading cautiously but decides to go for it as he adds, “sexy as hell is another, and sometimes you’re just surprisingly agreeable and almost friendly.”

  There’s no stopping my grin, and I want to hate myself for it, but it feels too good as it stretches across my face.

  His eyes fall back onto my mouth, and without hesitating he says, “I’m trying really hard to be a gentleman, you know that?”

  “This is your version of a gentleman?”

  He sucks in a breath, “I said I was trying. I’m showing some serious restraint here. I deserve a medal or something.”

  When I giggle, his eyes fling themselves back to my eyes.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, knowing this is me walking straight into quicksand.

  “You know what I mean, Jules.” He leans in a little bit closer.

  Two days of normality and this is how long we’ve lasted.

  As if impatient and battling himself he speaks; his eyes etching themselves with a look of pain. “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you?”

  With my heartbeat sounding off like a rapid bass drum in my ears I reply, “I think I have some idea.”

  Ding.

  My eyes go aghast as Troy deciphers the look in a nanosecond. “Wha—“

  My sudden push at Troy’s chest cuts off his words as I fling myself toward the door while he stumbles back a step.

  He’s on the verge of replying but my words get out faster than his.

  “—Noah!”

  “Hey, Babe,” he croons, and he looks magnificent. His broad shoulders and his body are encased in a thick navy blue sweater, his arms outstretched, holding out a small arrangement of flowers. I gasp, feeling a combination of glee and guilt as I approach him.

  “You didn’t have to get me flowers.”

  “I don’t have to do a lot of things, but I wanted to.” He leans in and presses his lips to mine. He lingers a bit as if his intentions are for a longer kiss but he pulls away abruptly, his eyes on something behind me.

  I turn around too to see Troy stepping out of my office. His look is neutral, unreadable, and I know what that means now. Pain.

  I shake my head and try to give Troy a tight smile, but it does nothing to his chiseled face. He brushes a rogue piece of midnight hair back that has fallen from its prim and proper place.

  “Oh hey, Troy. I didn’t realize you’d be here too.”

  Troy shrugs and manages a fairly careless smirk. “I was waiting for Torrey to drop off Elizabeth.”

  There’s a curious look that swiftly moves across Noah’s features I’ve never witnessed, but in a flash, it’s gone. Before Noah can question him, Lizzy comes flying down the hall.

  “Uncle Noah!”

  “My little monster,” he says, leaning down on his knees. She runs into his open arms.

  I peek up at Troy. He’s watching me instead of them, utterly emotionless and it kills me.

  He speaks, his words not meeting his eyes, “So, is it okay if you babysit this Friday then, Julia?”

  Oh yeah, that.

  This catches Noah’s attention, “On Friday?” he questions.

  “Yeah, we have Carrie’s dinner.”

  Noah nods. “I guess that makes sense, but you don’t have another babysitter?”

  Lizzy stomps her little foot as she interjects, “I want Juliaaa!”

  We all break out into laughter, and I have to cover my blushing face. I can’t tell what she likes so much about me, but I feel so honored.

  I peek over my shoulder to see Troy grinning at me. I have to look away, but still manage a response. “I will of course babysit on Friday.”

  Cheers erupt from Lizzy and it makes me all fuzzy inside.

  “Ready to go, babe.”

  The fuzziness dissolves into my nerves. “Absolutely.”

  I run and grab my purse, and when I return both brothers seem to be smiling and chuckling. It gives me a sense of relief to see a cordial, even funny, calm between them. Troy has a harder time keeping an even keel, but it’s in his eyes that family is important to him.

  When I run out, Noah tangles his hands around mine. There’s no doubt that I feel safe with Noah nearby and that his eyes on me make me feel important, but in front of Troy it feels wrong.

  Unfortunately, it isn’t about him as I follow Noah’s lead out of the office and into the elevator as I shout back, “Bye Troy, and see you Friday night my dearest Lizzy.” But I do not dare turn around to see Troy’s emotionless face.

  I walk away, and it almost feels like I’m running again.

  “I think I like this whole woman-of-the-business-world thing you got going on here.” Noah jokes as he grabs for my hips, swiveling me around to face him, quickly placing a kiss against my jaw.

  “Oh, yeah?” I question fighting off laughter.

  “Yeah, it’s very authoritative and hot. I might ask you to dinner after work more often.”

  I nod and roll my eyes, slipping out of his grasp as I trail up the sidewalk. He’s too fast as he grabs for my hand, bungee-ing me back to him.

  His lips conveniently land on mine. He still tastes of the cinnamon roll we shared at the café as his tongue dips into my mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck to bring him closer. When Noah kisses me it makes me feel whole, and that’s a feeling I can’t ignore. His lips tell me exactly how he feels and it can make a girl a little dizzy. Not to mention, Noah wants to know everything about me. His questions at dinner were not overly personal but adorably inquisitive, and I loved telling him my favorite movies or hang out spots rather than focusing on our heavy histories, not that he knows I know about his.

