Game day.

Dressed in Tigers orange I pushed my way into the penthouse front door with a knee while carrying two bags of absolute essential game day goodies. We were going to start with French toast but end the night with hot dogs fully loaded with the fixings and beers. Noah was going to hate it, but tough, it's his college team against my college team. We’d waited months for this day. He didn't know it yet, but the Tigers were going to trounce Syracuse.

The first time I saw the penthouse apartment I was sure I was walking into the most expensive fuck-pad I'd ever seen.

It was gorgeous.

The windows were remarkable and opened out onto the entire city down below. Floor to ceiling, and I loved being out on the terrace.

It was an open floor plan for the kitchen, living and dining area, but the other rooms; bathrooms, bedrooms and office had their own space that lead off down hallways. Decorated in soft whites and muted gray, with thick rugs and accented cushions, chrome, glass and steel in most every room.

It was like a palace in the sky, but undeniably looked like an upscale playboy fuck-pad where princes stayed with their concubines on a weekend when the little wifey was out breaking the credit cards. It was one of my favorite places to be. Especially his kitchen. It was so sleek and modern I had a fit of orgasmic excitement every time I walked in, and I just had to stroke the marble counter tops. The design was luscious with an extensive center island that made it the focal point of the entire room, restaurant-style ranges flanked by prep and clean-up stations and its high ceiling gave it a loft feel with a home style. It would be a wet dream for a wannabe chef. Which I was not, but I still loved it.

With the groceries dumped on the counter top, I grabbed a quick drink from the dispenser attached to the fridge and went to look for the missing host.

He had to be here somewhere.

I found him doing chin lifts in his gym. The repeated Uhgn noise forewarned me and like a creeper I had to brace myself for the sight.

Holy hell.

There was no stopping how I ogled.

Thank god he had his back to me because the way I dragged my eyes down the black running shorts and up his sweat slicked spine it was obscene.

He certainly didn't make a show to hide his bare chest when he jumped down from the bar and grabbed a towel, raking it over the gorgeous, sweaty muscles. And what muscles. A sparse sprinkling hair dotted his chest and that happy trail that bisected his tight formed abs, disappeared into his low-slung shorts.

Those fucking shorts, my god.

They hide nothing, I clearly see something that made my mouth flood with water and I forced my eyes toward the heavens to think good, clean Christian thoughts. I stared at each square slab for far too long and sucked the side of my lower lip to keep myself from drooling, or worse, slut-moaning.

With the memory of all that sexiness under my hands the previous night it was suddenly difficult to breathe.

All this arousal shit was not good for my heart. But what do you know, my perving went on.

Bracketing around the sides of his abdomen, jutted out from his hips were those grooves that no woman knows the word for, the V-heaven-thing—only that they make a woman feel stupid-crazy-hot. They’re handles, I guessed, to hold on to while you’re getting railed hard or giving him head.

Aaaand now I'm thinking of blowjobs. Shit. Stop.

“You look like you had a good workout.” I forced words out of my mouth.

“I had energy to expel.”

You and me both, pal. Only mine was in the shower with the lovely shower-head this morning. I almost offered to help him out with his energy and thought better of it. He took a gulp of bottled water and then licked a drop from his lips while looking at me.

Instant arousal slammed into me.

He was a goddamn menace, he ought to be locked up.

My pulse pounded.

“Ready for brunch? I thought I'd make French toast.”

“Yeah, I could eat.”

“Have you invited anyone else over today?”

Tom. I was asking if Tom the fuck-canoe was coming because I had my excuse to leave ready. Even though this was our big game day, the day we'd smack talked for months, but if that clothes horse was gonna be here with his simpering charm and his characteristic skill to rile me with just a look then no way was I hanging around.

“No, it's just us, kitten.”

“Bring your appetite. It's a big day! Go, Tigers!”

He chuckled thickly. “I always do. And I think you’ll find the Tigers are going down today. Sorry to break bad news.”

I made a pft noise. Because he knew better than to badmouth my champions. I only wished I was home among the eighty thousand crowd to watch the boys run down the Hill after touching Howard’s Rock.

I kept my mind solely on the game and how Noah’s team was going to be kicked in the ass by my babies. Because if for a second, I allowed my thoughts to drift, they’d go back to his ferocious appetite and how I wanted to tend to it, quench every thirst he had.

But today was about friendship. Our rivalry. I loved the man, but today his team were going to lose so badly, and I'd laugh in his gorgeous face.

