Breaking Noah (7 page)

Inside the warmth of the apartment, I walk through the living room, chuckling as I see Dillon sprawled out on the sofa, empty bottles covering the carpet below him. I flick the light off and stalk to our bedroom where I unzip my dress, letting it float to the floor. I step out of it and walk into the bathroom, the sudden urge to shower impossible to ignore. I scrub my body viciously, as if I’m trying to wash away any trace of his scent on me.

How could I have enjoyed myself so much? I’d forgotten, just for a moment, the reason that I’m even bothering with this. I can’t afford to be so absentminded. That’s probably how Karly had fallen into his trap. It’s easy to fall for a gentleman and be screwed into loving a douche bag. I just can’t help but feel that he’s not the jerk I’m painting him to be. Even Dillon at first, as gentlemanly as he was, still had a faint resemblance to an asshole. There’s nothing about Noah that leads me to believe he’s anything but perfect. Maybe that’s part of his game?

After my shower, I hang my towel and walk over to the bed, pulling back the sheets. I climb in and snuggle into the warmth. I reach for my phone and pull up Noah’s number.

Me:
Thanks for taking me out. Is it wrong that I get more excited spending time with you than I do with my own boyfriend?

Noah:
You already thanked me, remember? And no, it’s not wrong, especially when you’re dating an asswipe like Dillon.

I laugh and switch my phone off. He’s right there. Charles Manson would provide better company than Dillon. Still, I can’t deny I enjoyed tonight, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, that kiss felt pretty impressive. I’m getting to know Noah and it’s throwing me off my game because I’m seeing sides to him that I wasn’t expecting.

I need to stay focused, because even though I’m pissed and hurt, I’m still a woman. And he’s doing all the things that women fall in love with. If I don’t watch my step, I’ll be falling right into his trap instead of the other way around.

I had her lips on mine. I finally got to feel what I had been imagining since our phone call. I now know what that type of guilt feels like. I took advantage of her and enjoyed every damn second of it.
God, what the fuck is wrong with me? How do I come back from this? What’s going to happen in class? If she tells the dean? Fuck.

I didn’t see Zara on campus yesterday. I waited in my office, thinking that she’d eventually come by and actually be tutored this time. I’m really hoping that my disappointment is because she is losing time catching up with the other students and not because I didn’t get to see her. All of these emotions are catching me off guard and I might need to take this weekend to figure them out.
Thank God for Fridays, right?

After the final bell of the day, I don’t bother sticking around until the early evening like I’ve been doing every afternoon since school began. The students all file out extremely fast, which is typical for a Friday, and I’m not far behind. Turning off the lights in my classroom, pulling my door shut, I’m in my car before the last of the students clear the parking lot.

To make it the absolute best possible day ever, Shannon sent me a text earlier that she was going to Chicago for the day with her sister and would probably stay the night. She also informed me that she already ordered some pasta from the Italian restaurant up the road and it was in the fridge waiting for me.
If that’s not wife material, I’m not sure what is,
I think to myself, rolling my eyes.

As I’m about to pull onto the street, Zara catches my eye. She’s standing next to a beat-up old Mustang with the hood propped. That’s not the attention-grabber, however. It’s what she’s doing—leaning over the bumper, staring at something near the motor, her skirt raised a few inches in the back, and even from here I can tell you her underwear is the same color as her skirt.

Whipping my car around, I pull into the spot next to hers and climb out, moving to stand in front of her so I’m not tempted to learn any more intimate details about her undergarments.

“Is everything okay, Ms. Hamilton?” I ask, forcing my eyes to focus on hers and not down her ill-fitting tank top. My resolve weakens as I remember how her lips felt pressed against mine. I’m like a horny teenager. I have to stand on the other side of the fender just to conceal my growing erection.

“The fucker won’t start. I don’t get it. I just did a tune-up last week. Everything should be fine,” she says, slapping her hands on the raised hood, peering farther into the motor.

“You can use my phone to call your boyfriend if you’d like,” I offer, digging my phone from my pocket.

