Page 19 of When the Stars Rise
His jaw clenches, and the little muscle in his cheek jumps. Even though no parts of our bodies are touching, I can feel the tension radiating from him. “It’s just weird that you chose him, that’s all.”
He sounds angry, and even though he’s never said it, I can read between the lines:You chose Dean instead of me.
It wasn’t like that, but Noah is still harboring a grudge.
On that note, he climbs out of my bed, and I think he’s going to get into the other queen-size bed, but instead, he whips off his T-shirt and tosses it onto the bed, smirking when he catches me ogling his bare torso.
He reaches for the waistband of his sweatpants, and I look away, flushing when he shoves them down a little bit before changing his mind and prowling across the room where he stands in front of the window. One arm raised, his palm flattened on the glass, the other hand on his hip.
I have no idea what he’s thinking about, but I can’t help noticing that his ass looks especially good in those sweatpants.
Maybe he’s striking that pose to show me everything I’m missing. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Skin kissed by the sun and muscles for days.
As if I need a reminder. I remember exactly how Noah’s body felt. Underneath me. On top of me. From behind. In a rainwater shower in Oahu. Against a wall in a Parisian alley. Behind the Pyramid stage at Glastonbury. Under the stars in the Maldives. And once on my baby grand, when he gave me an orgasm with his tongue and fingers, my back arching off the piano, and the heels of my feet crashing down on the keys.
I stare at his back until I realize he can see me watching him in the reflection of the glass, so I avert my head quickly and continue watching my show.
I’m rooting for Fleabag to get together with the sexy priest.
None of us are saints.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hayley
The next morning,I gather up my toiletries and stuff them into my Seletti Sea Girl bag—a gift from my best friend, Everly St. Clair—then take a final glance in the mirror before I step out of the bathroom.
Noah has his back to me, and I pause on the threshold, temporarily distracted by the view of him shirtless in black denim.
When he pulls a white T-shirt over his head, I’m jealous of that stupid T-shirt that caresses his skin and clings to his sculpted abs.
I have to pass him to get to my bag on the other queen-size bed, so I breeze past, looking straight ahead as if I wasn’t just ogling him.
When I don my black leather jacket with silver stud details and blush pink lotus flowers embroidered on the back—an Isla St. Clair original—I grab my new helmet and strike a pose. “How do I look? Like a badass?”
Noah lifts his head and then does a double-take. “Where’d you get that helmet?”
“I went to a biker store with Aiden yesterday.” Chris wasn’t too happy that I ditched him, but it all worked out, and we got back with plenty of time to spare.
His eyes narrow. “When was this?”
“When you were at the climbing wall.”
“Huh.” When he pulls out his Canon Mark IV and starts snapping photos, I strike a dramatic pose, my body plastered to the wall and one arm flung above my head, eye-fucking the camera before he lowers it and repacks it in his bag without commenting.
Noah’s gaze lowers to the helmet in my hand, and he rubs his hand over his jaw. “You sure about this?”
“Positive. I’m riding with you. It’s only a few hours to Charlotte. No big deal.” I lift my brows, daring him to contradict me.
I wish I could be more like Isla and Everly, who think nothing of deep-sea diving and surfing giant waves, but they grew up doing that, and I’m not like them.
But if I start acting braver and become just a bit more daring, maybe I’ll be able to conquer some of my fears. That’s my plan anyway.
Decision made, I grab my bag and head for the door.
“Is Dean okay with this?” Despite my convincing argument, Noah sounds hesitant.
“Sure.” I wave away his concern. “He’ll be fine.”