Noah and I had formed a union in our four years.

Our own little gang of two.

No entry for anyone else.

That means you, Tom.

 I was happy he hadn’t invited him. But unsure if it meant he didn’t want me to know Tom was back.

No Tom. Food. Football and Noah.

It didn’t take much to keep me happy.

 

~*~*~

 

Standing at the stove, with Andy Grammer playing in the background I flipped yet another thickly cut slice of French toast. The air saturated in sugar and cinnamon and I had that impatient fizzle of excitement in my belly.

Still hours to go before the football started.

Lazy days were my favorite kind of day. Not that I don’t thrive on working, I really do. But when I have the chance to wind down I grabbed it with both hands. The day to lie in bed until noon, lounge around with Netflix and a top ponytail and consume mounds of French toast drowned in too much maple syrup, or condensed milk if I was at home, but since Noah mocked watching me guzzle my nectar right from the can I tended to stick to the traditional syrups, so it didn’t offend his highnesses sensibilities.

“You know what the secret is?” I asked over my shoulder, tossing another slice on the growing pile next to the large eight burner stove. This kitchen was so damn pretty. I could easily kill Noah, bury him in downtown Bronx and take over as ruler of this kitchen. It was the perfect crime.

“I’m taking a guess at the heaping of brown sugar you’re sprinkling on top?”

So snarky. I stuck my tongue out then grinned pointing my spatula at him. “Exactly. And people say you’re not smart.” I joked. “You caramelize it at the last second. It’s momma’s secret, so no telling.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of spreading the diabetes secret around.”

“Funny. We all can’t have slabs of beefcake attached to our torso, Noah. Some of us like sugar and a bit of cushioning. Even better than sex, some would say.”

“Would you say?”

“What?”

“Sugar, in your opinion, is it better than sex?”

He padded bare feet around the kitchen, before settling on the island stool reading the news on his iPad.

The way he studied me, with that arrogant smirk permanently attached to his face my vision dipped into a hazy fog, it was all I could do not to beg him to walk the few steps over and slide his hand down into my PJs to discover how sensitive I was down there right now.

The dirty thought made me a dizzy.

So, I busied myself with finishing the toast, filling his plate twice as high as mine.

“If it were chocolate? Absolutely no question about it.” I lied and shoved my mouth full of too hot vanilla French toast and almost choked swallowing it whole.

Noah shook his head. “What is it about you southern women?” He flashed a grin my way and I melted into instant pudding.

I don’t know what it was by putting Noah and sex in the same conversation turned my brain into a sloppy mess. Bad mistake. He said sex in that dark, soaked rich voice of his and all I could hear was the grunts of him climaxing.

God. I needed more French toast.

But I stupidly didn't go for the extra carbs. My brain too wired and I blurted.

“So, are we going to avoid the elephant in the room all day then?”

Oh, god. Why. Why did I do that? Hot syrup burned my thumb and I sucked it clean, wanting the kitchen floor to open and swallow me.

My ground was not steady with Noah now.

I felt as though we were treading on sexual eggshells and it made me nuts.

He looked at me mid chew, before I watched his throat work and he swallowed the food.

“We can talk if you want to. I didn't think you would, so I let it go, you ran off on me last time, kitten.”

I snorted. “I hardly ran away from home.”

“You dodged me. Same difference. Truth, Sena? I want to talk about it.”

I ran out of oxygen. “I’m not running now. You can understand my confusion... right?” Please say you did.

He mopped up a streak of syrup and took the fork between his perfect teeth. I've always loved the way he chewed, shocking, I know. Is there anything about Noah Fierro I don't like? Sure, plenty. His arrogance was bigger than the empire state building and he’s never wrong according to him. But he's not a pig when he eats, always closed lipped with unhurried chews, I enjoyed men with manners and he had all of them.

He copied my earlier move and licked sauce from his thumb. My reaction was a purely sexual one that I tried to hide by dipping my head in hopes he didn't hear my ravenous whimper.

“Of course, I understand.” He responded. “I have some of my own.” And then he smirked that smirk. All control, all the time like doing sex things with me—a woman— hadn't fazed him at all. Like I'm all alone in this city of what-the-fuck is happening to us.

“Are you ... like... experimenting?”

Another smirk.

“No.”

“Do you feel sorry for my sexless self? because I assure you I can get laid any time I want to. And I have a lot of vibrators.”

