CHAPTER TWELVE
"These are the times that try men's souls." - Thomas Paine
~NOEL~
“Don’t you love how the streetlights reflect through the windshield?” Aspen leaned forward in the passenger seat to stroke the glass above the dashboard of her car. But her safety belt caught before she could quite touch it, and she fell back into her seat with a sad sigh. “It’s so pretty,” she mumbled, eyeing the view longingly.
I shook my head in amusement as her navigation system told me to turn right at the corner. “Yeah, you’ve definitely had one too many to drink,” I said to myself more than to her, since she wasn’t even listening to me, too enrapt in the pretty lights to notice my presence.
“They look like carnival lights.” She sent me a sidelong glance. “Have you ever been to a carnival?”
I blinked. “Umm...sure.” Who’d never been to a carnival?
Whenever they’d come to my hometown, they’d always set up in the open lot not far from our trailer park. I used to sneak down and take Caroline, and Brandt too when he’d gotten old enough to go on the rides. I’d never gotten around to taking Colt, though, before I’d left for college. I hoped Caroline did that for me. Some of my happiest memories were of buying candy and tickets and watching my siblings when we’d gone on the rides. Colt needed a memory like that. Hell, everyone needed those kinds of memories.
“I’ve never been to a carnival,” Aspen said softly. I glanced across the quiet interior of her car to watch her face fill with even more longing. “My parents said carnivals were foolish and a waste of time.”
Damn. Her parents sounded like complete assholes.
“Do you think if my date had shown up, I would’ve gotten lucky tonight?” She paused and bit her lip. “I could be having sex right now. Wow, I can’t even remember when the last time I had sex was.”
Shit. Bad topic.
She’d been talking nonstop since I’d helped her into her car, changing subjects faster than I could change speeds. But we hadn’t dipped back into this taboo territory since she’d squeezed my bicep in the bar.
“But I do remember the last time I dreamed about having sex,” she kept on. “You were doing me on my desk at work and—”
What? She’d had that dream too? Unreal.
I shifted in the driver’s seat because my erection felt pinched in my jeans.
“—and I was sprawled on my back with all these graded papers digging into my spine while you were standing on the floor between my legs so you could...you know. Then you hit this spot in me...Oh, my God. It felt so good. I somehow kicked over the monitor of my computer screen. But you just kept going, and I think I was about to come, but then I woke up all wet and aching, and I never did find out how that dream ended.”
Oh, I knew how that dream ended.
But damn. This was not good. Hearing about how I’d made her wet and aching snapped the chains around my control as if they were scissor blades plucking apart a tendril of hair.
“You probably shouldn’t be talking about this to me,” I told her, my voice gruff.
She glanced over. “Why not? You’ve had sex, haven’t you?” Then she snorted and threw her head back to laugh outright. “What am I saying? You’re Noel Gamble. You’ve probably had sex more times this month alone than I have in my entire life.”
I scowled. “Okay, now you’re just being insulting.”
“Six,” she said.
I shook my head, not following. “What?”
“I’ve had sex six times in my life. Three different guys.”
My mouth fell open. Jesus. I hadn’t needed a head count. But hell, now that she’d given me one, I thought maybe I had had more sex in this month alone than she’d had in her entire life. Okay, not this month or even last month, exactly. But definitely during a football season month.
She tipped her head to the side and frowned thoughtfully. “Wait. If you’re not willing, does that count?”
Zipping my attention to her, I almost ran a red light. Stomping on the brakes, I exploded, “Excuse me?”
“I said—”
“I heard you! Jesus Christ. If you’re not willing, I don’t think it’s even considered sex. It’s called rape.”