Chapter 17 "We're so damn domesticated," Penn crows as he bends over to extract a hot, fresh pan of the best chocolate chip cookies on earth from the oven. Fisher slaps him on the ass. "The apron definitely adds a little something-something." We were all in hysterics a few minutes ago when Penn started rooting in a drawer for a measuring cup and instead produced a frilly pink apron-an apron that definitely doesn't belong to me and which all three of the boys swore up and down they knew absolutely nothing about. It was Noah, surprisingly, who grinned wickedly and concluded it must belong to Fisher's mom and that she probably wore it for his dad with nothing underneath. Fisher immediately dry heaved and argued his parents would never-and even if they would, he didn't want to know about it...and then, just to piss him off, Penn decided to wear the apron. My sides now hurt from laughing. Post hockey-win baking with the boys has proven way more fun than post hockey-win partying. "Oh, my goodness gracious me!" Penn-who's still proudly wearing the pink apron-says in a fake southern twang, apparently imitating Fisher's mom. He moans as he crams an entire cookie into his mouth in one go. He winces, then opens his mouth, letting out a puff of steam from the piping hot confection. "Hot," he yelps through his mouthful of cookie as he flings open the refrigerator door and retrieves a gallon of milk. He twists the cap off and takes three big gulps right from the jug before adding, "Burnt my tongue, but worth it." "You're disgusting," Noah says with a scowl-but his eyes are lighter than I've seen them. Less agonized than usual. "Don't sweat it, Downsby, it's my milk." Noah lets out an exasperated sigh. "It's mine, dumbass. Yours is the lactose-free carton, remember?" He smirks. "Although that means karma will haunt you for your theft in about two hours." Penn looks down at the milk label and curses in his regular old Canadian man-voice. "Sticker chart!" Fisher exclaims in glee. "Pucksake," Penn groans. I giggle, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Noah shooting a little smile in my direction. A secret smile only I see. One that draws a shiver from me. All night, I've been trying to shake the memory of his searing gaze on me as I stripped off his jersey and handed it to him. All night, I've been one hundred percent failing at that assignment. I was fully clothed under that jersey, and he still looked at me like Penn is currently looking at the cookie in his hand. "Thought yours was the moose milk, anyhow," Fisher wisecracks as he slaps a frowny face sticker next to Penn's name on the chart taped to the fridge. "It's illegal to milk moose in Canada, don't ya know?" Penn says. "I didn't, actually. But you learn something new every day, I guess," Fisher says as he walks over to the cookies. He breaks one in half, blowing on it for a moment before popping it in his mouth. His eyes flutter closed. "Damn Ally, those are insane." "Thanks," I say, but my eyes are on Noah as he moves towards the cookie sheet. I'm way, way too pleased when he snags one and takes a huge bite-first time I've seen him break his strict, protein-heavy, devoid-of-sugar-and-joy diet. He chews, swallows, then immediately takes another big bite. I'm standing here like a creep, watching as his strong jaw moves. How can he make chewing look sexy? Seeing him enjoy the cookie fills me with unexpected happiness...because he likes something I made-my family's own recipe. Things with Noah have been better over the past few days. Ever since our conversation in the hot tub, he's been avoiding me less. A lot less, in fact. We've been sharing our bathroom most mornings before I go to work, sometimes chatting, and other times listening to music in surprisingly comfortable silence as we get ready side by side. Last night, he ventured out of his room to join me, Penn, and Fisher as we ate takeout pizza and watched the latest episode of Matchmaker Mansion, and now tonight he's helped me bake. It's a new equilibrium I'm a big fan of. Noah finishes the massive cookie in three bites, then says reverently, "That was the best damn cookie I've ever had." He immediately reaches for another-Penn and Fisher have already helped themselves to thirds at this point-and my heart warms further. "It's my mom's recipe," I tell him happily, leaning back against the counter and pushing myself up to sit atop it. I swing my legs as I reach for a cookie of my own, a smile crossing my face. "She always used to make them with me, especially back in high school if I had a bad day or got a bad grade or something. Her motto is that there's very little in this life that a warm chocolate chip cookie can't solve." "Your mom is a smart woman." Fisher gives me a finger gun as he swipes four more cookies and wanders towards the couch, Penn in his wake with the rest of the tray. Noah, meanwhile, looks a little sad, the corners of his mouth turned down. I immediately feel like a jerk. Poor Noah went through all of middle school and high school without a mom to comfort him after a bad day. The thought is awful, and I want to go back in time and wrap my arms around childhood Noah, giving him the biggest hug humanly possible. "Did Andie ever bake cookies with you?" I venture a little timidly, trying to communicate with my eyes that I'm sorry for being insensitive. He looks at me for a long moment, and whatever he sees or gleans from my expression must be good, because he snorts. "Andie?" Noah laughs. "Please. The only thing Andie can make is pina coladas...and she didn't let me try one of hers until I turned twenty-one. With