Page 36 of Fifty-Fifty

I’m in trouble.

Chapter Twelve

Noah

I never would’ve believed that a car seat held magical powers, but with Beau’s reaction to the damn piece of plastic, I can now attest to the opposite.

Whatever happened in the cab of my truck was enough to put me on the edge of my seat. What had started out as a simple paint job is holding the promise of so much more.

I shake my head, scattering my thoughts as I finish pouring some of the paint into the sprayer. I figure that things will go by a lot faster if one of us uses the sprayer and the other goes back over things with the paint roller to make things even.

“Noah!” a voice yells from upstairs.

I tilt my head in hopes of hearing her better. “Yeah?”

“Can you come upstairs for a minute?”

My brows furrow as I do as I’m told. “Coming.”

Stopping in front of her bedroom door, I raise my hand and rap my knuckles against the solid oak.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The door opens an inch, revealing Beau’s crystal blue eyes as they shift back and forth between me and the wall behind me. “Hi,” she mumbles awkwardly.

My lips tilt up in amusement. “Hi. Can I help you?”

She grimaces before saying, “Uh, do you happen to have any shirts that you wouldn’t mind gettin’ paint on? My wardrobe is pretty sparse, and I don’t really wanna ruin anything.”

I hold my breath as I consider my answer.

Beau. In my shirt.

I’ve officially died and gone to heaven.

She opens the door another inch, giving me a glimpse of her bare shoulder with only her bra strap acting as coverage. My imagination takes the tiny patch of skin and runs wild. Creating image after image that play one after another in a lust-filled haze of potential.

So. Many. Possibilities.

“Noah?” Her voice brings me back to the present, and I somehow manage to pull my gaze from her naked skin.

Clearing my throat, I shake my head to scatter my thoughts.

“Yeah. Be right back.”

I rush to my room, grabbing the first thing I can get my hands on before slipping it through the three-inch space between her door and the doorframe.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, making her voice sound like sex on a stick.

Holding her stare with my own, I mumble, “You’re welcome.”

I fly down the stairs, taking them two at a time as I try to get my breathing under control.

This is bad. This is very bad.

I don’t want to hurt her. But I want her more than I can breathe, and there’s only so much self-control that a bastard like me possesses.

Pacing the floors, I anxiously wait for Beau to appear so we can get started. After five minutes, I finally throw in the towel and pick up the sprayer.

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