Chapter 11

Noah immediately bolts up from the couch, stuffing his hands in his pockets and muttering something about needing to get ready to head into the shop. It's hard to hear him over Bex and Macy's conversation.

"You need to wear the red dress," Bex says.

"I don't look good in red. It clashes with my hair."

"Redheads can wear red. That's a myth."

"How about black?"

"Black is boring. You're going to be posting pictures from tonight, and everyone is going to see you. You need to look fabulous."

"What's happening tonight?" I ask.

"Spencer and I are going out to dinner to celebrate our anniversary. Six years."

"Girl. He is definitely going to propose to you tonight," Bex adds.

"Do you think?" Macy beams.

"He's taking you to the fanciest restaurant downtown. He has to be. He'd be an idiot not to."

"Who's an idiot?" Wood walks in the front door in a loose-fitting tank, gym bag over his shoulder.

"Hopefully not Spencer," Bex says.

Wood grunts.

"I can't wait to see the ring!" Bex says and she and Macy both squeal. "Hey, Wood, keep us company while we get Macy ready for her big date!"

"Oh, no. I've got to go shower and get ready for a date myself." He starts to head toward his room when Macy says his name and he stops in his tracks.

"I needed to ask you something," she says. "It's about the trip to your lake house over the fourth. Spencer and I were wondering if his brother could come along, as well? He just moved back after finishing med school at Stanford and doesn't have any plans for the holiday."

"Oh, I didn't realize Spencer was able to come, too. He's so busy being a surgeon, and all," Wood says flatly.

"He was able to make it work," Macy says, smiling.

"That's great. Sure, his brother can come. Why not. The more the merrier."

"Wood, hold up!" Bex calls as he turns again. "Real fast, we need a guy's perspective." She takes out two dresses from the bags on the floor. "Should she wear the red one or black one?"

"Green," he says. "Macy's color is green." His gaze lingers on Macy for a second then he disappears down the hall.

"Well, that was no help," Bex says, rolling her eyes.

"Hold still."

"It tickles." Macy scrunches up her face as Bex applies some concealer under her eyes.

We've moved to the bathroom, all three of us crowded in here, Bex's makeup bag exploded all over the counter.

It reminds me of when Bex and I were little, twelve and eight, and she would pull me into her closet, dress me up in her clothes, and put tons of makeup on my face. I loved her giving me all that attention. I always looked up to her and thought she was so cool.

It wasn't until years later, after our parents' divorce, that I put together she only did it when they were screaming at each other downstairs.

"Stop being a baby. I'm only using a little bit." Bex tilts Macy's chin side to side, looking at her work. "See, great. I'm not even going to use foundation because your skin is flawless, and I don't want to cover up any of those freckles."

I stand to the side, eating chips, having been designated Bex's assistant, or "brush bitch" as I've decided is more accurate.

"I need that big angled one for the blush."

I hand Bex the biggest angled brush.

"This one is for bronzer."

"Oh. Oops." I trade it for another, slightly smaller angled brush.

"Thanks."

Clearly, she should have said second biggest angled brush.

"You look so pretty. Spencer is going to fall over himself when he sees you." Bex smiles at Macy, who looks on the verge of tearing up.

Bex finishes Macy's makeup while I finish this bag of chips. Macy normally doesn't wear more than mascara and Chapstick. It's strange seeing her all done up, but she really does look beautiful.

She has on the black dress and a pair of Bex's heels. Then she starts to take her curlers out.

"Oh no. Bex, oh no."

"What?" Bex goes over and helps take out the back ones.

Macy's normally curly hair has a more blown-out look and is sticking straight up from her head.

"My hair! It looks terrible. Holy crap!" She glances at me. "Excuse my language." She looks back in the mirror. "Oh no, oh no, oh no. Spencer is going to be here any minute."

"It's fine," Bex assures her. "We can fix it. Don't cry—you'll ruin your makeup."

"Okay," Macy says, tearing up.

"Stop it!"

"Should I get the wine?" I ask.

"No," Macy says at the same time Bex says, "Yes."

Ten minutes and a glass of wine later, Macy has settled down enough her face barely looks splotchy anymore and Bex has managed to tame her hair into somewhat of a chignon.

