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savannah

Dad: Got dinner plans tonight? I’m going to meet Leo and Paige. Want to pick me up and tag along?

Savannah: Bummer. I’ve got a hot date with my textbooks.

Dad: It’s Friday night.

Savannah: Exams wait for no one.

Three dots appear and then disappear, and guilt tugs a little in my stomach.

Without being able to see his face, I can’t tell if he's suspicious of me or not. He’s never had to be concerned, considering I’ve never lied to him before.

After my mom died, Leo and I were all he had.

We were all each other had. I don’t enjoy lying to him, but unfortunately, I enjoy how things are going with Noah too much to stop.

Dad: I guess. But if this has to do with meeting Paige, just know your brother is really excited about her.

Of course he would think I’m blowing them off because of my aversion to meeting new people. I can’t even be mad. I deserve that.

Savannah: It's not, promise. Tell Leo hi and I’m looking forward to meeting her at the next dinner.

Dad: Love ya, kid.

The Den has been nonstop with customers since my shift started five hours ago, which is fine, because the alternative is a slow shift full of awkward conversations—or being ignored—by my coworkers.

I guess when you blow people off enough times, they not only stop inviting you out, but they stop talking to you all together.

I didn’t think it was a sin that I just wanted to be work friends.

I’ve never gone out of my way to be rude or unkind, but both Kelly and Monica took it as a personal attack that I only wanted to talk while pouring coffee.

Neither of them can fathom that someone wouldn’t want to spend their weekends with them on top of that.

To be clear, it has nothing to do with them.

I’m sure that, had I shown up to any of the five parties they invited me to, they would have been lovely.

I’m just not interested. Jokes on me, though, because now Kelly is about as fun to work with as a pissed-off hippo.

I write down the last coffee order, and since there’s no one else in line, I walk it over to Monica rather than sliding the cup down the counter.

“Noah Kingston?” My ears perk up at Kelly’s nasally voice, but I don’t make any other movements. “Not interested.” She huffs a laugh, and I shouldn’t feel as relieved as I do, especially considering she doesn’t sound the least bit believable.

“He’s so fucking full of himself, and if he’s not thinking about himself, he’s thinking about hockey. Imagine trying to hook up with him and he’s thinking about his last goal.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s hot, I’ll give him that, but I bet he sucks in bed.”

Part of me wants to clue her in on how wrong she is, while the other half of me wants to pump my fist in the air and do a happy dance because she doesn’t know. There’s also a slightly unhinged little lunatic on my shoulder begging me to smack her for talking about him like that.

Noah might not need me to stick up for him, but he definitely deserves it.

“I’ve heard from plenty with first-hand experience who can confirm that he, in fact, does not suck in bed.” Monica's whispered response is the final straw that pisses me off.

I spin on my heel to face them, opening my mouth, but Peter pushes off the counter he’s been leaning on and speaks first.

“I don’t think you have to worry about what Noah is like in bed. He’s been in here almost every day since the semester started and he’s never given either of you a second look.”

Kelly scrunches her nose, and her mouth turns up in disgust, while Monica’s jaw drops beside her.

I suddenly find myself the world’s biggest Peter fan. I’m not sure if he said it because he’s the world’s biggest Noah’s fan, or if he’s just as tired of listening to their shit as I am, but either way, I shoot him a grateful smile .

“Speak of the devil,” he whispers with a boyish grin before heading to the back.

The large glass door is covered in a light dusting of snow, but he’s unmistakable.

When he enters, it takes less than a second for his eyes to find mine, and when they do, my stomach free falls.

It’s been three days since we were last together.

The team had an away game yesterday, and he was training non-stop prior.

Three days shouldn’t feel as long as they did, considering I’ve been avoiding him for years, but when I found my phone attached to my hand, not wanting to miss the handful of free moments he had to text me—I knew something had changed.

“Savvy.”

“Golden Boy.” The corner of his mouth tilts up at the nickname. “How was practice?”

“Surprisingly nice.”

“Yeah?” I grab a sixteen-ounce cup and begin making a double shot of espresso.

“Yeah. My dad went out of town again, so I’m only on a one-practice-a-day schedule until Wednesday.” He rubs at the back of his neck and drops his head to his shoulder. “Gives me some time to catch up on my school load.”

