Chapter Fifteen

NOELY

“Where is she?” Dylan shouts down the hallway as she approaches. When she turns the corner into hair and makeup, looking like a complete disaster who just rolled out of bed, she screeches when she sees me. “How did it go? Did the ho-fit work?”

“Ho-fit?” I ask, a raise in my eyebrow.

Natasha is once again working her magic while I sit in my makeup chair, reading over my morning notes and sipping my coffee, trying to infuse some caffeine into my system, begging for a jolt to get me through the day after a very long, sleepless night thinking about Beck Wilder.

“You know.” Dylan addresses her body. “Our ho-ish outfit. Did it work? Was your date all over you?”

Huh, you could say that.

I smirk over the edge of my coffee cup making Dylan squeal and clap her hands. “Oh, you sly old dog.” She places her elbows on her armrest, her body facing me completely, and rests her head in her palms. “Tell me all about it. Did you, you know . . . do a little P and V action?”

“What constitutes as P and V action?”

Dylan sits back, clearly not anticipating such a question from me. “Oh my God, your V touched his P, didn’t it?”

“Depends.”

“Depends on what? It’s a simple question, did your V touch is P? Did privates collide?”

I shrug. “It depends.”

Confused now, and slightly irritated, she says, “There is no depends, it either did or it didn’t.”

“Not true. A P and V can touch without getting down and dirty. Like for instance . . .” I stand and use Natasha as an example. “May I borrow your body for a second?”

“Of course,” she answers. She loves that she gets to be part of every conversation she overhears between Dylan and me.

“Look,” I press my pelvis against Natasha’s and pull away. “My V just touched Natasha’s V, but did we share a sweaty night together? No it was just a little V tap.”

“A vag high five.”

“Exactly.” I point at Natasha. “A little chest bump but with our lady bits.”

“Okay, you’re annoying me.” Now sitting in her chair like a normal person, she adds, “So you didn’t do it?”

“No.” I shake my head just as Natasha begins curling it again.

“So what happened—”

My phone beeps with a notification, a rather obnoxious notification. Last night, when Beck was dropping me off, we both got notifications from our Going in Blind apps asking if we wanted to go on a second date. We said yes, and then Beck forced me to change my notification sound to an old-fashioned horn. Aaaa-woooo-ga! It is obnoxious as hell, but he said whenever I hear it, I’ll know it’s him.

Hearing that horn this morning puts a giant smile on my face. Once we reached my place, we made out for a little bit longer on his bike before he walked me to my door and reluctantly said good night. Even though I was ready to invite him in, he must have sensed my nervousness because he backed away, hand in his hair, looking utterly provocative with his undone shirt and rebel-ish ways.

“Uh, are you ignoring me?”

I hold my finger up to Dylan as I open up the app and read a message from RebelWithACause.

 

Sassy,

Told you I wouldn’t be dicking around with the “rules.” I want to see you again. The app suggested we go to a cooking class. I’m not much of a cook, but all I can envision is you in an apron. Now, this is something I have to see. There’s a class this coming Friday. Come cook dinner with me.

Your rebel.

 

Smiling like a fool, I type him back as Dylan pokes me in the arm. “What did he say? You can’t just smile like that and not let me know what’s going on. Come on, share with the married woman. If you share, I’ll tell you what Chad and I did last night, and I promise it’s not a riveting story about folding laundry together.”

Ignoring her, I write back.

 

Rebel,

Me in an apron? That’s what you’ve been envisioning? Clearly I didn’t tempt you enough last night. I must do better next time.

Sassy

P.S. Count me in for Friday.

 

I press send and turn to Dylan. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Don’t hold anything back. Start with the P and V.”

Rolling my eyes, I sip my coffee and say, “His name is Beck. He’s the epitome of a rebel with his motorcycle, dark look, and tempting alpha attitude. His past is mysterious, divorced at twenty, had some kind of eight-year hiatus on life, and doesn’t drink alcohol.”

“Doesn’t drink alcohol? Why?”

I shrug. “No idea. I didn’t get into it, thought it was too heavy of a question for a first date.”

My phone honks and I giggle to myself.

“Is that him?”

I nod.

 

Sassy,

Did I forget to mention you weren’t wearing anything under the apron when I was daydreaming? That makes a huge difference. My mistake. I’ll be sure to remember to include such vital details next time.

Your rebel

P.S. I can’t wait to kiss those delicious lips of yours again.

 

Rebel,

Your mistake has been forgiven but hasn’t gone unnoticed. Please be more specific next time . . . very specific.

Sassy

P.S. You never told me your top five romantic comedies like you promised.

 

Turning back to Dylan, I say, “After we left the restaurant, Beck took me for a ride on his motorcycle.”

