His Price(45)

My insides boiled with a mix of rage and fear.

Fear wasn't something I was used to feeling. And I didn't like it.

I was always in control, always the one to call the shots. Lately it seemed my hands had been getting bound in all directions. Nothing was coming easy, but now Noella was mine. At least I had her, she was all I really needed.

Pacing wildly around the room, my fingers drove through my hair, tearing at the roots. This could be bad, this could be so fucking bad.

She agreed, now this? Glancing at the clock I had to get my shit together. I was having dinner with Noella in twenty minutes, and I couldn't go in all worked up over Stefan.

Tugging my white t-shirt over my head, I hit my neck with some cologne and headed downstairs.

Standing in the entryway, I watched for headlights. I had ordered Chinese food, not exactly romantic, but I'm no chef. When you spend your entire life having people do shit for you; cooking gets thrown out the window.

Why learn when you don't have to? Right?

***

Lighting the last candle, a delicate clicking sound reverberated through the air. Here she comes. It looks perfect.

Checking the table, everything was exactly how I wanted it. This was dinner for us, just her and myself. Stefan was off in another end of the house, hopefully packing his bags to leave tomorrow.

As she turned the corner it was like her feet hit rough pavement. She stopped, mouth hanging open, eyes flickering in unison with the candle flames. “What's this?” Noella asked, the tiny sparks igniting in the gunmetal of her stare.

“Well, it looks like dinner to me. Homemade too.” It didn't matter how upset and angry I had just felt not thirty minutes ago, once I saw her, everything drained away.

The room seemed to brighten, her face glowing with warmth. “Homemade?” she asked smiling, ear reaching towards her shoulder.

“Well, it was made by someone. That counts doesn't it?” Shrugging my shoulders, I held my hands out.

“Not exactly, but we can go with it.” She laughed as she stepped in. “I take it you don't cook?”

“Let's just say you're better off if I don't cook.” Reaching for her chair, I pulled it out. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you.” Noella spoke softly, hair brushing across her cheeks. Wiping it away she said, “It smells good. I love Chinese, and it's fun to cook too.”

“You cook?” My brow arched up, as I sat. “I wouldn't have thought you liked cooking.”

“And why not? You keep forgetting—”

Finishing her sentence, I said, “I know, I don't know everything about you.” Nodding my head, I poured us both a glass of wine. “But that's what we're going to take care of. You said you needed answers and stuff...” I brought the glass to my lips, taking a sip. “So now's your chance.”

Watching her face flush, the orange flame brushed her skin, dancing across each dip and curve. She was so intoxicating, I couldn't take my eyes off her. Noella was exactly who the word beauty was made for.

A lot of people think that in order to be beautiful you need to have flawless skin, and a perfect body; but that is far from the truth. Looking into her eyes, I knew there was more to that word.

I felt her, not just saw her. Noella drove prickles up my back, she made it hard to breathe when she entered a room. And when her voice spilled from behind her plump lips, my entire world stood still.

To be beautiful, truly beautiful, you only needed to do one thing.

Be yourself.

And she never stepped outside who she was. Sure when I met her she was Copper, stripper and cock teaser extraordinaire. But right here, right now, she was Noella.

This was the reason I hadn't found anyone before.

Because there was no one else like her.

Pursing her lips, each small wrinkle rolled across the gloss. She was thinking, tapping her finger against her chin. “Alright, we'll start small. What's your birthday?”

“Really? I tell you to ask me something and that's what your first question is?”

“Hey! If I have to pretend to be your girlfriend and at some point I'm supposed to have your child, then these are things I need to know.”

“Alright, alright,” I said, holding my hands up, palms out. “September third, nineteen- ninety, happy?”

“Very. Okay, your turn.” Her slender finger rolled out, directing me to speak.

“My turn?”

“Yeah, your turn. You should know shit about me too.”

“Hm, give me a second.” Looking at the ceiling, I shifted between her and the skylight. There was plenty of things I wanted to know about her, but my head was blank. “Okay, where did you grow up?”

“Coventry. Until a year ago, then we moved to Providence. You know I said that at lunch?” A thin brow pulled up, lips remaining parted.