  Noah presses his lips harder against mine as his hands move to my hips. Considering our mouths being so well acquainted, his hands are just starting to get to know me.

  My heart flutters as he slowly takes steps toward the building until he’s pressing me up against the wall.

  I like how he makes me feel, and I want to be what he deserves, regardless of his past. I want so badly to commit to him. He makes me laugh and miss him during the day. I need to convince myself that this is what I want, and I think I know what could possibly drive this doubt away. I need to try before I make more mistakes. I have this perfectly charming man, who’s been nothing but dedicated and sweet to me. We both deserve to give this the best chance possible. I want to.

  I tangle my fingertips into his hair and his groan that passes between our lips has the butterflies caged in my gut fluttering to escape.

  His hands curve over my ass, and I’m frustrated by our jackets that keep us from being just that little bit closer.

  We’re still a block from my building as I speak between our lapping lips. “Are you gonna keep me up on school night, Noah Weston?”


  The grin that I feel against my mouth is enough of a reward.

  “If you let me,” he replies.

  I finally pull away to let out my giggles.

  “C’mon you brute, take me home.”

  “With pleasure.”

  I’m tempted to roll my eyes, but instead manage a sheepish smile as I grab for his hand and tug him onward.

  When we make it to my door, I’m fumbling with my keys. That’s when Noah impatiently removes them from my hands and grabs for my shoulders, turning me around to face him. He crashes his lips to mine as his body presses against me, pinning me to the door.

  His determination has my body buzzing, and his smile while he kisses me has me giggly as he jiggles the keys next to my ear. He blindly fumbles with them and manages to unlock my door.

  Suave.

  We stumble back. He shamelessly slams the door shut behind him.

  With a mission on my mind, my hands find the trail of the zipper to his coat, undoing it, and I push the jacket off his broad shoulders. He does the same to me. I thoroughly enjoy the trail of clothes slowly appearing on my hallway floor.

  “Where’s your room?” he asks.

  Before I respond, I know he spots the only available door in the far corner because he pulls away, bends down, and throws me over his shoulder.

  “Noah!” I screech while fighting more giggles.

  When we reach my dark bedroom, he flicks on the light before allowing me back down. I slide down his hard body until my toes touch the floor.

  His eyes glimmer wickedly in the shadowy light and when the corner of his mouth does this thing my insides jolt.

  Please don’t let that twitchy smirk be hereditary.

  Stop thinking.

  I gulp down the thought and try to refocus as I wrap my arms around Noah and bring my lips to his.

  His tongue invades my mouth, caressing and tasting me, while his hands grab for the hem of my blouse, pulling it over my head.

  I do the same, tugging at the sweater, my fingers shaking as I pull it off his body.

  His lips press themselves against the nape of my neck as his hands move to my pencil skirt, making easy work of it as it pools at my feet and I step out of my shoes.

  I smile, however my skin overheats in a way I don’t expect. My hairline is damp and sweaty, and the only time I remember feeling this way is when getting stage fright before a big presentation, or that one time it was opening night at my high school play.

  I shake it off, seeking solace in his lips, distracting my mind by letting my fingertips drag down his chest, basking in the feeling of the light dusting of hair that trails down his toned abdomen and ends like a trail to a treasure map at his belt.

  I undo the buckle, and anxiously tug the zipper down and push his jeans over his hips.

  I clamp down on my bottom lip at the specimen that is Noah, his broad chest, strong build, and his thick masculine thighs.

  He smiles knowingly, and the corner of my mouth manages to lift a fraction of what I want them to be doing.

  Noah leans forward and resumes kissing me, his hands feeling like hot irons against my skin as they burn a trail over my breasts and stomach, and around the curve of my ass. I can’t tell if the burn is good or bad, but I don’t falter, following his lead as his kiss pushes me back onto the bed.

  His kisses feel good, and although I reciprocate every movement, it’s not at all as fluid as I want. I shouldn’t have to think, yet all I’m doing is making sure that when he touches me, I touch him, or when his tongue meets my skin, I should do the same.

  His lips move down my neck, over my chest, and the moment his mouth reaches my breasts my chest constricts, and I try to tell myself my gasp is not contradicting the pulsing happening between my legs.

  The turmoil brewing in my gut is searing hot, and a part of me is ready for the battle, yet the other part isn’t sure why it’s there at all.

  I shake my head, tangling my fingers into Noah’s hair, holding him to me as I try to focus on how his mouth feels … nice.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he exhales against my skin.

  My hands freeze in the middle of their stroking. His words should make me feel loved, but I only feel guilt. I’m amazed at how long I was able to fight that feeling. This isn’t about Troy? Or is it?

  I will not think about him.

  I can’t let this happen. I won’t.

  I tug Noah’s face to mine, and his adorably wide I just want to please you eyes kill me.

  “Are we going too fast?” he asks.

