“Okay quick. Go make sure my door’s locked.”
Meanwhile, I rearrange my pillows so we can sit side by side on my bed with our backs to the wall. He kicks off his shoes and climbs up beside me. We’re hip to hip when he looks at me, waiting for the cue. I nod to let him know to go ahead. No time like the present.
The bag crinkles as he dips his hand inside, then slowly, slowly, he draws out an authentic Italian cannoli with the careful precision of a surgeon delicately lifting a donor kidney from a patient. We’re talking fried, crispy pastry stuffed with a creamy filling of ricotta cheese, sugar, and chocolate chips. Noah cradles it gently in his hand and holds it out toward me, gifting me the first taste. I greedily accept a bite from one end, close my eyes, and savor every last morsel.
My groan is sexual.
I’ve never tasted anything sweeter in my life.
I peer over at Noah as he takes his bite. He’s having an out-of-body experience too.
“Good, right?” he asks with hooded eyes.
“So good. Let me have another bite.”
“Easy! You almost took off the tip of my finger.”
Then it’s his turn again.
“Hey!” I grab his bicep. “C’mon! You just devoured like half of it.”
We’re done with the dessert in seconds. I don’t even think we chew. I check the bag just to confirm we sucked up every last crumb then Noah crinkles it up into a tight ball and shoots it like a basketball into the trashcan by my desk.
We stay on my bed, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. Noah, me, and my little blue bunny. Neither of us says a word. The air turns thick with tension. It seems we haven’t totally sated our appetites with that dessert, and now we’re both thinking about having another.
I have specks of ricotta and sugar smeared on my fingers and lips, and I lick it off while Noah watches. I could get a napkin, of course, but why waste the opportunity?
The poor guy’s about to lose it. His pants are growing tight.
“You’re right. That did take the edge off,” I tell him.
The edge of his mouth lifts in a small smile, but his heated eyes belie his easygoing manner.
We haven’t been alone on a bed since Monday night at Giuseppe’s house.
My silk pajamas—the ones I put on secretly hoping to torment him—are so delicate and revealing it’s almost diabolical.
Noah eyes every inch of me, starting at my bare feet and traveling up my legs. Goose bumps break out across my skin. His eyes graze my arms, chest, neck, mouth. When his gaze finally captures mine, my stomach squeezes tight with longing.
I want him to kiss me.
I turn my head fully toward him and stare at his mouth, thinking about all the things I want it to do to me. Places I want it to touch and taste. My thoughts are rated XXX.
Please.
I’m begging you.
Put me out of my misery.
Flatten your hand against my chest, press me back against the wall, and seal our fate.
But Noah doesn’t kiss me.
Noah doesn’t lay a single finger on me.
We stay like that until I feel positively drunk with desire.
Eventually, he sighs a heavy breath and turns away, staring at the wall across the room.
I wish I knew what he was thinking. Being here with Noah, just willingly sitting next to each other—for us, it’s intimate. We’re still getting acclimated to it all.
“What would Past Noah and Past Audrey think if they saw us sitting like this right now?” I ask.
He smiles. “They wouldn’t believe it.” He shakes his head and scoots off the bed. “I should probably go check on the kids one more time before bed. Just to make sure everything’s okay.”
I nod. “Right. Yeah. Just to be sure.”
I regret letting him go the second he leaves.
Saturday drags.
8:00 AM: eat breakfast in the dining hall, wish I was on my date with Noah 8:03 AM: sip coffee, wish I was on my date with Noah
8:07 AM: check the time, assuming it’s already past 10—groan in despair 8:10 AM: see Noah, blush like a schoolgirl
8:11 AM: desperately wish I was on my date with Noah
The whole day is a weird fever dream. I think I eat lunch with the kids in the dining hall. I think we take them out for gelato in the afternoon. In reality, my brain is laser-focused on getting to the good part.
I lock myself in my room two hours before I’m supposed to meet Noah at the restaurant he picked. We agreed it’s better to go separately so we can avoid being spotted together. I’m not ready to answer any pesky questions from the kids or other chaperones.
I figure two hours is enough time to get ready and calm my nerves. If I had alcohol, I’d take a shot.