“Yeah, I hear ya.” Straightening, I open the door and turn off the lights as we exit. “Let’s do this.”
Approaching the kitchen and living room areas, I find them empty. Looking over to the large sliding glass doors leading out to the back deck, I notice a few large pots of lit citronella candles. Catching the sight of Foster’s side profile as he gazes out at the ocean waves, the partial moonlight casts a glow over him.
That crease between his brows has been more pronounced lately, ever since that initial news report had been broadcast, feeding into his worries about his friend. And now, today, he had to hear the worst news. On top of that, I had to go and be a freaking nuisance. Bother him with my own shitty drama. Way to go, Noelle.
Sliding the door open, I step out, closing it behind me. With nervousness and insecurity swirling in the pit of my stomach, when I step around to take a seat in the chair to his left, Foster turns my way.
And promptly freezes. Then, he lets out a long, muttering of “Fuuuuuuck.”
Exactly the response every woman with no makeup, damp hair, and sloppy pajama pants wants to hear.
Not.
Chapter Nine
Foster
My sister is trying to kill me.
That’s the only thing running through my mind right now as I stare at the sight of Noelle wearing that tank top.
So thin. So tight.
Her breasts are showcased in it, the fabric pulled taut over her luscious curves. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the breeze off the ocean paired with her hair still damp from the shower must send a chill through her. Because those nipples of hers harden right before my eyes.
Fuck. Me.
No, really. Fuck me. Please, an inner voice pleads. God, I’m a sick bastard.
“Foster?” she asks, hesitance in her tone. It alerts me to the fact that I just swore and she’s probably thinking the worst. Let’s face it; she’s a female. Not that I pretend to understand the inner workings of women’s minds, but even I know my response likely sent her into the He must think I’m heinous looking scenario, or some shit like that.
Noelle takes a seat in the chair to my left, tentatively settling into it, regarding me carefully. And my eyes slip down. Again. To those damn nipples.
My eyes fall closed on a silent groan, and I hastily reach behind my head, grabbing the collar of my T-shirt to pull it over my head.
“Arms up.”
“What?” The crease between her brows pops up, and I would give anything to reach out and smooth it with my thumb. Just to feel how soft I’m certain her skin is.
“Arms up,” I repeat, doing my best to maintain eye contact, willing my eyes to stay above her neck.
She raises her arms, gaze still questioning, and I slide the shirt over her arms and head, tugging it down and moving back to my chair before my hands stray and I personally take it upon myself to smooth the shirt down over her body, to slide over her curves. To graze those damn hardened nipples.
“I’ll be right back.” I escape back inside the house to grab a glass of wine for her. I had Laney pick some up for her at the store, knowing she’d likely need a drink to help mellow her out a bit. And I’m observant enough to know that she enjoys malbecs.
Observant. It sounds far less creepy than if I were to add that I know she doesn’t care for malbecs that have a stronger peppery quality to them. And then my stupid brain goes off on a tangent of What if she spills a little wine on her wrist and you have to lick it off her? Taste her and the wine? How fucking hot would that be?
Damn Zachariah Mayson and his chick flick watching. I swear, my sister’s husband likes to torture me. The other day when I went over there, he was watching some movie where that wine scenario happened. It was a hot scene, I’ll give him that. But he watches all kinds of chick flicks with my sister and never complains. Talk about being pussy-whipped.
As I pour the wine, willing away the temptation to taste it, because then I’ll want to see how it tastes on her skin, I remind myself why Noelle’s here. That she’s in trouble and needs a safe place to stay. Not because she wants me to stick my cock in her.
Jesus, Kavanaugh. Get. It. Together.
Returning back outside, I slide the glass of wine onto the table at her side. She glances up, and I take in the sight of Noelle without any makeup. God, she looks so young, so vulnerable.
So fucking beautiful.
Dragging my eyes away, I slide my chair over, placing it directly in front of her. Sitting, leaning forward, resting my forearms on my knees, I regard her intently, ready to get this talk started and get it out of the—