Page 35 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

Noah

The bathroom quickly filled with steam, thick and warm, curling around us as we stepped into the shower. The hot water cascaded down on us like a warm caress, rushing over my shoulders, soaking into my skin, washing away the remnants of the night, but not the feeling of him.

Evan moved toward me, his body fitting against mine with a familiarity that still managed to unnerve me.

It was the way I reached for him, the way my hands found the smooth skin of his back, the firm press of his hips against me.

The way our bodies just fit together perfectly.

I didn’t even have to think about it anymore.

I pulled Evan close, arms circling his waist, as we stood under the torrent of water.

I just want him. Want this all the time. And that admittedly scared me.

His lips found mine, warm and soft beneath the steady cascade of water, and I let myself sink into the moment, into him.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to unravel me.

I dug my hands into his waist, pulling him even closer.

Like maybe if I didn’t let go, I wouldn’t have to face what might happen between us.

He wasn’t just in my bed anymore. He was in my bones. My soul.

The heat between us grew, our hands moving in tandem, exploring, learning, rediscovering.

Every touch sent another ripple of want through me, every caress making it harder to remember why I ever held back.

The water slicked over our bodies, turning our movements effortless, making every glide of his touch against my skin feel electric .

I let my hands wander, following the lines of his body, relearning him in the dim glow of the shower.

His muscles tensed beneath my touch, a quiet moan escaping from his lips when I found a sensitive spot just above his hip.

I needed to hear more of that. Needed to pull more sounds from him, to feel him lose himself in me the way I was losing myself in him.

He broke away just long enough to grab the soap, lathering up his hands before sliding them over my chest. I inhaled the clean smell of the soap as he traced the contours of my shoulders, my arms, my stomach, every inch of me like he was trying to memorize it.

My breath stuttered as he dipped lower, his touch featherlight.

I couldn’t stop staring at him. At the way his lips parted just slightly as he focused on me, at the way the droplets clung to his lashes, at the way his skin flushed beneath my touch. How the hell did this happen? How had I let him get this close?

And why? Why didn’t I want to stop him?

As we washed each other, our cocks grew hard once more.

I couldn’t resist reaching out to touch Evan’s erection.

When I wrapped my hand around him, stroking slowly, his head tipped forward against my shoulder nuzzling into my neck.

A deep, mmm slipped out of him. I swallowed hard, pressing my lips to his neck, dragging my teeth gently along the damp skin.

“Noah…” His voice was barely a whisper, but it was everything.

I turned him around to hold him from behind, my cock pressing against his ass as we stood under the hot water. My lips found their way to his neck, tracing a path of kisses along his skin. Evan’s hands came up to grasp my hips, holding me close as I reached around to stroke his hard cock.

I turned him in my arms, bringing us chest to chest, our slick bodies pressing together as we moved against each other.

Our cocks were pressed together now, moving in tandem as we stroked each other towards climax.

The sensation was almost too much to bear, every nerve ending seemed to be on fire as we moved together under the hot water.

The friction was unbearable, perfect, and neither of us held back the groan that followed.

This was different. This wasn’t just heat. It was need. Desperate, aching, real.

I didn’t know how to hold it. Didn’t know if I could.

I told him, “Tell me when you are close. I want to cum with you.”

Evan’s hands clutched at my waist, pulling me in, his body melting into mine as we rocked together, breathless.

“Noah, now,” he stammered out through ragged breathing.

When the orgasms finally crashed over us, it wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic, it was a slow, shattering climax that left me gasping against his lips, my forehead pressed to his.

We both came at once, our bodies arching backwards in unison as we erupted into orgasm.

The sound that escaped our lips was almost primal, a raw, feral cry that echoed off the walls of the shower.

We stood there, chests heaving, hands still clutching each other like we might disappear if we let go.

Like neither of us wanted to.

After we caught our breath and rinsed off, I turned off the water and reached for a towel before turning back to him. He was watching me; his stare locked onto mine.

I swallowed and stepped forward, dragging the towel over his skin in slow, careful movements. He let me, standing still as I dried him off, his lips twitched like he wanted to say something, but didn’t.

I was grateful for that. Because I didn’t know what to say either.

We climbed into bed, tangled together beneath the sheets, exhaustion pulling at our limbs, our bodies still damp, our breathing still slightly uneven.

I held him close, pressing my face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in like I needed him to survive.

Exhausted, spent, but content, we held onto each other tightly, neither of us letting go even as sleep pulled us under.

The last thing I remembered before drifting into darkness was the warmth, the safety, the quiet security of being held close, body, heart, and soul, with the one person I couldn’t seem to let go of.

The airport pulsed with the usual chaos: families juggling too many bags and too few hands, business travelers glued to laptops, couples in various states of affection or irritation.

But where we sat, tucked into the corner of Gate C9 with our legs stretched out and an overpriced bottle of water between us, it felt like none of it touched us.

Evan was beside me, scrolling through the photos on his phone, his knee brushing mine every so often like he didn’t even notice he was doing it. Or maybe he did. I wasn’t sure when the small touches had stopped feeling like surprises and started feeling like anchors, but here we were .

I leaned over to catch a glimpse of his screen.

“I see the infamous ferry photo made the cut,” I said, pointing to the image of him with his hood flipped halfway inside-out and his face lit with that ridiculous, wind-chapped grin.

He groaned dramatically. “You promised.”

“I lied.”

“You’re a monster.”

“A lovable monster.”

He nudged me with his elbow. “Debatable.”

The boarding call echoed overhead, and we stood together, merging into the slow-moving line. He slung his bag over one shoulder, his hoodie bunched beneath it, and gave me a sleepy grin. “Window seat’s mine, right?”

