9. Frankie

9 /

frankie

The night of my high school graduation, I had a dream that I snuck into Noah Drake’s bedroom and gave him a blow job. I woke up sweaty and embarrassed. But also more curious than ever.

I’m sure it was just my subconscious working through an unrequited crush after seeing Noah sitting next to my brother during my graduation ceremony. Probably a little latent hope that maybe he finally saw me, too. He fed me a piece of my cake during my graduation party, and the gesture definitely carried a suggestion with it. Looking back, he was flirting with me then. That was the start of summer. And the flirting continued through the warm summer days at the lake and all the way up to the kiss.

But the clues that Noah saw me as more than his best friend’s little sister trace back well before then. I thought about it all night. And as I watched him practice with my brother today, tiny nuances in his behavior jogged my memory more.

During his senior year at Miller Brook, Noah glanced in my direction every time he stopped a goal. Not just sometimes. Every. Time.

I didn’t let myself think it was special. I was sixteen. He was eighteen. Years that are irrelevant now but felt like the widest valley on Earth just a short while ago.

Then there was my junior year when he and my brother were home from college for the holidays, and I fell asleep outside by the firepit after several of their friends were over to make s’mores and drink cheap beer. They left me out there when everyone went inside to watch a movie or pass out. But Noah? He came back for me. I felt him scoop me up in his arms. I pretended not to wake up as he carried me from the deck through the back sliding door and up the stairs to my bedroom. He pulled my blanket over my body after untying my sneakers and sliding them off my feet. I imagined he kissed my head, and I dreamt so hard that it was real I almost started to believe it was. But I know that part was in my mind. Because now I’m aware of what those lips feel like. And even a kiss to my forehead would imprint on me in a way that left no room for doubt.

And that’s why it hurt so much after he ignored me after our summer kiss. I knew I’d never be able to shake it—the memory, the feel, the need for another.

“It was definitely a Wednesday,” Noah jokes, referencing my crack about the empty park earlier today as he closes the money envelope after checking my count. We didn’t have many visitors today, but the lulls happen every year. I always worry that we aren’t going to make enough to pay the bill for the community center meal. We always have more than enough.

“You mind depositing the money for me, Frankie? I promised my wife I’d be home in time for the new episode of The Bachelor .” Norris’s mouth stretches with a wry smile, and I’m not sure whether it’s because he feels bad that he can’t swing by the bank or because he’s embarrassed he’s hooked on addictive reality television.

“It’s totally fine,” I say, chuckling. “I can make the deposit in the morning. Enjoy your night. And treat that woman to some deep dish or something. She’s a queen, you know?”

Norris salutes me.

“She’s a saint, I think you mean.” He pats his breast pocket, smooshing his half-empty pack of cigarettes that matches the permanent wrinkles in every shirt he owns. He’s one of maybe four people I know who still smoke actual cigarettes. Technically, my uncle Frank—my namesake—smokes cigars. But I’m not sure there’s a difference, at least not health-wise.

“What if my Christmas wish is that you finally quit?” My request holds very little weight compared to his wife, Wendy’s. She’s asked him to quit about a hundred times. He’s tried a dozen. And failed every single one of them, miserably.

“Frankie, I think we both know I have nothing to do with your Christmas wish,” he says, his gaze flashing to Noah before it returns to me, and he winks.

“Uh,” I stammer, my eyes growing wide as my entire body rushes with heat.

“You two are obvious,” he laughs out. “But your “secret” is safe with me.” He does the air quote thing to really rub it in.

“Not sure what secret you mean, Norris, but thanks,” Noah says. I turn to laugh with him, figuring he’s trying to put our fling back into the box. But I run into his chest the moment I pivot, and his hands cup my cheeks, tilting my face so he can press his lips on mine in front of someone for the first time ever. Well, other than in front of his mom, but that one doesn’t count. And technically, he’s still wearing the beard, so I’m really kissing Santa. But . . . semantics.

“Ha, good for you. Have a good night, you two,” Norris says, tipping his hat so low it meets his bushy gray eyebrows.

Noah slings the light kit bag over his shoulder and walks Norris to his car. The two of them share a few laughs on the way and shake hands before Norris gets into the driver’s seat and backs out of his spot.

“What were you two laughing about,” I ask him when he returns. I’m not sure I really want to know.

He gives me a lopsided grin as he closes the lockbox after pulling out my backpack. He still doesn’t spill the beans when he turns off the set lights. And I think he plans on keeping his lips zipped as he walks me to my car.

