Man of My Dreams (27 page)

“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.

“Stop.” I whisper against his heaving chest. I rest my head where his heart is galloping like a stampede of wildebeests escaping a hungry lion. I lift my head and cup his beautiful, flawless face. “We have to stop.”

After a long pause, Noah lifts his head, his emerald green eyes penetrating through me. “You’re killing me, Mia.” He whimpers a sigh of resignation. “But you’re right.” He brings his hands to my hips and lifts me off him, placing me next to him on the couch. He rakes a hand through his now messy hair, scrubs his hand down his face and gnaws on his bottom lip. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just got caught up.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”

Noah shoots me a worrisome glare. “Please don’t say you shouldn’t have come here tonight, Mia. I get it. It’s all too fast. I’m sorry. We can take it slow.”

I stare at him in astonishment. Can I really expect him to wait until I iron out all my personal—and complicated—qualms? “Really? You mean that?”

He gets up off the couch, trying to conceal his hand in his pants, readjusting himself.
What I wouldn’t give...

“Yes, Mia. I don’t want to screw this up. I know this isn’t conventional, and I know you have things to think about...your kids, your...” I don’t think he actually wants to say the word ‘husband.’ “We have all the time in the world. We’ll take it slow. It might kill me, but I can respect that you might not be ready for a while.”

I feel a little ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, not some adolescent virgin. Women my age probably have double digits under their belt. Noah might have even more than that, for all I know. Am I ridiculous for not being ready?

“God I feel so dumb.” I hide my head in my hands.

Noah sits down next to me, removing my hands from my mortified eyes. “You’re not dumb. You’re far from it. In fact, you’d be dumb if you let it go any further. You’re a good woman, Mia. A good wife and mother. It takes a strong woman to think with her brain in a moment like that.” I liked what happened in that moment. I wasn’t ready for it to go further, but that was one fine moment.

“That
was
quite a moment. Wasn’t it?” I arch my brow and bite my lower lip.

Noah flops back against his couch, gripping fistfuls of his dark blond hair now. No doubt, reverting back to the idea of me on his lap.

I have a momentary lapse of all that’s right and just. “Would I be a total cock tease if I asked you to just make-out again?”

Noah sits up, stiff. His eyes wide and concentrated. “Is this some kind of test, woman?”

I giggle, resting my head against his rock hard chest again. His heart beat has steadied, no longer rapid and thundering. “You’re a good kisser, Noah. And if we’re going to date, ease our way into this, we’ve got to do this the way we would have done this if you hadn’t ignored me back then.”

“Ignored you?” His fingers twist themselves in a small section of my hair.

“Yes! Blatantly ignored me. I wanted you then and I want you now. And what I really want is my fair share of the Noah Matheson dating experience. Are you going to deny me?”

In one swift, effortless movement, Noah swoops my legs up over his and pushes me down onto his couch. He hovers over me and I squeal when he catches my wrists and pins my arms above my head. He flashes a mischievous grin. “You’re sending me mixed signals, Mia Page.”

When he says my name like that I’m reminded that that isn’t me anymore. As much as I wish I could revert to the eighteen year old Mia Page who would give anything to be pinned beneath Noah Matheson, I am a twenty-eight year old Mia Murphy who has a lot to think about before running her mouth. My mouth is going to get me in a lot of trouble. Trouble I’m not ready to face.

Noah must sense the shift in my playful mood. He releases the grip on my wrists and extends a hand to help pull me back up to a sitting position. “Seriously, Mia. I’m all about slow and steady.”

I look into his eyes, sheepishly. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

He dips down, planting a soft kiss on the tip of my nose. “Exactly.”

“Stop staring at her, bro. You look ridiculous.”

“Oh shut up, Carl. Like you don’t look ridiculous kicking around that fucking hacky sack, waiting for someone to come over and play with you.”

Carl continues bouncing the bead-filled ball off his foot. It’s so goddamn irritating. In ten seconds I’m going to chuck it across the lawn and into the huge fountain next to that gorgeous blonde. Maybe that’ll get her attention.

“You just want that chick to
play
with you. Finally get that tiny pecker of yours some action.”

My jaw tightens and my hands squeeze into fists. I hate being reminded of my lame sexual status. Status as in, there is none. “Gimme that fucking thing. You’re such a prick, you know that?”

He kicks the ball up and catches it in his hands before pulling it close to him, like I’m about to steal his fucking beloved blankie or something. “I have a better chance of getting someone to kick this little ball around with me than you do of getting
your
balls played with.”

I’m starting to regret agreeing to have Carl as my dorm mate. This guy’s supposed to be my friend, my wingman. Not the one making jabs at my manhood, or lack thereof.

“Douche. You’re a real douche.” I shake my head, ignoring Carl’s smug look and dragging my hands through my hair to remove the strands that have fallen in front of my face. Damn floppy hair is obstructing my view of Blondie.

“She is pretty cute, Dec. Let’s go over to her. See which one of us she picks.”

That’s it—fucking ball’s mine. While Carl is busy musing over my new obsession I swipe the hacky sack from him and toss it over to a bunch of stoner-looking freshmen. The pattern on the ball resembles Bob Marley’s Rasta hat—they’ll like that. One Love and all that free spirited shit.

“Hey. What the fuck, man. Why’d you do that?”

“Eyes off my girl.”

“Your girl?” he laughs so hard it’s almost maniacal. “You’re delusional, bro. And I’m willing to bet my fake ID that she’ll never be your girl.”

When I see her in the library, wrapping strands of her long hair around a dainty finger, her beautiful face buried in a textbook, I decide it’s finally time to take charge of my destiny. I’m bordering on stalkerish tendencies—asking about her around campus, following her to classes. It’s about damn time I take action.

Ever since the first time I saw her at orientation four weeks ago, I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest until I at least
tried
to talk to her. Hell, I wanted to do more than talk to her. I wanted to kiss her heart-shaped mouth, rest my arm around her sexy still-bronze shoulders, take her on a date. And as much as I’d obsessed over her, Carl’s bet only made it more interesting. I really wanted to prove him wrong, thinking I can’t get the girl, but I could honestly give a shit less about Carl right now. I’m thinking about her, and me, and…God, I really want this girl. I feel like such a loser, but I’d spent four weeks building up courage and scrounging up information about her to get to this point.

Legs, don’t fail me now. Walk!
When my two suddenly-awkward legs comprehend the order from my brain and start to move, I take a deep breath. I’d played this over and over in my head, but with my heart thundering the way it is, my script is out the damn window.

When I reach her table, staring at the back of her head; the sunlight bringing out all crazy shades of gold and yellow in her naturally highlighted hair, I blurt it out. “Hey, aren’t you in my psychology class?” I know she isn’t, but I’m just following the script.

Startled, she looks over her shoulder and the first thing that registers in this nervous brain of mine is the expression on her face. I’ve seen this before, and I’m not completely clueless. I know the look of a girl who likes what she sees. Widened eyes, roaming irises, a sheepish smile. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus, Mia likes what she sees.