Page 11 of Lovers in Lockdown

The words come out unintentionally laced with sadness. My ex-boyfriend used to call me crazy all the time. And not even just in arguments. I heard that word on a daily basis and every single time he said it, another piece of my self-esteem would evaporate. I guess that when you hear something enough times, you start to believe it.

But the way that Noah says it, smiling and laughing, teasing me in a gentle way - in a way that lets me in on the joke, instead of makingmethe joke - I don’t hate it quite as much.

‘No fun in being normal anyway,’ he says and winks at me.

My stomach flutters. Heck, it does more than that. It’s like a kaleidoscope of butterflies having a drum and bass rave in my stomach. Noah winking should be a criminal offence. There is no way that something so sexy could be legal. Seriously. If he did that to a fainter-hearted woman she would undoubtedly go into cardiac arrest.

I just count myself lucky that I made it through with my life.

When our pizzas arrive, we eat in comfortable silence. Noah smirks at my pineapple and I do my best to ignore him smearing egg sauce over his mind-numbingly boring pizza. I’m sure Reid told me once that Noah’s a chef, but what kind of chef has such a pitifully bland palette? By the time we’re finished, it’s late and I’m exhausted.

‘You know I wasn’t lying when I said I’d take the couch?’ Noah says gently, noticing me yawning.

I raise my eyebrows. ‘You’re the size of a fire engine, there’s no way you’ll be able to fit.’

‘Hey, I’m surprisingly flexible. I’ll be just fine.’

I’m too tired to argue. And, selfishly, the bed sounds a hell of a lot more comfortable than the couch, despite that terrifying painting hanging above the headboard. But, honestly, I am so exhausted, I’d sleep in the bath at this point.

‘Promise?’

‘Promise. Now go to bed or I’ll carry you there myself.’

Heat floods my cheeks at the thought of Noah throwing me over his shoulder like a fireman and carrying me to bed.

‘Don’t think I won’t.’ He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

Half of me wants to challenge him, see if he really will swoop me up and carry me to the bedroom. See if he’ll do anything else after he’s got me there. But the tired, sensible, boring side of me knows that it’s best to just do what he says and go to bed on my own.

‘Have sweet dreams, Honey,’ Noah whispers after me, as I stumble down the hallway to bed.

And I do. All night, I have the sweetest dreams of a handsome giant, bitten lips, almost kisses and pizza toppings.

And it’s the best night sleep I’ve had in a long time.

CHAPTER SIX

Noah

Holy shit. That was the worst night sleep of my fucking life. A hay bale would have been more comfortable.

I don’t know what Reid has done to that couch, but it feels like he’s been stuffing the cushions with wooden planks. It was honestly like sleeping on a stone floor. And don’t even get me started on the state of the leather. Something in that material has made me so excessively itchy that I am genuinely concerned it has given me an infectious disease.

I give up on sleep all together around six am and root around in the kitchen. Among the very few things Reid has left for us to eat are a half dozen eggs and a frozen loaf of bread.

I seriously need to go grocery shopping.

And while I’m not entirely confident about how safe the eggs are to eat, there are no other options for breakfast. I’ll just have to cook the shit out of them, because I don’t really fancy coming down with salmonella over the weekend and I’m not sure Honey does either.

Speaking of the devil, Honey stumbles into the kitchen wearing a tiny pair of pink plaid pyjama shorts and a matching satin strappy top, her hair rustled, eyes groggy and cheeks flushed from sleep. Her tan skin glows golden like she has just spent the last week sunning herself in the Caribbean, and her pyjama shorts cling to the globes of her ass like cellophane. Her legs are surprisingly long for her height and I can’t help imagining what they’d look like wrapped around my shoulders.

All the blood in my body suddenly runs south and I have to edge behind the kitchen island to stop my dick from giving her a morning salute.

‘Morning,’ she yawns, taking a seat at the counter. She lifts the cup of coffee I’d originally made for myself to her lips, takes a sip and moans quietly. I want to collapse on the floor at her feet and beg her to moan like that again.

I seriously need this boner to go away.

‘How do you like your eggs?’ I ask, pouring myself another cup of coffee and hoping that I actually get to drink it this time.

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