Page 44 of Little Monster
I’m about to roll my eyes and tell him how ridiculous that is, but he sinks back onto the couch and presses a kiss against my mouth before I can get the words out. Then he’s stealing the controller out of my hands, pausing my game, and running a hand through my hair in a way that makes my insides dance.
In his hands, I melt like butter, and there’s no resistance in me as he lifts me up and into his lap. The afternoon sunlight streams through the windows, bright and yellow andwarm, and it turns Dex’s eyes a lighter shade of blue, like the Colorado sky on a frigid winter day.
Suddenly, I want to take him home, back to the town I grew up in. I want to show him the elementary school I attended and buy him hot chocolate at my favorite coffee shop. I want to know what he’d look like standing in a winter storm, cheeks pink from the cold and eyelashes sprinkled with snowflakes. The longing to have him rises up in me so fiercely that it takes my breath away.
He’s staring back at me, brow slightly furrowed, his lip ring shining in the light. His hand, tattooed and calloused from the guitar strings, traces the line of my cheek, then pushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You’re fucking beautiful.”
The way he says it, with a hint of something that almost sounds like reverence, makes me want to believe him. But I’m just me. Just Nora. And he’s...
Exquisite.
Something must cross my face, because his eyes narrow, seeming to study me.
“What?” he asks, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger.
All I can do is shake my head. “Nothing.”
“There’s no such thing, Nora.”
Fuck. The way he says my name, it’s like magic, and it does things to me I wish it wouldn’t.
Dex’s phone starts to ring, startling us both, and I pull away and slide off his lap. I need to clear to my head. He could probably make me forget my own name.
“What’s up?” he says into the phone as I pad into the kitchen and grab a glass from the cupboard. “Okay, man. I’m at Nora’s.”
A thrill goes through me. He’s not hiding it, isn’t pretending like I don’t exist. Which I suppose is what I’ve expected all along. I thought he’d be embarrassed of me. After all, I’m certainly not the caliber of woman he’s used to being with.
There’s a pause, and though I can’t hear what the person on the phone says, it makes Dex smile mischievously, and his eyes find mine from across the kitchen. The look he gives me sends heat curling between my legs, and I quickly down the rest of my water.
“All right, I’ll text you the address. Later.” Dex hangs up the phone and stuffs it into his pocket, then stands from the couch. “Michael’s on his way. Gotta go film promo for the tour.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He has to leave sometime, obviously, but it’s still a letdown. Maybe it’s for the best. Having him here, all I want to do is kiss him and touch him and watch the way his mouth moves when he smiles. He’s a distraction, an ocean I could easily drown in.
And I can’t let that happen.
Dex moves toward me, and as he passes through the shafts of sunlight streaming through the windows, his hair turns a shade of shimmering gold. Not for the first time, I wonder how it’s humanly possible to look so carelessly and effortlessly gorgeous.
“So,” he says, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his bare chest.
“So,” I echo, suddenly feeling like I’m standing naked on a brightly lit stage.
When he looks at me like that, it’s like he’s able to see through me, can see exactly what I’m thinking, and it makes me start to shut down; he can’t know what he does to me, what I feel when I hear his voice. When I look away and begin absently scratching at a nonexistent stain on the countertop, Dex starts to laugh.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re getting shy again.”
“No,” I snap, crossing my arms in a stance that matches his. “I’m not shy.”
“No?” His voice is playful, taunting. “Are you sure?”
Now he’s closing the distance between us, stealing my breath away as he pushes me back against the cabinets. He braces his hands on the counter on either side of me, and my pulse thunders in response to his proximity. I have to tip my head back to meet his stare, and when I do, he arches an eyebrow. The challenge goes unspoken, but I feel it.
If he thinks I’m going to shrink away, he’s wrong.