I nodded. “As long as you don’t do the thing where you narrate every cloud you see.”

“No promises.”

Settling into our row near the back, he tossed his bag under the seat and immediately leaned against the window, already half-asleep before takeoff. I sat beside him, pretending to get comfortable, but the truth was, I was too aware of every inch of space between us. Or maybe the lack of it.

The plane lifted into the air, and the city slowly shrank beneath us, buildings becoming blocks, roads like veins branching out across the skin of the earth. Evan’s head lolled toward me, his eyes still closed, and I hesitated just a second before I reached out and laced my fingers with his.

His thumb brushed mine once, Just once. But it was enough. He didn’t open his eyes. Just settled deeper into my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A flight attendant passed by, paused just briefly enough to clock our hands, and gave me a quiet, knowing smile. Not the kind that makes your stomach tighten, not the kind that scans you like a headline. Just a small one. Warm. Human.

And for once, I didn’t flinch at being seen.

I turned to glance at him, his face relaxed, lips parted just slightly in sleep, a curl falling over his forehead, and something strange tugged in my chest. Something deep and low and terrifyingly calm. The kind of feeling I usually ran from. But I didn’t run now.

Instead, I let myself think about how I could still smell his cologne, warm, woodsy, and a little citrusy from the soap he used at the hotel.

I thought about the way he’d looked out over the Puget Sound, eyes lit with wonder, talking about marine biology like he still remembered every detail from the major he almost pursued.

I wondered what would’ve happened if he had.

If he’d followed that path. If he’d never ended up in Havenwood.

Would our lives have brushed past each other like strangers in an airport terminal? Would I have sat alone on this flight, stuck in my head, arms crossed like armor, pretending I didn’t want more?

But he had ended up in Havenwood.

And now, here he was, asleep on my shoulder, warm and solid and real, while I held his hand like maybe I was finally learning how not to let go.

I closed my eyes and let my head rest against his, the steady thrum of the engine soft beneath us.

I didn’t need to make sense of it all right now.

For once, I just let myself have the moment.

The drive back from the airport was quieter than the flight, but not in a bad way.

Evan hummed along to the playlist he’d insisted on curating the night before we left, mostly indie pop with a few chaotic wild cards thrown in, and kept one foot tucked up on the passenger seat like he was still trying to stretch out after the flight.

He talked about a weird billboard we passed, then a podcast he was half-listening to lately, and I let him ramble because I liked the sound of his voice when he wasn’t trying to be charming. Just… Evan. Slightly hoarse from sleep, relaxed, grounded.

The sky had gone full indigo by the time I pulled up to his building. Streetlights flickered on, casting soft pools of yellow light across the sidewalk. I shifted into park and turned to him.

“I can get your bags,” I offered, already reaching for the trunk button.

He placed a hand on mine. “I’ve got it.”

“I know,” I said. “Still.”

He smiled, soft, tired, sincere. “You’re kind of sweet when you’re not being stubborn.”

“That’s slander.”

Evan stepped out, grabbed his backpack from the back seat, then leaned in through the open passenger door, one arm braced on the roof of the car .

“Text me when you get home,” he said, not in that passive way people usually said it, but with a steady look that meant I’ll worry if you don’t.

I nodded. “Yeah. I will.”

He dipped down then, not rushing it, just leaned in and kissed me.

It was gentle, lingering, with the taste of airport coffee still faint on his lips.

It wasn’t a goodbye so much as a see you soon, and when he pulled back, he pressed his forehead lightly to mine before stepping away and shutting the door.

I sat there for a second after he disappeared into his building, headlights still cutting across the empty street, fingers ghosting over my bottom lip like I could somehow hold onto the moment a little longer.

The drive back to my place was short, familiar. I didn’t even remember half of it. My brain was still at the curb with Evan.

By the time I pulled into my complex, the familiar click of the car settling into park felt louder than it should’ve. I grabbed my bag and climbed the stairs to my apartment, my legs heavier than they’d been all trip.

Once I was inside, shoes kicked off, keys dropped in the bowl, I collapsed onto the couch and pulled out my phone.

Noah : Made it home safe.

Evan Mitchell : Good. I would’ve hunted you down if you’d ghosted.

Noah : Not really my style.

Evan Mitchell : Debatable.

Noah : Okay, fair. But seriously, thanks for coming on the trip.

Evan Mitchell : Of course.

Noah : I know I said it already, but it really was the best work trip I’ve ever had. Like by a mile.

Evan Mitchell : Even with the data panel that made your soul leave your body?

Noah : Especially with that. You made everything better.

Evan Mitchell : Well, I do love being a glorified emotional support himbo.

Noah : You’re elite at it.

Evan Mitchell : I’m exhausted. But yeah. Let’s do it again.

Noah : Yeah.

Evan Mitchell : Night, Noah.

Noah : Night, Evan .

I set my phone down on my chest and stared at the ceiling for a while, my heart annoyingly full, my body too tired to fight it.

The screen lit up again.

Evan Mitchell : [Photo attachment] Sweet dreams, grumpy tech bro.

I opened it.

He was lying shirtless in bed, hair tousled, lips puckered in an exaggerated kissy face.

The sheets were low on his hips, teasing on purpose, clearly, and I could see the curve of his shoulder, the little mole I’d noticed on the trip, the glint of mischief still there even in the dim lighting of his bedroom.

I laughed. Quiet, full-bodied, involuntary.

God, he was ridiculous.

And stupidly hot.

I saved the photo. Didn’t even try to pretend I wouldn’t look at it again.

Then I set the phone down on the charger, this time for good, pulled the blankets up and let the warmth in my chest carry me off to sleep.