Panic sets in upon finding her distressed. “What’s wrong?” My eyes frantically rove the length of her, searching for a visible injury. “Areyou hurt?”
I grab her hands and turn them over to see if I can find the cause of her pain or whatever’s causing her eyes to gloss over and squash it.
She gives a throaty chuckle, extricates her hands, and cups my cheeks, guiding me to look at her. “Hey, I’m alright.” Her face close to mine, her warm breath ghosting my lips.
My shoulders relax a little—I didn’t even realize they were coiled so tight at the prospect of her being hurt, especially because of me. “You sure?” My gaze bounces between her eyes, trying to gauge whether she’s being honest as I cover her soft hand in mine.
Her fingers are scratching my beard in a way that makes me want to purr at her feet, and curl in her lap as I peer into her ocean eyes—eyes that shimmer like the sun shining upon them.
The absurd thought alone is enough to jarr me out of the trance we were in. I clear my throat and step back, her hands falling in her lap.
I extend my hand again, and this time she slides her soft palm in mine with a bright smile. God, if that smile alone doesn’t give me more pleasure than winning any game could.
Because fuck, I brought that smile to her beautifulface.
As she climbs out of the car and we walk into the diner, I know that if I continue to stay in the vicinity of Andie Moore, one of us might end up hurt by the end of our deal. And I fear, it might be me.
But would the impending heartbreak stop me from stealing every chance I get to be in her serene presence? Abso-fucking-lutely not.
After all these years of being cautious, I’m afraid I’ve finally found my vice.
Turns out it’s a five-foot-three woman named Andie Moore—more addictive than anything to ever fucking exist.
And I’m not complaining.
Seventeen
Andie
The bell above the door jingles when we step in.
Noah’s hand is firmly perched on the small of my back as he guides me to a vacant booth.
He takes a seat in front of me after making sure I’m comfortable. As I pick up the menu and browse through it, I still feel the phantom touch of his big hand on my back, long after it’s gone, sending tingles through my spine.
How is it that this man has so much power over me, so much control over my emotions, without any intention?
It’s scary to think that someone could have a say over how I feel, and after everything I’ve had to go through, I don’t think I’m ready for any emotional entanglement yet. Not that Noah wants it.
I’m glad everything between us is just physical.
Liar.
I shut out my brain, not really wanting to unpack anything at the moment, not when I had such an intense sexual experience and an emotional breakdown.
God! I totally forgot about that.
The thought of losing my crap when I almost had him in my mouth sends a wave of embarrassment coursing through me.
Thankfully, the waitress doesn’t let me drown in my misery for too long when she appears to take our order.
Martha, her name tag reads, is probably in her sixties. She has her gray hair in a neat bun, an apron attached to her hips, and a notepad and pen in hand with the warmest smile anyone could offer.
Her presence instantly brings a distinct kind of calm that a person could bask in when they end up here in the middle of the night.
“What can I get for you young folks?” she asks, with a southern twang in her accent, and I suddenly wish I could discover everything about her and how she ended up in this part of the world.
She doesn’t even give a second glance at Noah, nothing to indicate that she recognizes him. Maybe she doesn’t, or maybe she does, but is kind enough not to bring it up. Either way, Noah’s shoulders drop just a tiny bit, and I didn’t even realize they were tight with tension until they did.