Beneath

10 HEAT ME UP

NOAH

She's here. In my space. And it feels...right.

She's padding around, looking at the carpets. "What's your favourite history quote?"

I walk past her, ignoring the way her sweet scent fucks with my head, and head to the bookshelves to run my hands along the spins.

"The only thing we learn from history is that we learn nothing from history. Georg Hegel."

From behind me, she says, "I thought you'd say those who can't remember the past are doomed to repeat it."

"George Santayana," I acquiesce with a tilt of my head, scanning the books, looking for nothing. "A close second. It's all relevant. You ready to talk?"

She's quiet for a while, so I turn around. Her gaze falls to my mouth, and even across the room, I still feel the warmth of her breath, her lips soft and perfect.

Cam pulls two layers of sweaters off her torso, revealing a massive white shirt that swallows her frame. She fiddles with the sweaters, then points to the table by the balcony. "Can I put these there?"

I nod. So, she does, setting them carefully beside a fern plant like she'll break something.

The light shirt hangs off her like a flag, at least six or seven sizes too big. But her wrists and forearms, that tanned, smooth skin—visible. I drink the sight in, never knowing I'd be so intrigued by this small reveal.

I say, "If you get on the bed and lay on your back, I'll show you something."

Her lips part, eyes wide in shock.

I smirk a little, pointing to the ceiling. "I saw you looking at the star map."

Her mouth clamps shut, a dark berry flush on her cheeks.

Cam shuffles toward the bed, positioning herself in the center on her back, hands fidgeting over her stomach. I move around the room, turning out every light until it's pure dark—save for the celestial glow. Her face, illuminated by the artificial stars, carries awe.

I walk over and carefully lower myself onto my bed. Then we're both looking up at the stars, the glow.

She clasps her hands on her ribs, sighing, turning her head to look at me, a broad grin on her face. This close, she's overwhelming.

Tanned skin that radiates warmth, and curly dark hair tickles her temples. Her features are delicate, from her full brows to her dark almond eyes. Then there's her crooked nose, deviated to the right, and full, dangerously inviting lips. I'm often stuck there.

Cam is quiet for a moment. "You didn't stay for dinner."

I sit up a bit, propping my head up with a hand. I untuck the bottom of my dress shirt, something I had to wear for a presentation today, and reveal the black band around my torso, the small pouch on it.

Cam's lips part. I can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at the way she looks at me.

"It's an epinephrine injector. I'm very, very allergic to peanuts. Fast food is a no-go."

As I lower my shirt, I swear she's disappointed. I like to think I can see the thoughts flickering in and out of her eyes. "Tell me your favourite quote."

She thinks for a moment, adjusting her position to get more comfortable on her back, her gaze fixed on the ceiling now.

"Runny lent to the wibrary. And there were bundreds of hooks—bistory hooks, beography gooks, and lots of bory stooks. He looked them over one by one, and guess which one he took—a bience scook? A boetry pook? Oh, no—a bomic cook!"