good reason, too. That thing was strong enough to tranquilize a moose." "Andie is officially my new favorite person," I say with a grin. "I can see why you two get along," he replies, and I could swear his tone is almost...fond. I'm eager to keep our conversation going, so I say, "When my dad first started dating my mom, he kept trying to impress her with his cooking so he made all this terrible Thai food. Like it was totally inedible, all mushy with weird flavors that were decidedly nothing like actual Thai food. And I was so desperate for them to stay together, for him to be my new dad, that I would pretend to like it and force myself to eat his awful cooking." "I can't picture you eating anything but those bagged frozen foods you live on." Noah smiles, then leans forward a little. "I know you call Carter Callahan 'Dad'-which is still wild to me-but what about your biological dad?" "Some asshole who cheated on my mom before I was even born," I say with a shrug. "I'm sorry," Noah says. "Nah, don't be. Carter is the best dad ever. I'm glad my real dad's out of the picture, to be honest. I don't even know him." I'm not usually this blunt when talking to people about my family, but Noah is surprisingly easy to talk to. Like you could tell him anything, and he'd take it in his stride. "That's his loss⁠-" "C'mon and get your asses over here!" Penn hollers, interrupting Noah mid-sentence. I jump. I was enjoying talking to Noah so much I'd almost forgotten the others were here. Penn lies on his back on the couch, now shirtless with a tower of cookies stacked on his chest and Fisher hovering over him with his hand above the cookies in case they topple. "We're gonna play a game," Fisher adds, briefly glancing up at us. Noah crosses his arms warily. "What game?" "Jenga," Penn says. "Cool," I say, sliding off the counter. I was enjoying talking to Noah again, trading stories and getting to know him a little better, but game night sounds fun, too. "I'm in." But Noah crosses his arms. "No." "Yes," Penn replies. "Don't be a downer, Downsby," Fisher adds. "What's wrong with Jenga?" I wonder aloud. Noah looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "They're not talking about normal Jenga," he says, quiet so only I can hear him. "What?" I whisper back, but my question is pretty much answered for me as Fisher empties the entire Jenga box onto the coffee table. Immediately, I can see that each wooden piece is covered in writing. Different blocks have different colors of pen. "I'm intrigued." I study Noah, wondering what he's got against not-normal Jenga. He levels his gaze on me as he replies, "You really shouldn't be." Those words, spoken in his deep, gruff voice, sound like a delicious threat. I pop an eyebrow and place my hands on my hips. "Is that a challenge, Downsby?" "Do you want it to be?" His dark eyes bore into mine, and heat licks at my spine. "Challenge accepted!" I blurt, breaking eye contact before I spontaneously combust. In an attempt to appear unaffected by that panty-melting look he just gave me, I quickly smirk at him before I run into the living room, slipping over the wooden floors in my socks and sucking in some vital oxygen as I go. Noah's deep chuckle echoes in my ears as he walks into the living room behind me, and I'm delighted because I think that means he's decided to play. "Okay." Penn cracks his knuckles, all business, as Noah and I both sit down on the couch. "Here are the rules of Extreme Jenga, as per the official Arlington University guidelines." Noah rolls his eyes. "Official, my ass." "It was a beloved party game at the hockey house," Penn clarifies, grabbing the stack of cookies off his chest and moving them to the coffee table so he can sit upright. "And I took the best set with me when I graduated." "So it's a drinking game?" I ask skeptically. "Oh Allegra, my sweet little lamb, it is so much more than a drinking game. It's a stroke of pure genius, an incredible invention, a mas⁠-" "What Penn's trying to say is that he invented it." Noah cuts him off with a smirk, which makes me laugh. Penn is undeterred by Noah's jab and goes on to explain the rules, which are surprisingly thorough: everyone takes their turn extracting a piece, like normal Jenga, but instead of placing their block back on the top of the big tower, they have to construct their own mini tower, but with the blocks vertical. "And if you topple over the tower?" I ask. Penn rubs his hands together in glee. "The person who knocks over a tower-either the main one or their own mini one-has to do a challenge...whatever was on the block that made the tower fall. Challenges are non-negotiable. If you lose a challenge, you lose a point. First person to negative five is eliminated, and so forth, until there's a winner to be crowned." Oh, great. "A pucking masterpiece!" Fisher looks beyond impressed. Noah leans close to me, all body heat and raspy voice. "I'm not gonna say I told you so, but I told you so." And as much as this game sounds like the odds are stacked against me-my opponents being pro athletes and all that-I point at him and grin. "You're going down, Downsby. Prepare to lose." "Fighting words, Callahan," Noah replies huskily, a smile playing at the corner of his lips that makes me feel a swoop in my stomach. He lowers his voice a little and adds, "I like it." I turn away so he can't see me blush. Because I very much like this new, playful side of Noah. Probably a little too much. We all gather around the coffee table and stack the main tower, and then it's game on. I soon discover that hockey players' reputations for being competitive are