Before You Go

EIGHTEEN

I’m asleep when I hear a knock on the door. It’s not the recurrent five taps I’m used to. It’s two commanding pounds that jolt me from bed.

Too tired to grab my robe, I open the door before realizing I’m only wearing a tank and boy shorts.

“Noah?” I say, surprised he’s here.

He’s wearing my favorite jeans with a thin gray t-shirt. Leaning on his arm in the doorway, his eyes are dark and hooded as he looks me over.

“I can’t do this, Tabby,” he says, running his hands through his hair. He looks like he’s been up all night, and I can smell whiskey on his breath.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, running my hand along his cheek.

He closes the space between us in one long glide and rests his forehead on mine. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

Unsure where I’ve found the courage, I link my hands around his neck and whisper a dare in his ear. “Then don’t.”

Noah slams the door and whips me around, pushing me against it as his body claims mine. I can feel his need, his desperation. His lips are rough as he nips and bites at my mouth before gliding his tongue inside. Taking control, his hands cup my ass and he quickly lifts me to him.

This is too much. Too fast.

My mind reels, but my body reacts. My legs instinctually wrap around his waist, my hands fist in his hair, and my tongue moves with his.

Pushing me harder against the door for balance, Noah gathers my hands, raises them above my head and secures my wrists in his grip.

I am completely vulnerable, trapped.

“It’s okay, Tabby,” Noah whispers in my ear. “You can stop me at any time.”

That’s exactly what I want to do, but my body won’t let me.

And before I get the chance to say a word, he slides my boy shorts to the side and plunges a finger deep inside me.

I wake up in a confused and convulsing mess after my afternoon nap. My heart is slamming against my chest, my breathing is ragged, and my hands are shaking. I reach for a glass of water on my bedside table and see the clock announcing it’s six p.m. It does nothing for my erratic state.

I’m late.

Again.

Too many lady wet dreams about Noah will do that to a gal.

It’s the third one I’ve had this week. Not that I’m complaining. Waking up post-orgasm is a wonderful thing. Still, it’s starting to mess with my schedule…and my mind. Noah is slowly worming his way into my head and it’s becoming more than just a physical attraction. I enjoy our talks almost as much as these sex dreams.

I change out of my sweats, slip into a pair of jeans and sweater, braid my hair, brush my teeth, and I’m out the door to my internship in less than ten minutes.

On the walk to campus, my stomach growls. I’m ravenous and there’s no way I’ll be able to work without some fuel, so I pick up a deli sandwich on the way.

Inside the paper’s office, it’s quiet. Everyone has gone for the day. It’s nice. I set up my little desk picnic at one of the computer tables, ready to do a final proof of the filed stories.

I spend the next hour hauling ass to get the articles loaded for tomorrow’s e-edition, I don’t even have time to eat.

I finish just as a shadow appears over my screen.

“Hi, Tabby,” Jules says in a small voice.

“Hi,” I say, excited to have some company.

“Can I join you?” she asks.

I push a chair out with my feet. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m done.”

Jules takes a seat; her eyes are red and puffy.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Not really,” she says.

“Guy trouble?”

“Foster trouble,” she says.

I had a feeling they were more than just friends.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“That’s the same question I asked him,” she says as a tear rolls down her cheek.

“I’m here,” I tell her. “If you want to talk.”

She doesn’t answer and I don’t push. I know better. Sometimes you just need to be. I can tell that’s what she needs. She’ll talk when she’s ready.

I hand her half my sandwich.

She forces a smile, but it’s her eyes that say, “Thank you.”

We eat.