“Mmhm. With weirdos in bars.” His tone was biting and hit the mark.

“Then I don't get it.”

“I know you liked it, kitten. Your little body doesn't lie—”

“That's not the point.”

“—and if I wasn't called to a work emergency we would have gone a lot further.” He said matter of fact.

My face fused. I'd totally lost my appetite.

For food anyway.

“You're gay!” I burst out.

He nodded. “Yes.”

Rubbing my forehead, I was sure I was in one of those twilight shows where nothing made sense. I cleared away my plate, put the leftovers in his fridge just to give myself a breathing minute.

I faced him and found his eyes already trained on me, like they've been there the entire time.

“I don't want to be some science thing, Noah. And I also don't want to fuck my friendship away.”

He didn't reply, not straight away, but his eyes glinted like I’d stabbed a nerve? I hated sometimes that he was such a man with his apathetic silence. Why say ten words when one will do? He spoke when he had things to say/boss/command, but Noah had never been a talker nor a gossip and for the most part I'd liked that side to him.

Voice like rust he stated. “You think I'd do anything to destroy our friendship?”

I felt shame rush my cheeks, because I really didn't think that. He values our bond almost as much as I do, he told me one drunk New Year’s Eve how special I was to him and how he treasured me. Maybe that was the turning point on my raging crush that morphed into sexual craving.

I can blame his drunk affection.

“I don't know—”

His eyes gleamed blue anger. Or maybe desire? All his faces look alike. And I’m a little afraid to find out. We stared at each other so long, the air around us charged. I’m surprised the kitchen didn’t spontaneously shatter covering me in unanswered questions and debris. I wanted to voice everything but once I did, and it was out there, there’s no taking it back.

That's the rule of asking questions.

Don't fucking ask until you're sure you wanted the answer.

And that's just it.

I don't think I do want the answer. I just hated having the questions loitering like little, nosy bitches on the tip of my tongue. It's all part of being a southern gal, my momma would say.

“If you don't know what you mean to me by now then I'm not going to say it, Sena.” He lifted from the stool, taller than a tree, his presence overwhelmed my sensitive soul. I'd made him mad and I don't even know why.

And I still don't have answers. How simple is it to tell me why he suddenly wanted to put his dick in my very not gay body?

 

~*~*~

 

Later in the day, after we’d kept to our own sides of the living room, him on his iPad, me with my nose on Netflix, we watched the game and I sensed the atmosphere calming. We’re both competitive in nature and we’d like nothing better than beating each other at anything.

When Clemson were leading I booty-danced in his face singing at the top of my lungs.

When Syracuse got a touchdown and leveled the score in the fourth quarter Noah gave me a look hot enough to melt my skin off. Smug bastard.  

We ended up sitting thigh to thigh, braced in front of the flat screen. The tense game was electric. I missed being at home on days like this. I’ve been to a few hockey games since moving to the city, but for me they don’t have the same excitement. If I wanted to watch a grown man brawl I could just walk around Washington Heights on a weekend and I wouldn’t have to pay for it.

“Oh, look at that. Seconds to go. You’re going down, Fierro.” I smack-talked sipping from a beaker of diet lemonade. I felt so superior in my Clemson jersey.

“Only if you beg, kitten.” He said and for three long seconds I didn’t really register and then… my cheeks became pure fire.

Ohmigod.

The text gods intervened when his phone chimed. I watched his face blank out. “Who is it?” Though I had an idea and the loaded hot dogs curdled into thick grease inside my belly.

“Nothing important.” I noticed he flicked it to mute then tossed the phone onto the coffee table. Yeah, Tom the manwhore.

My Tigers won, but I couldn’t truly celebrate for wondering if it had been Tom texting him.

Carrying plate debris into to the kitchen I went through the steps of cleaning up, aware Noah had followed me. “You don’t look as gleefully gloating as I expected you to be.” He remarked. His fingers made me shiver with a touch on my waist where my shirt didn’t quite meet my sweats.

“Was there ever a doubt we’d kick your ass?” My smile was saucy. And a little braggy. My dad already messaged to celebrate our win. He’d no doubt be fighting with some NY fans on Facebook. He was such a keyboard warrior.

Noah kissed my shoulder briefly, surprising me, and took over loading the dishwasher. “There’s always a rematch.”

For a second, I froze in place. Unsure if he meant the football or our sofa shenanigans.