We walk out to the living room at the same time Wood is leaving, dressed in a dark blue pair of jeans and a fitted black button-up shirt. He stops at the door, adjusting his watch, then catches a glimpse of us.

He pauses, fingers still on his watchband. "Wow. You are absolutely stunning, Mace."

"Thanks." Macy takes another shaky sip of her white wine.

"She does look great," Bex agrees. "See, tell her Spencer would have to be an idiot not to propose to her tonight after six years."

Wood's gaze lingers on Macy's face for several more beats. "A complete idiot." He shakes the daze off his face, his signature lopsided smile reappearing. "Have a nice night, ladies."

He leaves, and we wait.

Spencer knocks promptly at seven-fifteen.

"What did you do to your hair?" is the first thing he asks when Macy opens the door.

"Tried something different," Macy says, her smile faltering.

"Hm."

By all accounts, Spencer is handsome, but I can't for the life of me pinpoint why. He has very nondescript brown hair. His face is face-shaped. Straight nose. Brown eyes. Maybe it's that his face is very symmetrical? He's wearing navy dress pants and a white button-up shirt with a subtle blue stripe.

He clears his throat as he straightens his shirt cuffs. "Come on. I don't want to be late for our reservation."

It's late. Almost midnight. Bex has been at the bar working since nine, Wood is still out on his date, and I haven't heard Noah come home yet, either.

I'm in bed. Correction, I'm in Noah's bed. It doesn't smell like him anymore.

I haven't heard back from 2Horned all day. That's unlike him. He always responds, even if it's just to tell me he can't talk because he's busy or working or something. He never leaves me on read.

I check the app again. Still no response. Just my last one telling him I didn't want to meet.

I probably hurt his feelings. Maybe he's mad. Maybe he feels rejected.

This sucks.

I knew this relationship, or whatever it is, between us would be ending. Soon, even. But not like this. Not with hurt feelings.

ANG3L:

Hey you. Are you around?

Half an hour later and still no reply from him.

When we'd realized today we both live in Seattle, I was shocked. What a fucking coincidence, right?

Bex doesn't believe in coincidences. She thinks everything is connected and mapped out in the stars.

Do I believe we're ruled by the planets and stuff? No. Not really. But I have to admit it feels like more than a coincidence. Like something I shouldn't ignore.

I almost said yes.

But then I started to second guess. What if he doesn't like what he sees? I mean, I know I'm pretty—even though I sometimes forget I'm not that ugly duckling I used to be. But what if I'm not his type? What if I'm not what he's expecting?

He's expecting a confident, sexy woman. A woman who has done the activities we've talked about. What if I'm disappointing in real life? What if I'm not charming or funny without the security of the screen between us?

What if he finds out I'm a virgin? A fraud? What if he thinks I'm a liar?

I'm too in my head about this. I know I am.

I throw my head back into my pillow, exhaling hard, letting my phone drop and land with a plop onto my chest. He's my friend. He's told me about his family—something he says he never talks about with anyone—and I've told him things I haven't told anyone else, too. I told him about being terrified of ET, for god's sake! I need to fix this.

I want to make it up to him.

He did ask for a picture…

No.

Maybe.

The thought swirls around in my head as I lie here in the dark. I could take one little picture for him. A cute picture? A sexy picture? I've never even taken a sexy picture. Angel would send a sexy picture.

Fuck it.

I flip on the lamp and dig out the only cute bra and panty set I own. They're white lace, the fabric design just intricate enough to obscure the bits and pieces. I put them on.

Don't overthink it.

I lie down, turned so that my bruised side is hidden from the camera, knees together, arch my back, suck in the tummy, and take a few pictures.

I scroll through the pictures, face heating. To my surprise, I like them. I look good. Damn good. Fuck, I'm really doing this.

I pick the one I like the best and attach it to a message to 2Horned. At the last second, I go back and crop out my face.

Then I hit send.

That's it. It's done. I can't take it back now.

My heart is racing.

Did I just send a semi-nude? I haven't felt a rush like this since…since I posed nude for Noah.

I change back into my pajamas then check my phone.

Nothing. No response.

What if he just doesn't say anything? Or what if he comes back with the driest reaction? What would be worse?

I stare at my phone for what seems like minutes, but in actuality, I can't look at the sent picture with no reply for longer than thirty seconds, so I throw my phone down on the bed and pace for a bit.

