“Probably,” he says and leans back into the seat. “You didn’t have to come get me.”
“You’re drunk. How else were you going to get home?”
“I’ll be fine in a little while.”
I drive out of the parking lot. “I don’t think so.”
His eyes close and he doesn’t respond. Just how much did he have to drink tonight? Neither of us speak on the way back to my house. Noah follows me inside. The dogs take advantage of his drunk mind to lick him to death as he just sits there and takes it.
“Last time I was drunk at your house, we made a baby,” he slurs as he struggles to his feet. He grabs me around the waist. “Want to make another?”
“We can’t make another. And no, I want to go back to bed. I have to get up and go to work in a few hours.”
He spreads his legs and pulls me closer. “Call off.”
“I can’t just call off for no reason.”
He moves his mouth to my neck and good god, even drunk, that man can work his tongue and make me quiver. “I can give you a reason.”
“As tempting as that is, I’m going to pass. Go take a shower, you smell.”
His hand slips inside my pajama pants. “Don’t go to work. Tell them you’re sick. Love sick.”
“That would be a lie.” I smile and shake my head. Noah pulls away and the hurt in his eyes is as shocking as a slap to the face. “I’m not sick,” I say quickly. “Plus I get paid hourly. Missing twelve hours puts a dent in my paycheck.” I take his hand and guide him through the house and into the small bathroom.
“I have lots of money.” He leans against the sink as I strip him of his clothes. I’m not in the mood for sex. I’m annoyed and tired and dreading going through a freaking long-ass shift on little sleep. “You can not work and I’ll pay for things. You can stay home and be a mom.”
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s too drunk. Because in order to be a stay-at-home mom while he provides for the family, we have to be a family first.
And he’s not even my boyfriend.
“Take a shower, Noah.” I help him step out of his pants. I keep my eyes up and my hands at my own side. I don’t trust myself not to fall for his sex appeal, no matter how tired I am. “Then come to bed.”
He nods and takes a step toward the shower. Then he stops and grabs me.
“You’re too good to me, Lauren,” he exhales, burying his head in my hair. I wrap my arms around him, taking in his warm skin and muscles.
“Oh trust me, I know.”
“I don’t deserve you.” There is more emotion in those four words than I’ve heard in a lifetime of conversation with Noah Wilson. My breath catches in my chest and I’m suddenly cold, needing to be pressed closer to his naked skin for warmth. “You’re too good for me.”
I close my eyes and embrace him, feeling his heart beat against mine. “We can talk about it in the morning.”When you’re sober.He might not feel the same about me then.
I hope he does.
And I didn’t expect that.
“Take a shower then come cuddle with me?”
He pulls away and gives me a lopsided grin. “I can do that.”
“Don’t pass out in there,” I warn, grinning back.
I get in bed, trying to hang onto Noah’s words, trying to see how thiswon’tbecome a pattern. Because Noah has changed. He doesn’t get trashed and stay at the bar all hours of the night. It’s not who he is anymore.
It can’t be if this is going to work.
Tears pool in my eyes. I want this to work so badly. I want Noah in my life, in our lives. The fear of not having him is like a knife to the heart, more painful than I ever imagined. And now I know there is no use in denying it: I’m in love with Noah.