Page 49 of Numbers Boy
Blake: lolololol you guys are waffle
Blake: Are you bringing me any dick home, dude?
Me: Sorry, Blakey-poo, Noah’s dick is all mine tonight *winky face emoji*
Stu-boo: Get yours, Stevie!
Blake: That nickname better not stick, Stevie Boy
Me: *angel emoji*
Noah: Yeah, too late for that, Blakey-poo *poop emoji*
Blake: *middle finger emoji* *middle finger emoji**middle finger emoji*
Blake: I hope you choke on those dicks
Stu-boo: Are you threatening them with a good time?
Noah and I let them go back and forth as we make our way through our waffles, conversation continuing to come easily. And in between topics, we sit in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence. Not once have I been worried about looking pretty or saying the wrong thing or making sure Noah is fully here with me in the moment. I feel another weight break free from my chest, floating away with the light spring breeze.
Soon, we’re down to the last willie, the pb and j one. The length is dipped in a peanut butter sauce, and there’s a jelly filling. A little bit of the jelly is oozing out from the end, so I make sure I catch Noah’s eye before licking the drop slowly. He watches intently, and it’s as if the world narrows to just the two of us. Noah’s hand finds my thigh, squeezing gently, then inching toward my crotch. I suck the tip, sugary raspberry flavor coating my taste buds. Noah leans in, his fingertips grazing my erection, and licks a soft stripe across my lips.
“So. Fucking. Sweet.”
I feel my cheeks warm, heat pooling in my stomach from the combination of his wicked touch and passionate words. Myeyelids flutter closed as I lean closer, lost in my need to kiss him. To taste him as well. Just as my mouth brushes his, a car honks from down the street, causing both of us to start. We pull back, and I realize just how close we’ve gotten while life continued on around us. I’m feeling a little more sympathetic for Greg and Andrew at our recent football game. If Noah had tackled me to the ground, I would have forgotten about everything else, too.
Noah clears his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. “Ready to head back to your place?”
“Yeah,” I reply. I lick my lips and start to gather up our paper boats and napkins. Before I can head to the trash can a few feet away, Noah takes it from me.
“I got it.”
My poor body flushes hot again at his sweetness, and I find myself smiling over something to do with trash. I hope I never get used to how his kindness affects me.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Noah
THE SMILE STEVEgives me when I take care of the garbage makes me feel ten feet tall. I love being able to make him happy, even for something small like that. Then we’re hand in hand once more, feet wandering back the way we came.
A block into our walk, I notice Steve wincing slightly every few steps. I squeeze our joined hands gently, my brow bunching in concern.
“You okay?” I ask when I see his eye twitch again.
He nods, face quickly smoothing out like he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. “Yeah, it’s my own fault. My feet are still getting used to the new shoes I’m wearing for my routine, and Stacy and I took a longer walk today since I had to talk to Sean about the bakery.”
Well, fuck, now I feel awful for not noticing earlier. I glance down to his feet, taking in his boots with new eyes. Steve has been telling me all about his routine, and I’ve seen some of the shoes he’s worn for his performances, but I never thought about how much of a toll they must take on him, even if he is used to walking around in heels.
“Do you want me to carry you?”
“What?” He huffs a disbelieving laugh, like he thinks I wouldn’t actually scoop him up right now if he needed me to. “No, I’ll be fine. We’re almost there, anyways.”
I shrug, then lift my free hand and brush a wayward curl out of his green eyes. “Alright, but the offer stands. Anytime you need something, Stevie.” One day, he’ll believe me when I say it.
“Thank you,” Steve murmurs, ducking his head and biting his bottom lip like he’s fighting a smile. More curls tumble around his face, set ablaze by the setting sun like a fiery halo.
“How’s your routine coming along, painful shoes aside?” I ask, wanting to take his mind off his feet until I can do something more about them. Last I heard, he was still working out a bit of choreography.
