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MILLIE

Such a chicken

On New Year’s Eve, I head to Noah’s house for a low-key night in.

Noah meant what he said about getting back into training after Christmas.

Callum implemented a strict training regimen for him, and all four boys are off the booze out of solidarity.

To avoid any temptations, Noah’s invited me for a night in where we can watch the fireworks from his deck.

“Are we boring for staying in?” Noah’s forehead creases with concern as he greets me at the door. He’s shirtless, unsurprisingly, and my gaze greedily drags across his tanned muscles, lingering at the ‘v’ shape dipping under his waistband.

“No, we’re not boring,” I reply, meeting his gaze. “This is my dream scenario. New Year’s Eve is overrated.”

“Dream scenario, hey?” Noah grins, curling an arm around my waist and pulling me in close.

“I was referring to the fact I get to wear comfortable clothes, avoid overpriced drinks and thousands of drunk people.”

“Sure, you were.” Noah leans down and kisses me, and I circle my arms around his neck. He’s such a good kisser. It’s easy to get lost in the way his lips move against mine. When he sweeps his tongue inside my mouth, my stomach somersaults and a moan involuntarily slips from my throat.

He leans back to look at me, smirking. “Get inside, you horny devil.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” I reply innocently, skipping inside. I hear Noah chuckle as he closes the door behind me.

When I head towards the kitchen, the unmistakable fragrances of garlic and onion and herbs waft into my nostrils, my eyes widening in delight when I see the benchtop covered in ingredients and a pot simmering on the stove.

I spin to face Noah. “You’re cooking?”

“You finally get to experience my other meatballs,” he says cheekily. He heads around to the pot and stirs it. “Come, try my sauce.”

I head towards him as Noah scoops a tiny dribble of red sauce onto the wooden spoon. He turns to me, cupping my chin as he steers the spoon into my mouth. He watches me as I taste it, and I can’t help but groan. “Holy moly, that’s good.”

“I know right?” Noah smiles proudly, stirring his pot again.

“You’re right,” I admit. “A man cooking is very effective at wooing a woman. If you had a shirt on, I’d tear it off you.”

“Look at you getting brazen with your sexy talk,” he purrs, pulling me into his hips again.

I fall against him. “You bring it out of me. Plus, that pasta sauce? Perfection.”

“See? I told you.”

I delicately run my fingers over his chest, circling his birthmark a few times, before running them down his six-pack. He has so many muscles and I can’t believe I get to touch them because I want to.

“Stop trying to distract me,” Noah warns.

“I’m not doing anything.” I fight my smile as my hands linger at the waistband of his shorts.

Noah grabs my wrist with a grunt. “You’re not getting out of the reason you’re here.”

“It’s not for heaps of sex?”

Noah huffs. “Well, not only that.”

“You sure?”

Noah shakes his head, and I can tell it’s taking a lot of strength to not succumb to sex on the kitchen floor right now. “You brought your camera, right? And your laptop?”

“Yes.” I hear the reluctance in my voice.

“You have any thoughts on what you’re going to do, or do you want to hear my ideas?” Noah pulls me into the living room where we sit on the couch.

“What are your ideas?”

Noah rubs his hands together. “What I said the other day. Host an intimate event at your café. Maybe something in the evening where people can dress up and come eat snacks and look at your stuff.”

“I don’t know if people will want to do that,” I argue.

Noah frowns. “Why not?”

“Because I’m a nobody in terms of photography,” I explain. “People won’t put on a fancy dress and spend their night at a café looking at ten photographs from someone they’ve never heard of.”

“You have an Instagram account with over twenty thousand followers and people actively engaged in your work,” Noah argues. “You’re saying this because you don’t want to take the mask off.”

I cover my face. “I like wearing a mask.”

Noah peels my fingers back. “It’s time to let people see you, Maelstrom. Slap your name proudly on your work. Don’t be ashamed of trying.”

Every time I imagine printing out my work, signing them, putting them on display, anxiety butterflies kick in.

They start to dance, whispering words of self-doubt and hesitation, as well as drops of potential.

What if I could make a career out of this one day ?

Noah’s right, I do have a decent following online, but it’s always felt safe and secure because I’ve never shared my identity.

This is leaving the nest. This is complete exposure.

“What do you think?” Noah prompts.

“I like the idea of using the store,” I agree. “But I think something during opening hours would be better. That way regulars and tourists can come in and have a look without the pressure. I don’t want anyone pretending to be interested.”

