Page 80 of Quiet Obsession
Noah looks up when I drop my bag by the loveseat, acutely aware of his proximity. He always sits in the armchair opposite, a chessboard between us, so the sudden change in seating arrangements takes me by surprise.
Not to mention that I expected him to be in Creed’s corner, handing out Gatorade, towels, or whatever.
“Hey,” I whisper. “What are you doing here?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Waiting for you.”
“But... it’s fight night. Shouldn’t you be there?”
“I will be.” He glances at his wristwatch. “Creed’s up last. Though if Hyde gets his way, he won’t fight at all. If he does, it’ll be another couple of hours, so I’ve got time.”
I fold myself into the space beside him. “Why doesn’t Hyde want Creed to fight?”
“You don’t know? Creed went out last night, started a fight in his favorite bar and ended up spending the night at the hospital with a concussion.”
“What? Why did he—?”
“It’s what he does, Millie. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great guy, but he’s fucking reckless.”
That he is... and so am I. Or was, at least. I can’t be that reckless again. Abby’s reaction proved that much.
Creed is unpredictable and angry.
Noah is calm and thoughtful.
They’re both hard to read, but Noah’s unreadable in a way that feels safe. He plays chess, reads beside me, thinks before he speaks, and he likes me. I mean,he wouldn’t be here, spending time with me almost every evening if he wasn’t at least a little interested, would he?
He’s intense, but calm, always so calm, always composed. He’s kind, handsome, and knows when to give me space. He’s the kind of man I’m supposed to want.
“How are you doing?” he asks. “Hyde told me about Jasper. Has he been around?”
“No. I think Abby’s done with him. She’s been clinging to some sophomore guy all day.”
Noah scrunches his brows, a shadow falling over his face, but he marshals it quickly. “Another fuck-fest in your room?”
A small blush heats my cheeks at the memory of the last fuck-fest, and Noah’s... help.
“I’m expecting the umbrella tonight,” I admit. “I really don’t get why it’s always our room.”
He angles his body my way, his muscular chest shifting, the fabric of his tight-fitting pullover stretching over the taut muscles.
“Think about it, Millie,” he says, draping one arm over the backrest, his fingers inches from my neck. “It’s obvious why they fuck in your room.”
Heat blooms low in my belly. It’s nice. Not hot, but warm and safe enough to stir something deeper. Maybe if I keep choosing this mild heat, it’ll start to feel right.
Maybe it’ll heal me in the right way.
I get more comfortable, tucking my legs under my butt, my knee brushing his thigh in the process. His eyes darken a touch, and my mouth goes dry.
My body’s reacting. Not in the all-consuming, violent, hungry way it did with Creed, but reacting nonetheless.
“Enlighten me.”
He smirks like he knows what I’m doing. “If it’s his room, he can’t leave once he’s done.”
“So,” I whisper, meeting his dark eyes. “Her room means once and his room means more?”
“Usually,” he agrees, his gaze falling to my lips.
