I whimper and pout, huddling up to Noah and petting his cat’s head over and over. He’s the softest, sweetest orange and white tabby ever. I’m instantly in love.
“You’re not allergic, are you?” Noah asks, turning away in a moment of apparent panic.
I chuckle and shake my head. “No! I love cats!” I return to my place, kissing Boots all over. He seems perfectly content to just lie in Noah’s arms and receive the love, though I don’t blame him one bit. “He’s such a good boy! Boy?”
Noah nods with a grin. “I’ve had him for seven years. I rescued him when he was just a kitten. He was a total alley cat, all mangy and malnourished. But I took him in, fixed him up, got rid of his balls - sorry, buddy - and he’s been my little homie ever since.”
I have to say, seeing this big, muscled-up, tattooed hottie snuggling an adorable, fuzzy little cat is making my vagina weep. I don’t think I’ve ever been as attracted to someone as I am right now, and I need to physically step away before I kiss him.
Noah, not the cat.
My cheeks redden as I turn and clear my throat. “Do you have anything to drink?”
“No. I don’t believe in liquids,” Noah smirks. “Yes, Alex, I have something to drink. Come on.” He sets Boots down on the bed, who curls back up in his spot from before, closing his yellow eyes. “Later, Boots. Don’t cause a ruckus or anything. We’ll be right downstairs.”
Boots is already asleep.
Noah brings me back downstairs to the kitchen, then spins in place.
“So do you want booze, or something with actual hydration properties? I have everything. I mean it. Everything.”
“Okay, you’re making me want to name odd drinks now to see if you have them,” I tease.
“Try me,” he grins.
I pause for a moment in thought. “Cranberry juice?”
He cocks his head. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart. I’ve got regular, concentrate, cran-apple, cran-raspberry, and cran-grape - in normal and juice box forms.”
“Jeez, okay. Clearly I don’t know who I’m dealing with…” I giggle as he shakes his head slowly. “Okay, alright… uh… buttermilk?”
“A whole half-gallon. I use it for pancakes and biscuits. Well, my chef does. Next.”
“Prune juice?”
“Yes, and let’s move on from that one, please.”
I laugh out loud. “God! Um… Pabst?”
“Alex… come on. I’m a red-blooded American man. Sheesh, I thought you came to dance!”
“Alright, alright!” I gasp, my brain sifting through every obscure liquid I can think of. “Oh shit! Okay, I have a great one. And if you have this, I’m going to need some of it right freaking now.”
“Show me what you got, hot stuff,” he rubs his palms together.
I pause, building the suspense before whispering, “Surge.”
Noah’s grin widens to an almost Cheshire-cat-like size. He says nothing, simply walks over to his refrigerator, yanks open one of the giant doors, and crouches down. He opens a drawer and rummages around for a few seconds before pulling out a green and red can.
I’m. In. Fucking. Awe.
He turns to face me and hands it over, wiggling his brows. I’m now holding a can of Surge Cola, and I’ve been transported back to 1999.
It’s nostalgically uncanny. I’m suddenly standing in my best friend Alicia’s basement drinking Surge because my parents wouldn’t buy it since it’s like cancer in a can, and apparently Alicia’s parents didn’t care about stuff like that.
“Oh… my… God!”
I’m shocked. I gawk at the can in my hand with my jaw hanging agape, like I’m looking a missing relic from Blackbeard’s ship. My head jumps back up to Noah, who looks awfully pleased with himself.
“Where the fuck did you get this?! It’s been discontinued since 2003!”
“I ordered it online a few years ago from some weird Russian website that sells things that have basically been outlawed in the States,” he chuckles. “So… I mean… you can drink it if you really want to. But to be honest, it’s mostly for show at this point.”
I peek back at the can again. My mouth is watering.
I really want to drink it, but I am sort of afraid I might get sick. Not only because it’s so old, but also because Surge had a tendency to make people sick. Hence why it was discontinued.
“I’ll drink some if you do,” I whisper, raising my brows at Noah.
He smiles big and nods enthusiastically. “Okay, deal. But hold on. There’s something we gotta do first, to make the experience just right.”
He opens a drawer next to me and as soon as it’s ajar there’s an unmistakable smell filling our general vicinity.
Noah pulls out an already-rolled joint and holds it up in front of me.
“Are you cool, man?” He purses his lips.
Ohhh duuuude! I so want to smoke that!
I haven’t smoked weed in years. It was only ever something I did recreationally, once in a while. But Roger hates it. I mean despises it. Doctors really are buzzkills sometimes.
“Bad influence…” I whisper, lusting after the joint between his fingers.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he smirks. “No, but in all seriousness, are you down? If not, it’s totally fine. I just don’t think I’ve ever drank Surge without being stoned.” He chuckles.
“Really? I have…” I tell him. “But then again, I was like thirteen when I was drinking this stuff. Man, I wonder if it had any long-term affects…”
“Thirteen? Oh crap, I forgot. You’re young,” he scoffs and I giggle, then bite my lip.
“Why, how old are you? Thirty?” I ask. I’m surprised I don’t know how old he is.
“I like you,” his lips twist. “You’re twenty-five, yes?” I nod slowly. “Welp, looks like I’m a decade older than you, youngin.”
“Wow, I wasn’t far off!” I grin with pride. “You’re thirty-five?”
“Mhm,” he hums.
“Okay, so you’re like, a grown-up,” I tease.
“Any day now.”
I laugh, then lick my lips. Because he just got like a thousand times hotter.
Jeez, what is it with you and older guys? Can we say daddy-issues?
“Anyway, are we gonna smoke this shit or what?” He asks, running the joint beneath his nose and sniffing it.
“I can’t… Roger can always tell,” I pout in disappointment.
“I thought you said he was gone for days…” he mutters. “That’s at least a few showers from now.”
“He’ll still know. He’s got the nose of a damn bloodhound.”
“Well, I might have a solution,” Noah says, and nods for me to follow him, which I do, into his living room.
He saunters over to the coffee table where there appears to be a big bowl of wrapped candies, of all different shapes, sizes and colors.
“We’ve got it in other forms,” he picks up a gummy bear in clear plastic.
“You have a whole bowl of these on your coffee table? What if children come over?”