“Noah!” She squeals, clutching her chest as she shouts over the music blasting in her ears. “How long have you been there!?”
“Long enough,” I respond.
“What?” She yells. “What did you say?”
“Take out the headphones,” I laugh.
“Huh?” She continues to shout, her face scrunched up as she tries to read my lips.
“Headphones,” I say.
“I can’t hear you!”
Chuckling, I cross over to her and pluck a bud from her ear, showing her the device as it continues to play music.
“Oh.” She reaches for the other and places it on the side before she taps her cell and stops the music. “Did I wake you?”
“No, cricket,” My hand slides around the nape of her neck, “You sleep okay?”
She tilts her head back, “Mmhmm. Did you?”
“Fine,” I lie.
Sleeping in separate beds feels wrong, but I know I need to take this slowly, ease her into the idea of us. That first night I’d warred with myself, unsure if I should place her in with me or in the bed she usually sleeps in when she’s here. After I’d tucked her in and stroked her hair, my legs felt like lead as I left her there.
She cocks her head to the side and then reaches up with her hand, running her fingers delicately beneath my eyes, “Are you sure?”
It takes everything I have not to lean into her touch. “I’m good.”
She sighs and drops her hand. “I made us pancakes.”
“Smells good,” I pad over to the island and pull out a stool for her. “Sit, I’ll serve.”
When I glance over my shoulder, I catch her eyes on my ass, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“Eyes up here, cricket,” I chuckle.
She snaps her gaze up, rolling her lips inwards, “What? I wasn’t looking.”
You see, when my cricket lies, she touches her nose with her finger. Just a small brush, there and gone, but I picked up on the tell when we were still kids.
“Little liar,” I tease, turning toward her. “Look all you like.”
“I wasn’t looking, I swear,” she breathes as I come to a stop in front of her.
I chuckle, the sound warm, “Whatever you say.”
“Shut up,” she rolls her eyes and stomps away, planting her ass on the stool. I’m still grinning when I dish up the pancakes onto plates, moving to the fridge to pull out the strawberries and whipped cream she likes to have with them. I fix them for her and slide the plate across the island.
“It should be studied how well you know me,” she stabs a strawberry with her fork and shoves it in her mouth. She never lets herself have it this way, but when we’re at my place, she can have everything she wants. My fridge will always have strawberries and cream for her pancakes.
I walk my plate around the island and take the seat beside her. “I know you better than I know myself.”
“Honestly,” she licks whipped cream off the back of her fork, “I feel that.”
My entire body warms.
“This is nice,” she says after a beat. “I’m not going to lie, I was scared.”