“He’s at work until seven. If you could give me a ride, I’ll have him stop on his way home to see if he can figure it out.”

“No problem. Come on.” I climb back into the driver’s seat while Zara gathers her belongings from the Mustang. She pulls out her backpack and purse, puts the keys under the seat, and pulls out her phone, presumably to text her boyfriend to let him know where her keys are so he can fix the problem.

When Zara’s situated and buckled in my car, I pull out of the lot, careful to not let my gaze divert to her legs again, or to her breasts, which are being accentuated by the seat belt currently cutting across her chest. Hell, I’ve already gone through puberty, so I shouldn’t still be feeling like a teenage boy who’s seeing boobs for the first time. This is insane.

“Why weren’t you in class today? You were obviously at school,” I ask, trying to cut the tension and remind myself she’s a student.

“Lady troubles,” she responds, not giving anything further.

The rest of the ride’s quiet until we pull up in front of her building. As I put the car in park, Zara reaches toward the backseat to grab her stuff, forcing her body within millimeters of mine, and I have to hold my breath so we don’t actually touch. When everything’s in her hands, she sweetly smiles and thanks me for the ride. I nod in response. I’m such a damn tool.

I’m about to pull away from the curb when Zara rushes back out to my car, waving her arms frantically in the air. “Wait, Mr. B. Wait a second!” she yells, causing me to slam on my brakes.

I open the passenger window and she leans into the car, again giving me a first-class ticket to confirm that her bra matches her skirt, too. “What’s the problem, Zara?”

“I’m the dumbass that didn’t just leave the car keys for her boyfriend, but left the house key as well. I can’t get in,” she says, blushing. Finally, a sense of normalcy from this young woman. She does have emotions.

“I can take you back to the school, if you’d like. It’s really no problem.”

“It’s like twenty minutes away. Can you give me a ride to the factory district instead? I can wait there until Dillon gets off work.” There’s absolutely no way I’m taking a beautiful girl to sit at the factories, where nearly all rape and murder victims are found. That’s the most unsafe idea I’ve ever heard in all my life.

“That seems pretty dangerous, Zara. I only live a few miles from here. If you’re interested in some pasta from Zeoli’s, you can wait at my apartment. I can at least fill you in on what you missed when you didn’t show up to class today.”

Terrible idea, Noah. Terrible fucking idea.
Teachers and students should never spend time alone outside of school.
I’m asking for it. Fuck.

I mentally slam my hands on the steering wheel as her face lights up and she climbs back into the car. “That sounds pretty good, actually. Thanks, Noah. You’re the best.”

Or am I the worst?

I purposely hitch my leg up, letting my skirt ride higher on my thigh. I smirk, because I can feel his eyes on me, my skin flushing everywhere his gaze lands. I want to pinch myself, because I’m sure this is a dream. This is going way too perfectly. Something has to give. He’s invited me to his freaking apartment.

If
that
isn’t an opening, I don’t know what is. After the kiss, the texts, the call, the show…I feel like I need to step things up before the chance slips through my fingers.

“Have you lived around here long, Noah?” I ask. My fingers twirl the ends of my long blond hair. He shifts in his seat, his hands clenched on the steering wheel.

“I went to college here, so yes, a few years.”

“You like teaching?”

He nods, relaxing slightly as a smile spreads across his lips.

“I love it. I’ve wanted to teach for as long as I can remember. There’s nothing more rewarding than helping people.”

Yeah. I know just how much you like “helping” people.

“Why college and not elementary or high school?” I ask.

“Because college students actually want to be there. I thought it would be easier.”

“It’s not?” I can’t help but grin.

“Apparently not,” he says with a smirk. “Most of my students only take my class because they think it’s an easy grade. College isn’t about learning anymore; it’s about parties and having fun. Classes detract from that.”