I’m not a professional athlete—although I grew up with one, and my dad coaches them—but there’s something off about how Noah’s dad trains him.

It’s tough at best, and borderline abusive at worst. What’s even more concerning is the way he tries to hide it, and how he continues to stick up for him.

At first glance, Noah looks as good as he always does.

Bundled in an oversized black jacket and his black LCU Lions sweats, the look is so simple, yet he makes it look so good.

His smile never falters, but the longer I look at him, the clearer the dark circles under his eyes become.

My fingers flex, wanting to drag a comforting touch through his hair.

I never miss the way he sighs and how his shoulders drop when I run my fingers down the back of his head.

This desire to want to help him relax is definitely a new feeling for me, but I can’t say I hate it.

Since I can’t do anything about his training plan, I offer the next best thing.

“Should we hit the library when I’m done? We could sneak in a little study sesh?”

“I’d rather go somewhere more private and study something that can’t be found in any of my textbooks.” His eyes trail down my body and I feel my cheeks heat.

I playfully roll my eyes before taking a quick peek around, making sure no one is paying us any attention. I hand him his Americano. “Go sit down. I’ll be done in half an hour.”

Thirty brutally long minutes later, I toss off my apron, shove it in my bag, and all but slide over the countertop like it’s the hood of a muscle car. In reality, I walk at a normal pace to the couch, where Noah has been waiting for me with a devilish smile on his face.

“So… Chloe went home for the weekend.”

“Yeah?” Noah stands, and I crane my neck back to keep my eyes on him. I swallow, fighting the urge to put my hands all over him. It feels like a losing battle when he leans in closer, keeping only an inch of space between us.

“Her grandma’s seventieth birthday,” I offer lamely.

“Cute.” The corner of his full lips tilt up in that signature smirk of his that’s half charm, half sin, and his eyes bore into me. He resembles a predator taking pleasure in toying with his prey.

“So, do you want?—”

“Savannah.”

“Huh?”

“Take me to your apartment.”

My hair lifts from the wind as I shut the door to my apartment.

Noah’s cold hand finds the side of my neck, and he drops his lips to my mouth.

My eyes widen briefly before falling shut, and my heart skips a beat when I realize what’s happening.

The stark difference between the chill of his hands and the warmth flowing from my chest to the pit of my stomach—and lower still—is tantalizing.

His mouth presses to mine, and his tongue parts my lips. I welcome him by fisting the dark fabric of his jacket and melting into his kiss. I knew I missed him while he was gone, but I didn’t understand to what capacity until this moment.

When his lips slow and we part by only a few inches, he drops his forehead to mine, whispering, “I’ve been waiting for that.”

He drapes his jacket over the stool on his way to the couch.

I hastily scoop up an empty Chinese food takeout box and a yogurt cup from this morning, throwing them in the trash.

My apartment screams, ‘ I wasn’t expecting a boy to come over today,’ and I’m about to dive for the orange peels on the coffee table, but Noah catches my forearm, and I freeze.

His hand electrifies my skin as it slides down to my wrist and his thumb strokes, lazily at the delicate skin there.

I ignore the state of my apartment as my sensitive skin throbs beneath his touch, sparking a match inside me.

“Are you hungry?” My voice is barely audible, so I clear it and try again. “We could go out and get some food.”

“I don’t want to go out.” His voice is the opposite of mine. Sure. Confident. Dark. “I just want to be alone with you.”

I sit down beside him, and my breath hitches when he drops to the floor on his knees in front of me.

The sight sends a shiver down my spine and a wave of anticipation between my legs.

I have to stop myself from pressing my hips forward when Noah hooks his fingers into my leggings and to the tiny scrap of fabric underneath.

One nod of his head, and I lift my hips. His eyes never leave mine, and in one fluid motion, he strips off my pants and tosses them to the floor beside him.

My heart thrums, and my throat goes dry as his hands glide up and down my legs before stopping at my knees and spreading me open.

Oh god. It’s one thing for him to be between my legs while I’m draped in nothing but the moonlight in his dark bedroom.

It’s an entirely different feeling to be spread out in front of him in my living room, with the sunlight gleaming off the bright, white snow beyond the bay window, his face just inches away from my throbbing center. It feels completely obscene.