Does God hear either of my prayers? Probably. Does he do anything about them? Nope. That’s a firm no. Big guy just leaves me to fend for myself.
A sheep amidst the wolves. Or wolf. Whatever.
“You coming to karaoke tonight?”
I don’t answer because I’m still sipping my coffee without opening my eyes and I really don’t know if I feel like going out tonight. Everyone usually gets together on Saturdays for karaoke at Shenanigans downtown, but the last few times I went, it was awkward and … a bit annoying. Foster ended up giving me grief about whatever I happened to be wearing and if guys tried to strike up a conversation, he’d do something to scare them off.
I might be on a strict no-man streak, but I don’t mind a little attention.
Apparently, Foster mistakes my silence for acquiescence. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Turning my head slowly, I squint at him. “Only if you sing a duet with me.” I say this knowing full well he never sings karaoke. He never sings, period.
“Only if you wear something super tight,” he challenges.
At what point did I sign up to have the world’s most annoying and intrusive boss alive? Oh, yeah. That’s right.
Never.
Chapter Twenty-One
Foster
I’m losing my fucking mind. That’s all there is to it. Because no way in hell would I have ever pushed for Noelle to come to karaoke night. Nor would I have ever told her I’d pick her up. Like it’s a fucking date or something.
Or to wear something tight. Though, there’s no way I’m taking that one back. Because Noelle’s body in something tight? Wrapping around her curves like a second skin? Fuck, yes.
I have to pause and adjust myself at the mere thought of it. Which is challenging when I’m driving to her place to pick her up. The truth is, I felt the need to get her out of the house since I could tell earlier she hadn’t slept, and it pissed me the hell off. To think of her possibly having nightmares about that asshole breaking into her house.
Pulling my truck into her driveway, I park and turn off the ignition, then unbuckle my seatbelt. Before sliding out, I grab the large package lying on the passenger seat. Shutting the door, I take the steps two at a time until I’m at her door. Hell if I don’t feel like I’ve got a bad case of the jitters, as if I’m nervous or something. Which is definitely not the case. I mean, all I’m doing is giving Noelle a ride to the karaoke bar. That’s it.
Maybe a part of me wants to give her a different sort of ride. Sue me.
I knock on her door, waiting for her to answer. There’s a key to her door on my keyring, but she doesn’t know that because, well, I don’t want to weird her out. I made an extra copy, just in case, to play it safe. It’s not like I’m going to be some creepy ass fucker who sneaks in and sniffs her underwear or shit like that. I just want to make sure I can get into her place if there’s ever an emergency.
That’s not all I want to get into. But no one needs to know that. Least of all Noelle.
As soon as the door opens, and I see the view before me, the self-restraint I possess completely falters—crumbles to the ground.
“Fuck me,” I breathe out. It’s almost like an expression, a curse, and a plea all in one. Because Noelle actually obeyed me for once. Not for the first time I’m wondering how in the hell I’m going to resist her. How will I resist touching her? Because one thing is for damn certain, there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to resist jerking off to the memory of her in this dress later tonight.
I know; I’m a sicko. I get it. But, fuck. The blue dress is formfitting over her luscious curves, showcasing her narrow waist and hips. Her breasts look so inviting my fingers twitch from the restraint not to touch her. I would give just about anything to be able to run my hands over her curves, to cup her ass, pull her close, let her feel my— “What a wonderful greeting, Kavanaugh,” she mutters, interrupting my thoughts. I can see she interpreted my Fuck me as bad—as a Fuck me, she’s ugly as shit. Which couldn’t be further from the truth, damn it.
What the hell was I thinking? The answer’s simple. I wasn’t.
Rolling her eyes at me, they seem bluer, brighter, due to whatever makeup she used. And don’t even get me started on her lips. They’re a dark shade of pink—plump and glossy. I swear it’s far too easy to imagine them wrapped around my hard— Fuck. Me.
Abruptly turning my eyes away from her, I thrust the package at her unceremoniously. “Here.”
She grabs it in the nick of time before it falls. I have to let go and turn away, feeling like the air is too thick, like everything’s closing in on me. I can’t look at her, not with her as breathtaking as she looks right now.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Just set it inside for later.” My answer is sharper than I mean for it to be, but I’m holding on by a thread. And right now, that thread feels frayed as fuck.
“O-kay.” She drags out the word, setting the package on the small entryway table by the door. I hear what she’s not saying; You’re acting weird as hell, Kavanaugh.