Noah snorts. “No one will be pretending, but I see your point.”

“Most of my photos are beach or nature themed, with humans as the features. It’d fit in with the beachy vibe of the store and I could also put them in without shouting they’re mine. Maybe put them on the shelves and see if we get any bites. We take artwork from locals all the time.”

Noah shakes his head. “You’re such a chicken.”

“It’s a step up from doing nothing!”

“Exclusive photography exhibit with champagne,” Noah insists.

“Why does there have to be champagne?” I cry.

“If one of your friends wrote a book, what would you do?” he asks, crossing his arms. “You’d celebrate them. Throw them a book launch party. If one of your friends wrote music or starred in a movie, you’d celebrate it. You’d host a screening and tell everybody.”

“You don’t have to throw a party every time someone creates something,” I argue.

“But you should ,” Noah runs a hand through his brown locks, his curls bouncing. “When I win the championship next year, I expect a month of celebrations.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not.” Noah grabs my hands. “You’ve got to celebrate the big and small and everything in between. Life’s too short, Maelstrom. Show off what you can do in style.”

I sigh, studying Noah’s earnest face as I process his words. He’s adamant about me doing this and after a few seconds of me pausing for too long, he grins in victory.

My shoulders drop in resignation. “Fine.”

“ Yes! ” Noah retrieves his phone from his pocket. “My phone’s dead. Give me yours so I can use the calendar.”

“Invest in a better phone,” I say, handing him mine. “Or better yet. Remember to charge yours.”

“Why? So people can pester me all day? No, thank you. Let’s look at dates.”

By the time we eventually agree on a date that might work (a Saturday afternoon less than three weeks from today), I’m about ready to revert to my stance against the entire idea.

“The fact neither of us can make any of these suggested dates should be a sign,” I huff. “The date we’ve picked is the same day as our free haircuts morning and the Salt Skin event.”

Noah grins. “You ain’t wiggling out of this. I’ll take one of the boys to the event while you get it set up. We’ll be back in time for it, and it’ll give me a great excuse to do my business rounds and leave. I’m texting Ellis.”

I glare at him as he types with my phone. “While we’re at it, can you charge your phone, please? What if there’s an emergency and I need to cancel the event?”

Noah shakes his head, placing my phone on the coffee table. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I like being behind the camera,” I remind him. “Not in front of it like you. You fame whore.”

Noah’s mouth drops open in mock surprise. “How dare you insinuate I’m a fame whore.”

“You live for the attention.”

Noah narrows his eyes before he lunges for me, tackling me to my back on the couch. I shriek with surprise as he nuzzles his face into my neck, nipping at the delicate skin. “You’re getting more lippy the more we hang out.”

“You like it,” I taunt.

I let out a desperate breath at the contact from his mouth.

How perfect his weight feels on top of me.

Noah slides a hand down between us and rubs my thigh over my sundress, sending shivers through my bones.

He kisses the side of my neck, moving slowly towards my face before hovering above my mouth, while continuing his slow hand movement between my legs.

“I love when you give me shit,” he growls, nipping my bottom lip. “It’s hot when you tell me off.”

“You must’ve loved me since the minute we reconnected,” I say with a grin.

Noah stares down at me, his green eyes searching my face for something I can’t discern. “Damn straight, Maelstrom.”

I swallow down a sudden wave of nerves as Noah kisses me with an energy that sets my body on fire.

It’s slow and teasing, our tongues swirling together in between nips and bites of our lips.

I run my hands over his stubble as it tickles my chin.

His body rubs against mine, his hardness pressing into my stomach is almost painful.

I lift my hips on instinct, grinding myself against him as I run my hands through his hair, pulling his face closer. The shift in movement takes our tempo from slow and sensual to urgent and Noah swallows my pants, kissing me so desperately I barely have time to draw breath.

In a matter of seconds, my dress ends up over my head and on the floor, my bra and panties following in quick succession. Noah somehow removes his shorts and underwear and then we’re both naked, Noah still on top of me, breathing heavily.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you since you left the other day,” he admits. His green eyes glisten with uninhibited lust as he pushes my hair from my forehead.

“Me too,” I breathe.

“Your body feels so good underneath me.” He lifts himself up on one elbow and peers down between us, using his other hand to guide himself over me. “And on top of me. And next to me.”