Chapter Six

Noah didn’t wait for my answer. He kept his hand firmly on my back, guiding me to the long folding table.

The hockey guys cleared out the moment they saw Noah approaching. The table was a mess of spilled bear and discarded bottle caps, but I didn’t care.

“Choose your side, Drama Queen,” Noah drawled, his voice barely audible over the bass.

“I want the red ones,” I slurred.

“Red for the girl who’s always a walking red flag. Fitting,” he teased, a dark glint in his eyes. He reached across and dragged the blue cups toward his end of the table. “I’ll take the blue. Matches the ice in my veins, right?”

He picked up a ping pong ball, rolling between his long fingers. He looked entirely too sober, too focused, and way too handsome in the dim, neon light.

“You know, Khione,” he said, leaning over the table so his face would level with mine. “Most people would be smart enough to quit while they’re behind. But you? You just love a scene.”

“I am not making a scene,” I stammered, reaching for a ball. It rolled away from my clumsy fingers, and Noah caught it before it hits the floor, holding it just out of my reach.

“Are you sure?” He stepped around the table, closing the gap until he was directly standing over me. “Because you look like a beautiful disaster right now. Your hair is a mess, your lipstick is smeared, and your betting your freedom on a game you can’t even see straight to play.”

He leaned closer, his voice dripping to that flirty rasp. “If you want my attention so bad, you could have just asked. You didn’t have to get trashed to make me look at you.”

“I don’t want your attention!” I snapped, my face heating up from more than just the alchol.

“Okay, if you say so,” Noah murmured, his smirk widening as he finally dropped the ball into my open palm. His fingers brushed mine, a deliberate, lingering touch that sent shivers down my spine. “Show me what you’ve got, Khione.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the swaying room. I squinted at the blue cups on the far end of the table. They looked like they were dancing, shifting from three to six to twelve. I pulled my arm back, aiming for the center of the triangle , and let the ball fly.

It hit the rim of the cup and fell onto the floor.

“Close,” Noah teased, his voice a low vibrate near my ear as he moved back to his side.

The game was a massacre. I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn; my coordination was completely shot by 4 rounds of tequila. Noah, on the other hand, was lethal.

He flicked his wrist with a causal, effortless motion, picking off my cups one by one. Every time I missed , he’d let out a soft, mocking tsk-tsk, his gaze never leaving my face.

Plink. The final red cup was gone.

Noah didn’t even join in the cheers of the hockey guys surrounding the table. He just stood there, leaning against the edge, looking at me with a dark, triumphant satisfaction.

“Game over,” he whispered. He walked around the table, stopping inches from me. “I won. Which means no more alcohol for tonight. Now, you can sit down and be a good little Drama Queen like you promised.”

I felt the weight of defeat and alcohol hit me at once. I felt frustrated, my chest tight with the unfairness of it. He looked perfectly composed while I was so mad.

“Fine,” I snapped, shoving my hair out of my face. “A deal is a deal. But I have to use the bathroom first. Unless you plan on following me there, too?”

“I don’t trust you, Khione,” Noah’s voice ghosted over the back of my neck. “You’ve already proven you a flight risk. I am not letting my prize disappear into the crowd to find a bottle of cheap vodka behind my back.”

I tried to snap a come back, but my tongue felt tied. I just stumbled towards the stairs, his hand firm on my elbow every time the world titled.

The downstairs guest bathroom was a warzone of screaming girls and long line, so Noah didn’t even stop. He guided me up the grand staircase to the second floor, where the bass was just muffled heart beat beneath the floorboards.

The hallway was quiet, but every door seemed to be locked until he pushed one open—a dark, sprawling room that smelled expensive.

“In,” he commanded, directing me to the bathroom. “I’ll be right here. Don’t waste time.”

Inside, I stared at the mirror. My reflection was a mess—flushed skin, glazed eyes, and un updo hanging up by a single booby pin. I fumbled through the task, my movement slow and clumsy.

When I finished, I tried to pull my dress down back in place, but the side zipper had snagged on the delicate silk lining. I yanked it, but it made it worse.

“Khione? You still alive in there?” Noah’s voice drifted through the door, sharp and impatient.

“I’m fine!!” I yelled back. I gave the zipper one last desperate tug, but it won’t budge, leaving the side of my dress gaping open, exposing the curve of my waist.

I took a deep breath, braced myself against the sink, and walked out.

Noah was sitting on the edge of the big bed, his head turned back against the head board. When he heard the door, his gaze snapped to mine.

His eyes immediately dropped to the open of my side.

The tension in the room snapped like a wire.

“I……it’s stuck,” I whispered.

He stood up slowly walking directly in-front of me. He didn’t say a word. He reached out, his warm hands settling on my bare wrist. The heat of his touch made my breath hitch.

“You a mess,” he rasped, voice dropping into something flirty.

He turned me around gently, fingers grazing my spine as he worked the zipper. I could feeel his breath on my bare shoulder.

“There,” he whispered, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he spun me back around.

I looked up at him, my vision fuzzy, my brain screaming that this was a mistake while every other part of me—every cell, every drop of blood—leaned into his heat.

Noah’s gaze was fixed on my mouth, his thumb coming up to trace my lower lip, dragging it down just enough to reveal the teeth I was biting it with.

“Noah,” I breathed, half-plea, half-challenge.

“Shut up, Khione,” He murmured, and then he was kissing me.

It wasn’t like the first kiss in the bathroom. This was hungry, possessive. I melted into him, my hands finding their way into his jet black hair, pulling him closer as the room went out of control.

He groaned into the kiss, a sound of pure, unadulterated want. Before I could process the shift, he lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me to the bed. He laid me back against the soft duvet, his body hovering over mine.

His hands were everywhere—tracing the curves of my hips, sliding to my waist and then higher. My breath caught in my throat as his palms cupped my boobs through the fabric of my dress, his thumbs grazing the tip with a firm pressure. I let out a low, shaky moan, my head falling back.

I was drunk, I was drowning, and even though I knew I’d hate myself in the morning, every part of me wanted this. I wanted him to be the one thing I couldn’t lie to. I wanted to forget everything, the school, money, and just feel the way his hands were currently setting my skin on fire.

The friction of Noah’s palms against my skin was the only thing anchoring me to the earth. For a second, the lies didn’t matter.

Then, the door hit the wall with a violent crack.