Noah takes a sip of his wine, licking a drop from his lips. I get distracted watching his tongue, and turn away abruptly. That tongue is unnerving. He comes over to me and uses his denim-clad ass to playfully push me aside.
“No doo-wop, just some exceptionally excellent music.”
I look over his shoulder to find out exactly what his ‘exceptionally excellent music’ consists of. Damn! He wasn’t playing around. I recognize album covers from Nirvana, Red Hot Chili Peppers and even some Monster Ballads. His fingers punch in a series of four digit numbers too quickly for me to read.
“What are you up to there? Huh?”
“Come. Let’s sit. You won’t be disappointed.”
The jukebox simulates the sound of a record being set into place and a needle hitting the vinyl. I know it’s not authentic, but it still sets a certain mood. As I turn to join Noah on the leather sectional I stop and smile.
“You’re kidding, right?” The opening chords of Killing Me Softly hit me with a twinge of reminiscence. It’s like feeling homesick. Homesick for the days of being young and carefree.
“Good choice?”
“Excellent choice.” I sip my wine as I saunter on over to the guy I wish I was dancing with when this song played at Lisa’s house almost ten years ago.
He pats the cushion next to him, inviting me to sit. Inviting me into the damn lion’s den, that’s what he’s doing. And between the music, the wine and the intoxication this man oozes, I am just about offering myself up as a sacrificial lamb.
I decide to give in to the nostalgia, the mood, and all these feelings to see where it’ll take me. “What does this song remind you of?”
He looks up to the ceiling, chewing on the inside of his mouth. “One thing?”
I nod.
“That’s hard. We played this song out so bad senior year...it’s hard to pick one.”
“I can name one.” I blurt out, not caring that I’m about to sell myself out. It was years ago. What’s the harm in confessing now?
“Enlighten me, oh, nostalgic one.”
I nudge him on his brawny shoulder. It’s like nudging a wall. “Lisa’s house party. End of senior year.”
Noah rolls his eyes. It’s adorable. “What a shocker. I think Lisa was responsible for making half the senior class loathe this song. Denks sent hate mail to Lauryn Hill because of her.”
I bust out laughing, holding in the mouthful of wine that threatens to explode from my mouth. When I’ve swallowed and stopped holding my side I continue. “You called me beautiful that night.”
“You are beautiful.” He places his hand on my thigh.
I stare at it for a long time before I go on. “Why didn’t you say goodbye to me that night? I mean, I know I was a foolish teenager, thinking way too much into things, but what you said...why didn’t you come find me? Say goodbye?”
He looks puzzled. A strong, deep line set between his thick brows.
“Noah, I had the craziest crush on you. I went to that party hoping you’d finally see me that night. Praying I’d get my chance. You called me beautiful and then disappeared and my chance went to shit. Every time I hear this song, I think about that night.” Feeling like that teenage girl all over again, I look down into my almost empty wine glass. There! I got that off my chest. Seems a little past due, considering I’m here.
On a date with said crush.
Ten years later.
Noah inches closer to me on the couch, our knees touching, his hand cupping my flush-warmed cheek. “Better late than never? We got a second chance right here.”
The song ends and a new one begins. Something sensual, intense. This guy is slick. I almost writhe in agony, my panties feel like a wicked constraint just hearing the lyrics—come my lady come, come my lady.
I’m pretty sure he could make me come, just by looking at me like that. I don’t have time to overthink. Noah’s hands are in my hair, pulling me closer. His lips graze mine. Once, softly. Twice, a little rougher. Third time, ready to pounce. As his tongue parts my already eager lips, I let my own slide against his. Noah’s lips devour mine like he’s making up for lost time.
I bring my hands up behind his neck, playing with the soft stubble at the nape. Noah’s hands travel more freely, roaming the heated terrain of my needy body. Before I know it, I’m in his lap, straddling a rather impressive—rather hard—bulge of denim. Noah tilts his head back. I follow him, my lips still connected to his.
His calloused hands graze the skin on my back, trailing prickles from the waist of my jeans to the clasp of my bra. Underneath my shirt, his hands trek around to the front of me, cupping my satin covered breasts. He’d be a fool—no he’d have to be dead—not to know how turned on I am right now. Regardless of the cool, smooth material of my bra, my nipples ache as they bead against it, painfully, wanting freedom. If I wasn’t in my right mind, I would beg him to rip off my shirt. Rip it all off, fulfill every single one of my overdue fantasies and recurring dreams combined. But I am in my right mind, so I break away, panting.