  I don’t respond and instead kiss him hard, desperately fighting this feeling I don’t understand, until it dawns on me … why does it feel like I’m betraying Troy by trying to drive the very thought of him away like this? This is awful.

  Noah tries hard to reciprocate but pulls away. “It’s okay if we’re going too fast.” He leans in and places a cajoling kiss on the hollow of my neck, and I hate that he can sense my jarring caution. I want to think of Noah, but instead that emotionless look of pain swimming behind crystal eyes is all I can think about.

  I close my eyes while shaking my head. My stomach somersaults. “No, it’s okay,” I whisper.

  He kisses his way back up my neck, nipping and sucking, and then he stops completely, his breathing steady but shallow against my neck. “Babe, your whole body is tense. I can feel it.”

  I can’t open my eyes, I’m riddled with too many emotions, and my guilt is eating me from all sides. How can guilt create a cocoon around someone like this? First it was my guilt of sleeping with Troy, then it was worrying how this hurts Troy, and now I feel guilty about not being able to get Troy out of my head so I can finally focus on Noah.

  STOP THINKING ABOUT TROY!

  I release a large huff, and can’t tell which part of my brain hurts the most, but it’s thumping like my heart is in my skull.

  Noah hasn’t moved, and I hate that I can feel his defeated body against mine. He knows the moment is done and gone. I’ve ruined it.

  I’m a terrible person … again.

  I tangle my hands through his hair and bring my lips to his, letting my mouth rest against his longer than he expects before pulling away.

  I get the feeling that Noah doesn’t care to hear an apology, so instead I hug him close as if that’s my way of saying it anyway. “Will you still stay the night with me? But I’ll understand it if you don’t want to.”

  “Are you asking me to cuddle you to sleep tonight, Jules? I don’t know, sounds a bit too-soon, too-fast, don’t you think?”

  With our bodies cradled against each other’s, we burst out into laughter, our lips fighting back chortles as he tries to kiss me. It’s a relief.

  How is he forgiving me? How is he so amazing? How is he not fumingly mad at me?

  After finishing his laughter he drags his nose down the slope of mine as he says, “I would love to cuddle you. It’s okay. We’ll take this at your pace.”

  But it’s so far from okay.

  I don’t deserve this affection, but regardless of everything I’m internally battling, I grin while locked onto his hazel orbs. Noah makes me feel good, no matter how much I might throw him off, or in this case, probably being the most sexually frustrating girlfriend ever.

  But that’s Noah. He doesn’t ask for the reasons why I’m so tense because it’s obvious he trusts me to do the right thing without needing to explain.

  “Oh, under one condition though,” he adds.

  I perk up. “I’m at your mercy here. I feel so bad I—“

  His lips cut me off, shaking his head against my mouth, before pulling away. “Nope. It’s fine. We can take this as slow as you need. What I was going to say is, I’ll only cuddle if your clothes stay on the floor.”

  I nod, smiling, and he kisses me harder this time, but just as brief. “Good,” he pouts adorably. “Now turn off that light. We’ve got work in the morning and I ca
n’t wait to spoon with you.”

  “Weirdo,” I quip as he reaches out for the lamp, turning it off.

  He shifts his body, wrapping around me and pulling my body close as he presses a kiss behind my ear.

  He doesn’t have to say it, because the kiss is his goodnight, and I gently squeeze his arms wrapped around me to speak my silent return.

  I pull in a deep, balancing breath, trying to calm my internal storm, wondering how I seemed to survive the physical one.

  When my eyes slowly sink into sleep, the only thing that is pulsing through my every vein and dripping out of every pour is this overwhelming sense of confusion.

  “Hi Mom, sorry I’m late.” I press a kiss against my mother’s cheek as I enter my family home nestled in the suburbs of upstate New York. She hums her understanding because it’s a known thing. I’m always late when it comes to family dinners, and I’ve given up trying to find excuses.

  I don’t want to say I dread family dinners … but I dread family dinners.

  “Your sister hasn’t arrived yet, but your brother is here already.”

  I clench my jaw. I used to think of Noah as my outlet when it came to these family get-togethers, but right now it’s yet another reminder of the things I don’t particularly like dealing with.

  “Where’s little Elizabeth?” my mom asks, her blue eyes searching behind me.

  I scratch the back of my head, offering her a shrug. “I figured it’d be nice to have a family dinner without a kid running around.”

  My mom tuts, running a hand through her bobbed gray hair. “You’re lying, but don’t think I don’t understand. Your sister means well, you know?”

  I roll my eyes, walking inside. I can see the TV is on in the living room from the foyer as I shout, “Hey Dad!”

  His grunt echoes off the cedar floors and family picture clad walls. It’s his way of saying hello.

  My mother is on my heels as she follows me into the kitchen.

  “Troy, don’t ignore your mother.”

  I laugh as I open the fridge, knowing that I can always rely on one thing in this house. Beer. I grab for a bottle and twist off the cap.

  I can’t hide my peeking smile as I watch my mother on the verge of scolding me again.