“Noah Drake, if you don’t tell me, I am never repeating what I did a few hours ago.” I stomp my feet and cross my arms over my chest as I stop several yards away from my car.

Noah laughs out once, then turns to face me, his smirk only deepening when our eyes meet. He sets my backpack on the sidewalk then steps into me, gently tugging my crossed arms apart and resting my elbows in his palms. My hands flatten on his biceps, and I don’t want to feel them, but my fingers curl around the bulged muscles anyway. Dammit!

He closes the gap between us, forcing me to look up in his eyes. It’s strange how my body still buzzes with nerves as if he hasn’t kissed me before. Every time feels like the first. New. Dangerous. A rush.

“Norris told me I better not mess with his girl.”

I step back a few inches and tuck my chin in disbelief, and Noah simply nods through soft laughter.

“I’m serious. He thinks of you like a daughter, and he gave me the talk. He said if my intentions aren’t good, I should hang up the Santa coat, and he’ll find a replacement.”

“He said that?” My eyes haven’t blinked.

Noah nods, his fingers lifting my chin again.

“He also said he’s not sure if I’m good enough for you, but he’s willing to give me a tryout. Then I think he may have insinuated I was a dumb jock, saying something like, ‘You know what a tryout is, right punk?’”

“Okay, now you’re making things up,” I protest.

But Noah doubles down, shaking his head and stepping back a bit to cross his heart.

“Scout’s honor. Or, well, goalie’s honor. My honor. Whatever. You know what I mean. And I’m telling the truth.”

My mouth hangs open, and I shiver from the cold. Noah holds up a finger and then snags my backpack, pulling out the pair of sweats from inside. He kneels in front of me as I brace on his shoulders for balance and step one foot at a time into the sweatpants. He slides them up my legs, his hands hugging my hips when they’re fully around my waist.

My tongue peeks through my lips, quelling that itch I get every time I want to kiss him. He sways me side-to-side, the air crackling with delicious energy. And then the first flake falls.

“No. Way.” I tilt my head to the sky, the dark gray clouds glowing from the city’s light pollution as the air fills with more and more specks.

“I told you it was going to snow,” he says.

My mouth stretches wide, and I hold out my tongue as the flurries pick up. Noah does the same, but his hands never leave my hips. We sway, our faces waiting to taste more of winter, and despite the lack of music, it’s the most perfect dance I’ve ever had. We giggle, bragging with each flake we catch on our tongues, laughing through kisses that are interrupted by snowflakes that quickly melt against our skin. His beard begins to sparkle, and I shake it out only to watch it collect more flakes.

“I don’t know how long the eyelash glue is going to last if it keeps this up,” I say.

Noah tugs the side of his mustache, and it peels away.

“Oh!” He quickly presses it back in place, but it doesn’t stay.

“Good thing it’s late enough for Conner and the other kids to be home in bed.” I reach up and press his upper lip with my fingertips, seeing if I have the magic touch. After two failed attempts, I give up. Before I can pull my hand away, however, Noah grabs it with his own, turning my wrist so he can press his mouth against my soft skin as he stares into my eyes.

I’m in trouble. And not the lust-filled kind I’ve indulged in, but serious, I’m going to open my heart again, trouble. And I’m scared, but I’m going to keep going. Fighting this is no use. It’s been years in the making.

“What did you say? To Norris. About your tryout?” I shiver, and not from the cold.

Noah holds my hand against his cheek and tilts his head slightly, his eyes softening and his smile matching.

“I told him I always make the team. And I’m always the best player.” His finger strokes the back of my hand as he holds my palm to his face.

I swallow my emotion, my throat so dry in this wet, frozen land.

“Is that what you are? A player? The best player?” My meaning is pretty clear. I can tell Noah reads my hidden message by the way his smile falters and his eyes slope. He breathes out through his nose then slowly shakes his head.

“I’m not playing. Not at this. I promise.”

I blink rapidly, partly from the snowflakes tickling my face and partly from the tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I’m about to lift on my toes when an engine rumbles in the distance, drawing our attention to the other side of the parking lot near the arena.

My brother’s car speeds away. And when I look back at Noah, his eyes flutter shut, and his mouth forms a silent fuck . But Anthony is not in charge of who gets cut in this tryout. And if he saw something, if he says something, if he ruins this . . . I am not only making sure his Christmas is nothing but coal. I’ll personally cram it down his throat.