“Really? That’s hot. Where did you go, did you make out?” She laughs at her question.

“We did, but before that we went to some underground salsa club where he ground up against me for a good half hour.”

“No, he didn’t.” Dylan slaps the armrest of her chair and bounces in her seat. “He danced with you? Ugh. The only kind of dancing I can get Chad to participate in is Just Dance on the Wii, and let me tell you, he’s far too good at the Spice Girl song Wannabe. The man beats me every time.” She sighs. “So you dry-humped on the dance floor, that must have been nice.”

My phone honks again, causing Dylan to groan in frustration.

 

Sassy,

Don’t you worry. I’ll be very specific next time. By the way, for our Friday date, can I request you wear the dress you wore last night? I didn’t get a good enough look at it.

Your rebel

P.S. In no particular order; You’ve Got Mail, Overboard, When Harry Met Sally, My Big Fat Greek Wedding—that family is crazy, and Sixteen Candles.

 

Rebel,

Unfortunately I need to inform you that said dress was retired last night after nearly showing off my lady areas far too many times. If you want, I can allow you to say goodbye to it on the hanger, but that’s the best I can do.

Sassy

P.S. Your selection not only pleases me, but makes me think you actually watched these movies. I would have pegged you for a Bruce Willis, Die Hard fanatic.

 

Turning back to Dylan, I say, “There was dry-humping on the dance floor, a lot of wandering hands, and heightened senses. It got to the point that when we left, electricity was bouncing between us. He then took me to a cliff overlooking the ocean, practically laid me across his bike, and made out with me.”

Dylan starts to fan herself. “Oh Christ, I think I’m starting to climax just thinking about that. He made out with you on his bike? That’s so hot.”

“And he almost sucked on my breasts. I mean, he kissed the top of them and gently thrust his hard-on into me.”

Natasha above me sighs as she finishes up the last piece of my hair that needs to be curled, her eyes all dreamy.

“I know, right? Natasha, it was like a freaking movie. A dirty one, but a movie with the way he took charge, the way he spoke to me, the setting of the night with the stars and the ocean and the light breeze that puckered my nipples.” I hug my phone as if it’s him. “It was . . . perfect.”

“I’m not going to lie, your dating life is turning me on, and I don’t know if I should be worried,” Dylan says, pulling a nail file from the counter in front of her. She starts to go to work on her thumb when she asks, “So I’m going to assume it’s a go for the next date.”

“I said yes.”

My phone honks, which causes Dylan to roll her eyes. “I’m going to go pick out my outfit before I turn into a raving bitch full of jealousy.” Getting up from her chair, she says, “I’m probably going to wear royal blue.” She takes off and I start to mentally assess what dresses I have in my dressing room that would complement her royal-blue choice.

“Are you going to check your phone?” Natasha asks as she starts assessing eye shadows for me.

Smiling, I nod.

 

Sassy,

Retired before being able to experience being slowly peeled off your body by me? Is there any way we can remedy that?

Your rebel

P.S. Bruce Willis? It’s the leather jacket and motorcycle, isn’t it?

 

Rebel,

Like I said, the dress has been retired, but I’m sure the black lingerie that accompanied the dress last night wouldn’t mind being peeled off.

Sassy

P.S. It’s the accumulation of the jacket, the bike, the alpha, the demeanor . . . everything.

 

I spend the next twenty minutes talking to Natasha about the program and encouraging her to give it a try while she applies my makeup. She laughs my suggestion off but from the curious look in her eyes, I can tell she’ll look into it later.

While in my dressing room, minutes away from going on set, my phone honks at me. This honking was a good idea because every time I hear the sound, a huge smile spreads across my face.

 

Sassy,

Consider it peeled . . . by my teeth.

Your rebel

P.S. Just admit it, you’re attracted to me.

 

Taking a second to catch my racing breath, I sit down on the vanity in my dressing room and type him back.

 

Rebel,

I’m about to go on air, turned on . . . by you. I think you owe me something for the torture I’m about to go through.

Sassy

P.S. Yes. I’m attracted to you. Now you admit it, you want me.

 

He writes back almost immediately.

 

Sassy,

It’s cute how you think you make the rules between us. I think it’s best that you know early on, I’m the one who takes charge. The only thing I owe you is my tongue in your mouth and a whole lot of my hands on your tits.

Your rebel

P.S. I want you . . . fucking bad.

 

I might not know much about this man, like what he does for a job, where he lives, or what his story is, but what I do know about him, I like, and what I don’t know, I look forward to finding out. At least for now, there is one thing I’m certain of: he keeps me on my toes, puts a smile on my face, and causes significant heat in my veins.