Never Ever

38| Hot tub brawls

The moment Noah slides next to me, he casually drapes an arm around my shoulder and kisses my cheek. No hesitation, no concern for onlookers, just an automatic response to seeing me. I hurriedly turn to face him, excited by the feel of his nose grazing mine.

"I missed you," he whispers, lips tracing from my jaw to my ear. "Tell me you missed me too, Blue."

Such a softie. "I would," I say, turning to focus on my marshmallow, "but you were late to meet me, so I don't think you deserve it."

His eyebrow raises, a mix of challenge and frustration in his eyes. "Do you want me to get on my knees and beg? 'Cause I will." He starts to move, and I grip his bicep, pulling him back. Grinning, his gaze flicks to my lips. "Is this you giving in?"

"You're deeply disturbed," I say, poking the fire, but the truth is, the same flames roasting my marshmallow are the same ones searing my thighs. "I missed you."

"Good." He wraps an arm around me, drawing me close. "I'll be so fucking glad when tomorrow's meet is over."

"Are you worried?"

He shakes his head. "Just tired, but I'll feel better after the holidays. I need some time to reset, you know?"

I rest my head on his shoulder, the warmth of his body countering the cool night air. I completely get the pressure he's under because once upon a time, I was under it, too, albeit on a lesser scale. It's hard living up to everyone's standards while barely staying afloat. Sometimes even downright impossible.

"It's gonna be impossible not seeing you every day," he says suddenly, talking about the holidays. "I don't care what you say; we're upping the text limit. Including Facetime, too."

For some reason, talk of the holidays and beyond worries me, as  if the novelty of him liking me will wear off by then. "I don't really look good on camera."

"You look good anywhere," he says, "and I just want to see you." He wraps his other arm around me like a second blanket, allowing me to completely relax in his arms. I lean into him, tucking my head against his shoulder. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my ear melds with the soft crackling of the flames, and at this moment, it's just us, like the handful of other people around the fire might as well not exist.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Noah says, angling his head toward the firepit, "but what the hell are you doing to that marshmallow?"

I look down at my marshmallow, burnt to a crisp and on fire. "Oh, crap."

He grins, grabs the skewer, and discards the burnt marshmallow, replacing it with a fresh one. "Haven't you ever roasted marshmallows before?"

I turn to look up at him; every breath I take mingles with his scent. "No," I admit, "but it's not exactly rocket science."

He glances at the black blob that was once my marshmallow, now sticking to a piece of coal. "You're not trying to set it on fire," he says, turning the skewer. "You want to hold it half an inch above the pit and rotate it."

I watch him do it, usually resistant to people telling me how to do stuff. But with Noah, it's different. He explains everything enthusiastically, not because he wants to prove he knows more than me but because he genuinely want to help.

"That's it," he says after handing me the skewer, sounding genuinely proud, and I can't help but laugh at how excited he is over a marshmallow. "You'll be a marshmallow roasting pro by the end of the night. Have you ever been camping?"

I give him a pointed look. "I belong in the water, not the forest."

The corner of his lip tilts in typical Noah fashion. He takes hold of my hand, helping me turn the skewer to cover all sides. "I'm going to have to take you. I used to go all the time as a kid. You're missing out."