A Shot at Love

Unfinished Business

I climb across the console and straddle Noah's lap, my hands are quick to pull on his grey sweatpants and tug them down just enough, "You know what these sweatpants do to a woman, right?"

Noah laughs softly, a warm breath escaping his lips. "Kingston, it pains me to say this but I think we should stop."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Who made you the boss? I seem to remember you telling me at the office that you don't play by the rules." I pout, my lips curling into a playful defiance. I stare into his blue eyes waiting for a reaction.

Noah tenses, "You're right, Miss Hart. I don't." With an effortless confidence, he runs his hand down my stomach, to the hem of my lacy panties. Our mouths smash into each other in a crazed display of built-up sexual frustration. His hand molds to my hip, giving it a squeeze before exploring lower. I gasp as he runs a single finger across my center, moving my panties aside, and pushing two fingers into me.

"Noah," I whimper, arching my back against the steering wheel. He continues filling me, claiming me with his experienced fingers.

A sudden RING comes from Noah's pocket.

"Fuck," he grumbles.

"Please," I beg for him to continue, I feel his bare member inching closer to me.

"Please, what?" Noah asks.

"Touch me," I moan, rocking against him - feeling how badly he wants me.

The annoying ring persists, growing more insistent, and as I reach to pull Noah closer, the sound refuses to fade. Frustrated, I slip my hand into Noah's pocket and pull out the phone, only to be greeted by Meredith's face staring back at me on the screen. I toss the phone to Noah and he rolls his eyes, sliding to answer the phone but the ringing continues. Meredith's laughter begins to loop in a maddening repetition as the phone keeps ringing over and over again.

I jolt awake, heart pounding. The hotel room comes into sharp focus and my head throbs. For a moment, I'm disoriented, struggling to piece together where I am. It was just a dream. I glance around, half-expecting to see Noah beside me, but the bed is empty. Panic flutters in my chest as I sit up, my eyes scanning the room for any sign of him.

I groggily reach for the ringing landline telephone, my hand fumbling over the unfamiliar buttons, "Hello?"

"Good morning, Miss Hart," a cheerful voice addresses me. "This is your morning wake-up call. We've been trying to reach you. Your ride to the airport will be waiting for you downstairs in ten minutes."

I blink, trying to shake off the confusion and grasp the reality of my rapidly approaching flight. "Thank you!" I reply, quickly hanging up the phone.

My panic surges as I scramble to get out of bed. Where is Noah? What happened last night? I don't remember anything past us kissing in his car. I race to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. I grimace at my reflection, desperately trying to wake up. With trembling hands, I quickly brush my teeth, the minty toothpaste doing little to calm my rising anxiety. I barely let the water warm before jumping into the shower, swiftly scrubbing away last night's hot mess.

Within minutes, I'm back in my pink tweed jacket and skirt suit—the same outfit I wore on the flight to San Francisco. As I rush to get out the door, my mind races. Did Noah and I have sex last night? How did I get to my room? What should I do with the clothes he bought me? I can't stand the thought of leaving them behind. With a frustrated sigh, I grab a retail bag left in the hotel room and start stuffing the garments inside.

Disheveled, I race down to the lobby, hastily slipping on my much-needed sunglasses. My breath comes in sharp, rapid bursts as I dart out the hotel doors, scanning for the car. I spot a driver holding a sign that reads "Miss Hart" and I feel a wave of relief wash over me. Sliding into the backseat of the sleek town car, my heart still races. I pull out my phone and check my notifications, letting out a weary sigh.