He pulls in to the driveway of a four-unit apartment building—nothing like where I live. This has class, sophistication…so much so that it makes me wonder how he can afford this on a teacher’s salary. Parking in an assigned spot instead of the first-come-first-served lot at my home, we walk the well-lit, landscaped walkway to the main entrance. The inside even smells wealthy…the scent of nothing lingers, making me homesick for the first time since I’ve been here.

“The living room is that way if you want to watch TV. I’ll get you a drink.” I nod to where he’s pointing, but follow him into the kitchen, determined to make the most of all the time I have with him.

Alone. In his
apartment.

Photos line a bookshelf that sits behind the dining table. I wander over to get a closer look. Picture after picture is of him and a woman, arms around each other, too intimate to be family. His girlfriend, probably. I’m shocked, but I don’t know why. I knew he was with someone, but she looks totally out of his league. Polished and classy versus sexy nerd and controlled.
Wait. Sexy?

I study her. She’s pretty. With her straight dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin, she is the complete opposite of me…and the near image of Karly. I breathe in sharply. He looks up, a concerned expression on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asks. The next thing I know he’s holding my arm, guiding me back into the living room. “Sit down. You look like you might pass out. I’ll get your drink.”

I oblige and fall onto the oversized sofa, the creamy suede soft against my bare legs. I normally guard myself so closely, but seeing how much his…
woman
looks like Karly freaks me the hell out.

He obviously has a type, and I’m not it.
What if this doesn’t work? What if all I end up doing is making a total fool of myself?

Stop it. He fucking kissed you.
Granted, he pulled away, but I haven’t been imagining the connection between us over the last few weeks.
I may be young, but naïve I am not.

Besides, guys like him don’t have a goddamn type. They’ll fuck anything with a vagina.

He walks back in carrying a tall glass of water. He hands it to me and I take a sip. His eyes haven’t left mine, and the worry I see in them is making me nervous.

“I’m okay,” I assure him. “I haven’t eaten today, that’s all.”

He nods unconvincingly. “Let me get you that pasta, then.” I smile, breathing only once he’s left the room again. Leaning back on the sofa, I let out a groan. I hope I know what I’m doing. I slide my shoes off and pull my legs up under me. The faint smell of perfume hits my senses, and I pinpoint its location to the charcoal-gray throw blanket lying over the sofa.

“Here you go. You can pull the coffee table closer to you if you want to use it.” I nod, repositioning it in front of me as he sets a heaped plate of pasta in front of me. I hadn’t realized how hungry I actually was until the first forkful hit my taste buds.

“This is good.” I grin, covering my mouth. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be.” He chuckles. “It’s carryout. We eat junk nearly every night. I can never be bothered cooking after work.”

“And Shannon?” I ask.

“Oh, she’s
way
too busy watching shitty TV shows all day. I can’t expect her to do that and cook or clean,” he says, his voice dry with a hint of sarcasm.

“Ah, and suddenly I feel like I know you that little bit more.” I pause for long enough to take another mouthful. “I actually love to cook. I spent lots of time on my own growing up. Mom would be working and Dad was always away. It was learn to cook or put up with my brother feeding me cold beans on toast.”

“Your brother older or younger?” he asks.

“Older by three years. We’ve always gotten along great, though. I wish I got to see him more often.”

“You said he was in the service?”

“Marines,” I reply. “If I’m lucky, when he’s not deployed, I’ll see him twice a year. But it’s all good. He loves what he does, and I love him for what he does.” I sit back, completely full, even though it looks like I’ve barely made a dent in the food.

Pushing the plate away from me, I fall back into the couch and try to appear more relaxed and satisfied. Making use of the time we have alone is imperative. If I waste it, I’ll only kick myself in the ass later.

“So, tell me something I don’t know about you.” Taking a long drink of water, washing down my dinner, I wait patiently for him to respond.

“I was a Boy Scout.”

“Nope, something juicy. I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone before. We need to be on equal ground here. Give me something.” I pause, holding my breath, hoping he gives me something I can work with. Having been a Boy Scout isn’t exactly a piece of information I can use to my benefit.

