Chapter 9

"Noah, stop! Let him go!"

The color has drained from Anthony's face, his hands up in surrender. "I didn't do anything, I swear!"

I put my hand on Noah's arm—it's hot and hard, flexed, holding onto Anthony's shirt.

"He didn't hurt me," I say.

His grip on Anthony's collar loosens and he turns slowly around, his scowl melting away and his face softening when he looks at me. Though his chest is still puffed up.

"He just didn't know about my bruised ribs, and we were—" I swallow, my throat suddenly dry and ears warm. "It was an accident."

He lets go of Anthony, who takes a couple steps back. "Jesus Christ, dude. What the fuck?"

Noah ignores him, eyes trained on me, he quiets his voice. "You're okay? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"All right." He nods, running his fingers through his hair, still shaking a little. "I'm sorry." He turns to Anthony. "I'm sorry, man, I just—I thought?—"

"I get it. Whatever, man." Anthony looks at me. "I guess I better go, then." He takes a step toward me, but Noah makes no move to step aside, staying between us.

I'm not sure what to say or do—the whole situation changed so fast.

Anthony shoots a glare at Noah before looking back at me. "Good night. I'll call you."

I wave as he leaves.

Once he's gone, it's silent in the apartment.

"I can't believe you did that," I say.

"Livvy, I'm so sorry. I heard you say he was hurting you, and I lost it."

"That wasn't okay. You scared me."

"I'm sorry, I—fuck." He rakes both hands over his head, his hair a mess. "Are you sure you're okay? Can I look at your side?"

"No, you may not." I turn and head toward his room without another word and shut the door firmly behind me.

The audacity of that man. Thinking he can act that way—like I'm his to protect. Or that he has the right to see my body.

My head is still spinning, body buzzing. I won't be able to sleep for a while.

I change out of my dress then casually reach for the T-shirt I've been wearing to bed. Noah's T-shirt he gave me the first night. I should have given it back, but he never asked for it, and I like sleeping in it.

Leaving the shirt, I instead go to my bag. Thankfully, we were able to go to the apartment and get most of our things earlier this week while repairs are being done. I dig out my sleep tank and shorts then head to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.

Of course, Noah is in there. He's at the singular sink, brushing his teeth. I swear to god, he's the only person who could make brushing his teeth look sexy. His jaw sharp against his flexing, tattooed neck. The veins in his hand bulging under the ink.

Stop looking at him, Livvy! You're still mad at him. Don't even acknowledge him.

He steps aside silently as I turn on the water to wash my face. He rinses his toothbrush while I dry off, looking straight ahead in the mirror and not at him. But his eyes are on me. My traitorous body reacts to his attention. Heart beating faster. Nipples hardening. Oh shit, I forgot how thin this tank top was. And these shorts are so short.

"You're not wearing my T-shirt," he says as he puts his toothbrush away.

"Yeah, I've been meaning to give it back to you." I get my toothbrush out, still not making eye contact.

"You don't have to." He hands me the toothpaste. "I like you wearing it," he says, quieter.

I don't respond, vigorously brushing my teeth instead, and he leaves.

Son of a bitch.I told myself I wasn't going to let him frazzle me anymore. I had another guy's tongue in my mouth tonight, for Christ's sake.

I flop onto the bed. It's almost two in the morning and I'm wide awake. I check my phone. I have a message from Anthony saying he had a nice night. I'll reply tomorrow.

Going into the app, I look for a message from him, and there it is, from earlier tonight.

2Horned:

Are you around tonight? I'm a bit lonely

I find myself smiling at his message. I don't know why, but he's the only person I want to talk to right now. Maybe because I don't have to be the Livvy everyone thinks I am or expects me to be with him. I can just…be. And I don't have to worry about my reputation or how I'm perceived. I can be sad or stressed or say dirty jokes or straight up ask him to call me his whore and he never judges.

ANG3L:

Hey, I just saw this. I know it's late but I'm here now. I could use some company too.

Are you still up?

2Horned:

Hey, you. Yeah, I'm up

ANG3L:

Can't sleep still? The nightmares?

2Horned:

They've been not as bad. No, tonight I sort of fucked up with a friend and now she's mad at me. It's going to keep me up

ANG3L:

I'm sorry. I've had a weird night too. I'm sure she'll forgive you if you apologize sincerely

2Horned:

I hope so. I really fucked up

ANG3L:

You should get her a gift

2Horned:

A gift?

ANG3L:

Yes, but not some generic scented candle or lotion or that bath salt shit, something that shows you pay attention to her

2Horned:

I thought girls liked that stuff

ANG3L:

No

2Horned:

Shit. Okay. I think I know something that might work. I don't want to lose her friendship over this

He is so sweet and sincere. And, no, my stomach didn't at all flip when he said his friend was a girl. And I didn't automatically wonder if he's closer with her than he is with me. He knows her in real life—he's probably closer to her. As it should be.

