“I’ll be a pussycat.” I grin at her.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she murmurs.

Chapter Ten

Olivia

I let Noah take the bathroom to brush his teeth first. We haven’t yet reached the level of familiarity required for me to watch another human being spit into the sink. Meanwhile, I take the bedroom to change into my favorite fleecy pajamas.

When I emerge, Noah is leaning against the wall outside the bathroom door. He cocks his head with an amused smile that stops me in my tracks.

“What?” I ask after a minute.

His eyes crinkle at the edges. “Nothing. You just look cute.”

Cute? My cheeks turn pink as the word fizzes down through my stomach. I suddenly feel self-conscious about having little lavender butterflies printed all over me. Somehow I hadn’t expected Noah to have an opinion on my pajamas. Or, if he did, that he would tease me about them. Not say sweet things that make me temporarily forget how to talk.

“Where are your pajamas?” I ask, shrugging off the bubbly feeling.

His smile quirks with mischief. “Well, usually I sleep in the nude—”

Of course you do. Why am I not surprised?

“Not anymore you don’t,” I say quickly, interrupting him. “Find some sweatpants or something.” As we trade places, passing in the hallway, I add over my shoulder, “And that better include a shirt!”

The sight of Noah’s sculpted six-pack while I’m still getting comfortable with the idea of sharing an apartment with him—let alone a bed? No way I’d survive that.

When I’m almost done brushing my teeth, he calls out from the bedroom. “Hey, Snowflake? Since we’re spending the night together, would you be interested in taking our first test drive?”

My heart jumps into my throat. It slows down a little—but only a little—when I realize he’s talking about our make-out idea. Jeez . . . give the guy an inch and he starts asking for a mile.

Surprisingly, though, I don’t feel a speck of reluctance about kissing Noah. Only curiosity, a flush of warmth, a flutter of nervous excitement. But then again, our agreement is strictly limited to necking like a couple of shy high-schoolers, which we’ve technically already done seven years ago. And there’s no reason to reevaluate my stance against casual sex—what I have planned is a long way from home base. The thought is both a huge relief and a tiny bit disappointing.

“Sure,” I answer him finally, trying to sound nonchalant. I was the one who proposed we try it, after all. Although I assumed it would be a little further in the future. But tonight is as good a time as any.

At last, the moment of truth arrives. Swallowing hard, I pull back the covers, sit down, and slide underneath. The linens rustle as Noah does the same on the bed’s other side.

I can hear him move and breathe. I’m attuned to every tiny sound, hyperaware of how close he is to me.

It’s been so long since I slept in the same room with another person, let alone the same bed. And this is nothing like bunking with my sister or Camryn. My new bedmate is a man. A very handsome man who has made it extremely clear that he wants to fuck my brains out with his huge dick. We’re only sleeping together, not sleeping together, but still . . . I’m sharing a bed with Noah Fucking Tate. And I’m about thirty seconds away from kissing him.

An odd fluttery energy washes over me—nervousness and excitement mix until I can’t tell them apart. I feel a sudden shy urge to withdraw to my side of the bed and stare at the wall until he falls asleep, then I chide myself for being ridiculous. We’re not innocent children, but we’re also not teenagers, blushing and giggling at the barest mention of sex. We’re two mature, liberated adults who have very sensibly decided to . . .

Another giddy wave, this one distinctly warmer. I force myself to stop being a nervous wreck and roll over.

Noah has propped himself up on his elbow. His slight smile drops as he searches my face. “Hey, are you okay?”

Are my jitters that obvious?

“Uh, y-yeah, I’m fine,” I reply. Maybe that’s not totally true, but it’s not a lie, either. I really do want to try this. Which means I need to take the plunge now. “Let’s go.”

Noah nods and scoots closer. He reaches out to stroke my hair out of my face, and I relax a fraction into his light, almost tickling touch.

“Still with me?” he asks.

I nod.

“Because we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know that.”

His touches are more gentle than I expected. His fingertips are so light on my cheek, my neck, tucking my hair behind my ear. It’s . . . nice.

Then, at last, he shifts his weight and leans in.

That first brush is so soft, I can barely feel it. It’s more like the pause before a kiss than the kiss itself. But it still kicks my heart rate into overdrive.

“Was that all right?” he murmurs, his warm and minty breath fanning over my mouth.

I tilt up my chin and answer his question with a chaste peck.

He brushes against my lips with a chuckle. Sliding one arm under my head as a pillow, he lies down facing me, draping his other arm around my shoulder and upper back. He keeps his hands high and his lower body at least an inch from mine. A gentleman . . . for now, anyway.

His mouth starts moving gently. No tongue, no teeth, not even very much pressure—just feeling the give and take of our lips against each other. My nervousness slowly drains away to be replaced with a different, much more pleasant kind of buzzing energy.