A Shot at Love

An Unexpected Turn

Noah sneaks up behind me as I lean against the bar, his body gently brushing against mine as he hands over a piece of paper and a pen. "Alright, have you thought long and hard about this?" He asks.

I take a moment to consider, and I'm certain I have - Noah doesn't mind someone paying with exact change, I haven't seen any trace of musical instruments in his house and I spotted a Golden State Warriors photo in his living room which could be a direct correlation of him hailing from San Francisco.

"I have my answer," I reply, starting to jot it down. "Have you reached a final decision on yours?"

"Oh, I've known my answer," Noah says confidently, pouring celebratory shots for both of us. He picks up his pen, writes on the blank paper, and folds it in half.

"To the better player winning!" I playfully tug at Noah's maroon tie with one hand, raising my glass in the other. We clink our glasses and throw back the tequila with a cheer. I retrieve my paper from the bar and fold it, passing it to Noah. "Open on three?"

Noah slides his folded sheet over. "Let's do it. One. Two. Three." We unfold our papers simultaneously and both exclaim, "What!" almost in perfect unison.

"Where are you from? But what about the Warriors photo in your living room?? I don't see any trace of musical instruments in your house?" I question, thoroughly perplexed.

"Your Godfather is Al Pacino?? But you knew so much about flying and your dad is a pilot? I thought you just memorized information about Al!" Noah responds, equally bewildered.

Noah and I burst into uncontrollable laughter. We both lost. Still chuckling, I pause to explain,  "Yes, I always wanted to get my pilot's license. My dad taught me a lot but, uh, I guess I just never got around to it," I say trying to glaze over the subject. "And yes, Al is my Godfather! He is the best."

"Wow. This doesn't happen often, but I'm speechless. Well played, Kingston," Noah begins. "As for me, I grew up in Manhattan, where I started piano lessons at a very young age. I visit San Francisco often for work and stop at Fisherman's Wharf when I can. I'm also a big fan of the Golden State Warriors, hence the photo. As for no piano in sight, you haven't had a proper tour of the house yet." A sly smile appears on his face.

"Oh?" I reply curiously. "After the losers jump in the pool, maybe I'll be so lucky..."

"Of course you will. Let's grab you a t-shirt so you don't ruin your dress."

"Good idea," I agree, following Noah back through the front of the house. Glancing at my clutch on the chair, I grab it and trail after him down the corridor. He guides me through the house until we veer into an inviting room adorned with stylish, dark shades covering the walls. "Is this your room?" I inquire.

"No, this is one of the guest bedrooms. If you open that top drawer, you'll find your choice of comfortable t-shirts. Put on whatever you'd like. I'll be out here," he says with a smile, courteously closing the door behind him.

I approach the dresser and place my purse down, reaching inside for a hair tie. Catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, I gather my hair and twist it into a messy bun, letting a few strands fall loose.

Running my hand over the dresser, I open the top drawer to discover neatly folded t-shirts in shades of black and grey, each meticulously arranged. Selecting a grey t-shirt, I unfold it and hold it up to myself. It's clearly Noah's, given its length—it could almost pass as a dress on me. As I start to put it on, I realize I need my dress to be unzipped and can't reach it.

I open the door slightly and poke my head out. "Hey, Noah?"

"You okay?" He asks, approaching from the opposite direction in nothing but navy blue swim trunks, his chiseled abs and deep v-line drawing my gaze. I can't help but think where that v-line leads.

"Yeah! I'm fine. I can't reach my zipper. Would you mind giving me a hand?" I blush.

"No problem," he says, walking closer.

With each step Noah takes, I can feel his energy nearing. He reaches the door, and I turn around, holding my hair to the side. "Thank you," I say with a half-smile.

Noah's hands grasp the zipper and as his fingers  graze my skin, he calmly begins unzipping the red dress. "How far down should I go?" He questions.

"All the way is great." I carefully answer.

Noah continues to unzip the dress, easing it down my back until it rests just above my bottom. I take my arms out of the sleeves and hold the dress up in front of my chest, turning back to him, "Thank you, sir." His eyes are glued to my parted lips.

"I'm going to grab some towels. I'll meet you in the kitchen whenever you're ready," he says, pausing for a moment. "I like your hair up," he adds with a smile before leaving the room. As the door shuts, I catch myself smiling like a giddy 16-year-old. I've liked guys before, but this feels different—like something inside me is stirring awake.

I slip out of my red dress, fold it neatly, and lay it on the dresser. As I pull on the gray t-shirt, I adjust the bun on top of my head. The shirt drapes comfortably over me, and I feel a thrill knowing it's Noah's; his presence seems to linger on the fabric. Opening the door, I head toward the kitchen.

Turning the corner, I see Noah. "I got us some waters," he smiles.

"Perfect!" I reply, taking a sip from the bottle. "You ready? Looks like we both ended up losers tonight," I laugh.

Noah looks down at me. "I certainly don't feel like a loser being here with you. Quite the opposite."

My heart skips a beat. "The last one in is skinny dipping!" I declare, bolting for the pool. Noah drops the towels and races after me with a grin, his smile daring me to reach the water first.

*Chapter Chat* - Who do you think will jump into the pool last?