Page 49 of Lift Me Up

THAT IS ALL.

All the what if’s come flooding back. What if she doesn’t like this? What if she thinks it’s too much? What if I am overstepping my boundaries? What if⁠—

“It’s like our first lunch together,” she remarks, a little shell-shocked.

I couldn’t decide what to get, so I got it all. Just like Abi had bought for us, like the lunch where I asked her on the dog day date, like the day I knew I had to try for this even if it meant my heart would be broken. She would be worth every second of heartache.

“You’re really not going to tell me the surprise?” She asks mid-dinner. She’s been dwelling, and the only thing that calms her is the brush of my thumb on the back of her hand.

“Nope,” I say with a grin and continue eating.

I shouldn’t have told her to give her time to dwell, but I remember the first time I tried to surprise her with something as simple as her favourite drink from Starbucks, and she felt unprepared. She told me she preferred to know a surprise was coming, which was really the defeat of the surprise in itself, but I wasn’t one to argue, and that’s why I always tell her I’m going to surprise her. It’s a catch 22, really, but I can’t help it. I love surprises.

It’s only once we’re so full we can’t even begin to think about the leftovers we’re going to have of Italian and Chinese and Mexican and everything else littering the table for days that we proceed to surprise part 2 of the night. The true surprise.

“Ugh, I need a drink, but I can’t even move. I'm so full,” She whines from where she’s laid up on the couch, rubbing her tummy.

It’s too perfect. It’s like she handed me a golden opportunity to show her what Birdie can do. I shift in my spot at the other end of the couch, where I’m gently holding her feet in my lap. I look at Birdie where she’s curled herself in the chair. She meets my eyes and I smile, “Birdie, grab drink.”

“What?” Georgie says with confusion, her nose scrunched up and her eyes narrowed as she watches Birdie get up excitedly and walk off.

I can hear the fridge open, can see the pause as Birdie grabs the drink from the fridge door, and then Georgie’s expression is so fucking beautiful as she realizes what Birdie is doing, what she’s just done as she closes the door and brings the bottle of water to Georgie, sits, waiting for Georgie to take it.

“What the fuck.” Georgie says under her breath, taking the bottle. Birdie flashes a tongue-lolling smile, looking at me for praise.

“Good girl, Birdie.”

“Noah, what the fuck?” She says out loud this time, staring at the bottle of water in her hand like it’s appeared out of thin air.

“I may have taught her a few tricks,” I tell her, and Georgie’s eyes flash up to me.

“How? When? What even is this?”

“Water. Drink it,” I say with a chuckle, watching as she shakily raises the bottle to her lips.

“Birdie,” I gain her attention again, waiting for her to sit to tell me she’s ready to listen. She does and I smile, while also keeping a sidelong glance at Georgie to see her reaction, “Get basket.”

Birdie disappears, and Georgie holds her breath as she watches Birdie return not even a moment later with a medium-sized wicker basket I bought just for this task to teach her. Birdie has the basket by the handle, which I’ve strategically covered in fabric so she’s not biting down on the basket itself, and she brings it right to Georgie, sitting and again waiting for her to take it.

Georgie does and whispers a soft good girl as she looks in the basket. Inside is her current nightstand read, a small throw blanket, a battery-operated handheld fan, a travel-size bottle of Tylenol, snack bars and a non-refrigerated bottle of water. I didn’t know what else I could add to the basket, but Georgie could change it to whatever she’d need. Her eyes are wide as she realizes what this is, what I’ve done, what Birdie’s doing.

“Noah,” her voice catches, unable to speak. I can’t tell if it’s good or bad, how she’s feeling. She sets the basket on the coffee table next to her.

“Birdie, settle,” I say softly, watching as Birdie returns to her place in the chair and lets out a soft sigh.

I don’t want to press, to make Georgie feel like she has to say anything or react in some type of way about all this. But the stunned silence has me starting to panic, my hands trembling where they twist nervously in my lap. I clear my throat, “I just thought⁠—”

Before another word leaves my mouth, Georgie is straddling me and gripping my shirt collar like it’s the only thing tethering her to me, to Earth. She says nothing, but she doesn’t have to. She kisses me harder, faster, more intense than I’ve ever been kissed in my life. I let her overwhelm me, I make soft noises of surprise and appreciation, eyes slipping closed and feeling how close she’s pressed her body to me.

I know she can feel me getting hard beneath her, and I almost pull away to warn her, but I don’t even have to do that because she gasps and presses her body down and closer and⁠—

“Shit.” I hiss, head falling back as she rolls her hips against me, intentionally making me lose my mind. All air escapes my lungs in a moan, the soft pleading sound that leaves my lips in the form of her name, “Georgie.”

She shuts me up with a hand gripping the hair at the base of my neck, making my eyes roll back in my head, and the groan falls out without even trying. This woman has complete control over me. I’d do anything she asks of me just to make her feel as amazing and as turned on as she’s making me feel right now.

She kisses my cheek, down my jaw, fingers gripping my hair and holding me in place. All I can do is place my hands on her hips gently and remind myself that she’s the one leading this whole thing. This is on her terms, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Her other hand reaches for the collar of my shirt and pulls it aside and⁠—

“Georgie!”