There will be no sleeping. I need something to take my mind off it before I freak out.

Noah had said I could go up to the loft and draw or paint any time I wanted, and I never heard him come back. He must be doing a long tattoo tonight. I'll go paint.

Good. Great. Excellent idea, even. Good thinking, Livvy.

I step out into the dark hallway and through the living room. The entire apartment is still and quiet. The only light is what's shining in from the city lights in the distance out the large windows. The moon is obscured by dark clouds. Rain patters lightly against the glass.

I tiptoe slowly up the steps to the loft. But when I get to the top, hand on the light switch, I'm not alone up here.

Noah is lying on the couch, shirtless. Pants and boxers pushed down around his thighs. Phone in one hand, his cock in the other.

His large, hard, cock.

He's stroking it. Squeezing it at the base, his tattooed hand making a fist. And I am frozen in place. Paralyzed. In shock and awe.

Then our eyes meet. "Fuck!" He sits up.

Fuck!

Knocked out of my daze, I turn away with a screech. "I'm so sorry! Oh, my god." And I run down the stairs, skidding across the floors to Noah's room where I close the door and jump into bed, burying my head under a pillow.

Holy fucking shit, I can't believe I just saw Noah jerking off. And I just stood there, gaping at him.

I'm panting. Sweating. Out of breath.

My whole body is on fire.

I don't know what to do with myself. So I check my phone, naturally.

He's replied to my picture.

2Horned:

Holy fuck. You're gorgeous. So sexy. And the white? You have me hard as fuck

He sent a picture, too. It's cropped in tight of his crotch, wearing black boxer briefs, with a clearly defined bulge of a big, hard cock, straining under the fabric.

2Horned:

I'm stroking myself to your picture

ANG3L:

Are you still touching yourself?

2Horned:

Yes

ANG3L:

I am, too

I say it out of habit. But I'm warm all over, my skin tingling. I don't know if it's from his picture or his words or seeing Noah with his…

Breathing hard, I slip between the sheets and shimmy down my shorts. I'm already throbbing between my legs when I slide my fingers there. Ready and needy.

2Horned:

Do you want it gentle or hard tonight?

ANG3L:

Hard

2Horned:

I can do that

ANG3L:

I know you can

2Horned:

Should I pin you down?

ANG3L:

Please

2Horned:

Are you going to be my good little slut tonight?

ANG3L:

Yes

2Horned:

Good girl. Spread your legs for me, Angel

Show me that pretty little pussy

ANG3L:

It's all yours

2Horned:

I can't wait to taste you. But I'll take my time. I'll kiss and lick you nice and slow.

ANG3L:

Fuck. I want that

2Horned:

I'll go down on you until you are writhing under me. Until you beg me to make you come

ANG3L:

I want you to make me come

I want to come for you

And I do, I want to, need to, satiate this ache. My fingers are slippery as I touch and play, getting wetter by the second.

2Horned:

Good girl. I won't stop until you do. Until you can't form words and your legs are shaking and my face is covered in you

ANG3L:

Jesus Christ

2Horned:

No. I'm quite the opposite

I'd beg to differ. The way he can stoke my libido with his words and have me panting through my screen is godly. He tells me how beautiful I am, laid out before him and how perfect my moans are. And even though it's all imaginary, it feels real. My reaction is real. I feel beautiful. Powerful. Sexy.

I moan for him, not even trying to be quiet. I wonder if Noah is still touching himself upstairs while I'm bringing myself close to climax. Did I ruin his fun, or did he like it? Is he thinking about me as he strokes himself now? If I moan loud enough, can he hear me?

The little devil in my phone pushes me farther, urging me to come for him, telling me how much he wants to come, but he won't let himself until I do first.

I imagine him between my legs, my faceless devil. But it's Noah's face. It's always been Noah's face. And now it's Noah's cock, too. I'll never be able to picture anything but his…perfectly thick and smooth…

Fuck. I'm so close.

I picture Noah up there, coming in spurts across his chest and abs while listening to me masturbate, and it pushes me over the edge. I fall into an abyss. Dark and weightless. I am not a body, only pure sensation and joy. Stars sparkle around the edges of my vision as I come back to myself, heavy and panting on the mattress.