well deserved, as soon the game descends into utter chaos, tempers flaring and accusations flying with things going from civil to all-out war as the boys bicker over everything. Fisher knocks over the tower first, much to his chagrin, and has to do five handstand pushups while singing the national anthem-which he executes flawlessly. Then Penn has to drink a cup of hot sauce, which he gags on and forfeits, losing a point. I fumble next, sending my own tower flying, and when I stand up and read my block, my cheeks flame crimson. "You chicken, Ally?" Fisher crows, snatching the block out of my hand to read it. He guffaws when he sees what's written there. "What's it say?" Penn demands. Fisher shows him the block, and he smirks. "Perform a sexy dance with the player on your right to a power ballad of another player's choice." Noah-on my right-suddenly goes rigid. I swallow thickly, my entire face burning up and my pulse jumping in my throat. If it were Penn or Fisher on my right, I would have laughed it off. Jumped right up and performed some silly antics that involved spinning around with over exaggerated arm actions. But the words "sexy dance" and "Noah" in the same sentence are making my brain misfire. Penn gives Noah a shove. "Go on then, Downsby, get up there." "Wooooooooo, get it Noah!" Fisher claps. A flush is also spreading over Noah's cheekbones as he stands up next to me. "Shall we get this over with?" "Yup," I say, hardly able to look at him. We walk a couple of steps from the couch to an open area of wood flooring. As we turn and face each other I'm suddenly all too aware that Noah has shed his jacket and tie and is now barefoot in just his dress shirt and suit pants. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, baring his forearms, and the top three buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned to show off part of his chiseled chest and a light smattering of dark chest hair. Fisher and Penn huddle over Fisher's phone to pick the music. When they start laughing their asses off, Noah and I make eye contact. "This is going to be bad, isn't it?" I ask. "I'm sorry you got roped into it with me." He chuckles softly. "Honestly, it could have been worse...there's a block that requires the person to do a striptease." "Shut up!" Noah quirks a smile. "Tried to warn you." "Okay we're ready," Fisher calls. He presses play, and it's even worse than I imagined as through the state-of-the-art living room sound system, the opening bars of Boyz II Men's "I'll Make Love to You" begins to play. I bite down on my lip, holding back the fountain of incredulous nervous laughter that's bubbling up in me. "Here goes nothing," Noah exhales under his breath as he lowers his eyes to meet mine. He surprises me by taking the lead as he extends a hand to me. I reach out my own, and as my fingers slide over his open palm, my whole body feels charged, sparked with an electrical current. When he tugs me against his chest, I feel, rather than hear, Noah's sharp inhale. He's still for a moment before his opposite hand slides around my waist. I can hardly breathe, or think, so I let myself rely on my intuition, leaning into my body's instinct in a way I haven't felt safe or able to do in months. But right here, in the living room with Noah, dancing to this old, corny song, something changes in me. I'm able to release my thoughts and just move, my logical thoughts taking a backseat and letting my body lead. I loop my other arm around Noah's neck, fingers grazing the skin at his nape. In response, he curses again and suddenly his other hand is on my hip, circling around my hip bone and pulling my body even closer so it's flush with his. I inhale sharply. I'm wearing a baggy hoodie, so there's multiple layers of loose fabric between us, but the sensation of being pressed against him is so exhilarating, I might as well be wearing nothing. There's heat radiating from his body, racing through my veins and collecting deep in my core, and as the saxophone escalates in the song, I lose myself in his eyes, moving my body against his, leaning into his touch as his hands glide over my side, making their way from my hips to my stomach to my ribs. I'm dancing without fear, allowing my body to move without feeling like I'm leading someone on, or being too suggestive. Being with Noah just makes me completely comfortable in my own skin. Something I didn't realize would ever be possible again. I tilt my head up to look at him, and right away almost wish I hadn't, seeing his face-lips parted, cheekbones ruddy, eyes heavy-lidded and half closed. At this moment, he is the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life, and when his coffee-dark eyes meet mine, I feel an ache deep within myself that shocks me. It's like after months of being asleep, my body has woken up. Suddenly I can feel again. Want again. And what I want is Noah. Then, the music stops and the spell breaks. It's like I'm surfacing from a dream as Penn sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles, stomping his applause on the floor. "Puck me!" Fisher cries, making a big show of fanning himself. "You two just set this place on fire." How do I keep forgetting Penn and Fisher are here? Noah's hands abruptly fall from my body and I step back, breathing heavily. I choke out a laugh and do a little curtsy, trying to play it cool. Noah makes a beeline for the couch without so much as a backwards glance at me, and I follow him, heart thumping in my chest. What the hell just happened...and why do I already want it to happen again? Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!