“Hmmm,” he hums, looking upward, trying to think of something. “Okay,” he says, excited. “Here’s something I’ve never told anyone before. It doesn’t leave this room, agreed?”

“Absolutely,” I respond, my smile reaching high into my cheeks.

“So, when I was a teenager, I had an unhealthy obsession with Britney Spears.” His face turns an adorable shade of pink as he details his childhood crush. “I listened to all of her music and would pretend she was my girlfriend. It was quite pathetic, looking back at it now.”

“Oh my God, you’re so adorable. I could just squeeze you. Tell me, Noah, did you look at pictures of her while you took care of yourself?”
Come on, take the bait, you know you want to.

“Yes,” he whispers, refusing to make eye contact with me. The laugh I’ve been trying to suppress escapes my lips and tears fill my eyes.

“That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.” Without warning, I jump from my seat, climb onto the coffee table, and begin my very own rendition of a famous Britney song. Pretending my skirt is of the schoolgirl variety, I only wish I had a few rubber bands to make my hair into pigtails.

“Zara. Enough.” He tries to remain stoic, but the corners of his mouth are turned up slightly.

“I can’t help it.” I truly can’t. It’s been awhile since I’ve had this much fun. I dance around the small table, singing at the top of my lungs. As I’m approaching the chorus, my foot slides across the polished wood. I try to catch my balance, but end up toppling right into Noah’s waiting lap.

Unable to control my laughter, I brace my hands on his shoulders and move to stand, only he stops me. His arms snake around my waist, pulling me closer to his body, and I lose all my senses and the situation is no longer funny. The air’s charged with so much tension, you’d need a sledgehammer to break through it.

“Hey,” I whisper, raising my eyes to meet his.

“Hi.” His arms tighten and his smile fades into a sly smirk. I slightly lean toward him and he matches my action. I feel his breath on my lips, his eyes casting down to watch as my tongue wets my bottom lip. I’m unable to pull away. I want to kiss him. Not just because it’s a part of my plan, but because I can’t think of anything else.

I wrap my arms around his neck and softly tug on his hair. His fingers tangle in my long, knotted-from-dancing locks and pull my face the rest of the way to his. The moment our lips meet, the tension turns to passion. The sound of our kiss fills the room. I make the mistake of moving off his lap to better situate myself, and that gives him all the time he needs to change his mind.

“I should get you home.”

“Really?” I mutter, trying to get back to his lap.

“Yeah. Grab your stuff.” He shifts me away from him and onto the cushion to his right. When he stands, he bends at the waist as if he’s trying to catch his breath and shuffles to the door, where he waits for me. Rolling my eyes, I slip on my shoes and grab my bag.

“All right, Mr. Bain. Please take me home.” I slip past him and into the hallway, where I don’t wait for him to catch up. I wait at the car for him to unlock the doors and climb in as soon as he presses the button.

Neither one of us talk on the short drive to my apartment. I’m not sure what I’m feeling, but it’s not the same tension as earlier. I’m pissed. I’ve never felt so rejected in my life. Sure, Dillon probably screws anything he can, but if I came on to him, he wouldn’t turn me down.

He pulls up outside my apartment and I’m disappointed to see the lights are on inside. I hold back a laugh. What was I expecting, Dillon to not be there? Did I think Noah was going to take me back to his home and have his way with me?

No. I’ve tried being subtle and it hasn’t worked. I have to make a decision: Either I play this slow and gain his trust or I work with what I
know
is there and build from it.

Lust. Desire.

The way his eyes roam over my body when he thinks I’m not looking. How his breathing speeds up when I step too close to him. And today, when I’d leaned over at his car window, he couldn’t keep his eyes off my breasts. I bite my lip. I have no doubt that he will be racing back home to fist his cock while he thinks about me.

“Thanks for looking after me, Noah. I appreciate it.”

As I say the words, I let my fingers slide up his thigh, over his jeans. His body tenses against my touch as my hand brushes over his very hard erection. I smirk at him and exit the car, not looking back as I strut up my driveway.

If that doesn’t get his attention, nothing will.