Say You Swear

Noah’s eyes are on me now.

“Yeah, you were good.” I smile softly. “And you’re doing all this for her, school and football. You push yourself to be the best you can, so she can see that from you. So she knows you appreciate her and all she did for you.” His brows pull to the center, and he shifts toward me. “Because she gave you everything she had to give and more, and you want to do the same for her.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if I let her down, not when she was always there. Not when she gave me everything she could, and made me who I am. I owe it to her to do my best with what I’ve been given.”

“You haven’t been given anything, Noah,” I say quietly, a small smile on my face. “You earned what you have, and that’s something you should be so proud of.”

Noah’s chest inflates, and he turns back to the sauce. He clears his throat, takes the wooden spoon, and stirs, then lifts it to his lips, blowing gently.

He steps in close, holding it in front of me. He’s done this before, many times. Every time, really. So why does a sudden rush of nerves swirl through me?

I open my mouth, and he slips it between my lips. My fingers gingerly wrap around the stem of the utensil, and he releases it. Stretching my torso, I set it down, and my body slips slightly.

Noah’s quick to push close, keeping me from sliding off the countertop, his firm, large hand instantly locking around my upper thigh, steadying me.

My eyes fly to his, my breath catching in my throat. The distance between us has been completely erased, and he doesn’t seem to want to put it back.

His nearness, his touch, it’s unexpected, and I can’t deny the way my pulse spurs to life. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

Slowly, his rough palm leaves me.

“Good?” His voice is deep and raspy, his attention locked on my mouth.

“Yeah. Noah?”

He looks up.

I want you to kiss me.

I freeze at the thought, my eyes popping wide as if I shouted my desire out loud, and my cheeks burn out of control.

He sees it, but he turns to the food before his grin breaks free.

I watch as he puts the final touches in our sauce, drains the noodles, and grates a small mountain of parmesan cheese. He then pulls the garlic bread from the oven and cuts it into small pieces.

The preciseness of his movements, the flex of his arms, the focus on his face, him.

I can’t look away, and when he turns, catching me staring, he stops moving.

Spaghetti bowl in one hand, bread bowl in the other, he smiles, soft and easy. Thoughtful.

I should look away, but instead, I move closer, my eyes locked with his.

There’s an ache growing within them, each second that passes.

Was Cameron right?

My brows pull in as I try to figure out what’s happening here. Within me.

All around me.

Noah…

His looks my way. “You want to eat in the living room here too?”

“Yeah. Noah?”

He tips his head.

“Do you want to kiss me?” I rush out, and then I freeze.

So does he.

He doesn’t move, blink, or breathe.

Noah stares at me, deep into my eyes, and swallows hard. “Since I met you.”

My skin prickles, my stomach flipping like I’ve done a dozen cartwheels. “Really?”

“Yeah, Juliet.” Blindly setting the bowl down, he slips closer. “Really.”

My spine tingles, my limbs jolting as his palm meets my cheek, slowly gliding up, until the pads of his fingers are in my hair, his thumbs caressing the edge of my bottom lip

A shiver runs through me, and Noah’s lips twitch.

“Kiss me,” I breathe. Please.

“Fuck.” His eyes squeeze closed, his forehead falling to mine. “You’re killing me.”

“But what a way to go.”

His chuckle is deep, and when it fans along my lips, my hand shoots up to grip his wrist.

Noah’s chest rumbles, causing the muscles in my core to clench.

I want him to kiss me, to devour my mouth with his own.

I want his tongue to slip inside, discover the taste of mine, and commit it to memory as mine does the same.

I want him to move me the way he wants, however the hell he likes, and I want him to haul me closer than I’d think possible.

But Noah’s lips don’t move.

And when I try to open up for him, to beg without a word, he shakes his head against me.

I open my eyes, finding his still pinched tight, as if he’s fighting himself.

His pulse beats wild at his temples, and for a solid thirty seconds, Noah stands frozen until, finally, a heavy exhale leaves him.

He steps back, his gaze finding mine as his knuckles feather along my jaw. He stares with a tenderness I’ve never known eyes could hold. It’s raw and painful, beautifully confusing.