But…he has said he doesn't tell other people the things he talks about with me. And I bet he doesn't sext with this friend either. Unless maybe they're more than friends. I should be happy for him if that's the case, but I'm not.

ANG3L:

Can I help take your mind off of it?

2Horned:

What did you have in mind?

ANG3L:

Something… naughty

2Horned:

I have every confidence that you'd be able to take my mind off anything you wanted and put it ON anything you wanted

ANG3L:

How about we focus it on you filling my pretty pussy with your cum. I want to feel you dripping out of me

2Horned:

Fuck. You already have me hard

ANG3L:

Good

We chat for another hour. I like it, this powerplay we have between us, taking turns giving and taking. He details how he would bend me in half so I could watch his cock go in and out of me. How good he'd fill me up.

Then he says he'd flip me over while I was still panting and out of breath. Still dripping with him. And he'd fill my ass next.

That's a new thing. The idea of it lights a little flame of excitement in me I haven't felt in a while. I'll have to add that to the list of things I'm apparently into.

I'm tempted to join him tonight. I almost do.

I've never climaxed with a client before, though I hate thinking of him as a "client." He's my friend. And even if I didn't get the same sexual satisfaction out of our conversation as he did, it made me happy to help him out, to lighten his mood. It's going to be hard to tell him I'm done with this app. But I'm not telling him quite yet.

2Horned:

Goodnight, Angel. Thank you for this

ANG3L:

Goodnight. Sleep well

2Horned:

I'll try

It's after three by the time I fall asleep and, consequently, I sleep in late. It's a little after noon by the time I get up and dressed and go out to the kitchen the next day.

Wood is nowhere to be seen, but Noah is in the kitchen with bowls strewn across the counter, the egg carton open, fridge door ajar, and is concentrating on a notecard in his hand so intently he doesn't even notice me until I'm sitting directly in front of him at the counter.

He almost jumps when he sees me, dropping the recipe card.

"Sorry," I say, trying not to laugh too much, then realizing I was supposed to be mad at him. Shoot.

"It's okay." He picks the card up from the floor. "I thought I would try and make you waffles."

My stomach rumbles loudly right at that moment.

"I'll take that as a yes?" he asks.

"Waffles sound great."

"I have to warn you, I've never made them before. They won't be as good as Wood's."

"I'm sure they'll be great. Can I help?"

He smiles slowly, his chiseled features mirroring the skull tattooed on his throat. Haunting yet beautiful. "I'd love that."

I come around to his side and pick up the recipe. "How about you do the dry ingredients and I'll mix up the wet?"

"Okay." He nods. He gets out the flour and measuring cups and spoons while I get out the milk.

"Sorry I was such an asshole last night," he says, flour on his chin. I can't help but smile.

"You were."

His expression falls. I nudge him with my elbow and wink, and he smiles, too. As we work, he starts in with all these random facts about Monet and Manet, and I have no idea where this came from but he's adorable trying to remember dates and the names of paintings while also leveling out a teaspoon of baking soda.

By the end, batter is in drips all around the waffle iron, spent eggshells litter the counter, and I'm sticky with syrup.

The waffles were not as good as Wood's—I don't think I beat the egg whites enough—but I don't care. My stomach is full, and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

"Oh! I got something for you," Noah says as he's washing the dishes.

"You did? You didn't have to do that. When did you even have time?"

"When you were sleeping this morning, silly."

I swivel around in my seat looking for anything wrapped or new sitting around. "What did you get? Where is it?" Too eager. That was way too eager.

He chuckles. "I'll show you after I finish with the dishes. If Wood comes home and his kitchen is a mess, I'll never hear the end of it."

I hop off the stool and go to his side. "You wash and I'll dry?"

"Okay. I'll pretend you're offering to help from the goodness of your heart and not because you want your present sooner."

"Obviously. I only ever have pure intentions." I smile big as I dry the giant mixing bowl.

"It's up in the loft," Noah says after the dishes are done and put away. "Wood helped me set it up this morning."

Set it up?I scurry to the steps leading up to the loft, mind racing.

"Close your eyes. No peeking. It's a surprise," Noah calls after me.

I close my eyes as his steps come light right up behind me. I clasp the railing, glancing down through my lashes as I take the stairs slowly.

"Hey, I said no peeking!"

"I need to see the steps. I don't want to fall."

"Here. I've got you." He's right behind me now and he puts his hand over my eyes, his fingers warm and just a little calloused from where he holds his tattoo gun.

We walk up the stairs in tandem, his chest brushing against my back, wrapping me in the scent of his day-old cologne.

"This is the last step," he says softly against my ear. "Ready?"