"I'm always on fire!" I shout back, throwing my head back and laughing.
After another twenty minutes of being the center of the universe, I’m sweating. But it’s a good sweat—the kind that makes my skin glisten under the strobe lights, highlighting the definition of my arms. I extricate myself from the dance floor, leaving the Omegas looking disappointed, and swagger over to the plush sectional where Seungchan is holding court.
"King returns!" Seungchan bellows, shoving a red solo cup into my hand. "Drink up, bro. You look thirsty."
I collapse onto the leather sofa, spreading my legs wide, taking up as much space as physically possible. I down half the drink in one go. It’s warm beer. Disgusting. I love it.
"This party is legendary," I declare, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Did you see that guy from the swim team? He wouldn't even look me in the eye. Knows his place."
Seungchan nods enthusiastically, though I’m pretty sure he’s just watching a fly buzz around the ceiling light. "Totally. You're huge, man. Intimidating."
I lean back, feeling the leather creak under my bulk. I scan the room, my gaze drifting over the crowded apartment like a lion surveying the savannah. I’m looking for familiar faces, for people to wave at me, for Heesung.
Especially Heesung.
I haven't seen the pretty Omega since we got here. I figure he’s probably in the kitchen, or maybe the bathroom, fixing his perfect hair. I fantasize about him walking in, spotting me looking like a devastatingly handsome deity on this couch, and finally realizing what he’s been missing.
My gaze slides past the kitchen island. Past the balcony doors. And lands on the dark corner near the bookshelf.
My heart does a weird, stuttering flop in my chest.
There’s a loveseat tucked away from the main chaos. And sitting there, looking like a gothic gargoyle that someone dressed in expensive streetwear, is Kang Donghwa.
He’s holding a tumbler of something amber—probably whiskey he brought himself because he’s too pretentious for keg beer. He looks bored. His legs are crossed at the ankle, his expression blank as he watches the room.
But he’s not alone.
Perched on the armrest of the loveseat, leaning in so close that their thighs are brushing, is Yoon Heesung.
I freeze. The solo cup crunches in my grip.
Heesung is laughing at something. His head is tilted back, exposing the long, pale column of his throat. He looks radiant. Ethereal. And he is focusing every ounce of that high-wattage charm on the human equivalent of a raincloud.
"No way," I mutter.
Heesung lifts a hand. His slender fingers, adorned with delicate silver rings, reach out. He touches Donghwa.
He doesn't just touch him. He trails a finger down the side of Donghwa’s neck, tracing the line of the tendon, lingering near the collar of that stupid black shirt.
It’s a bold move. It’s aflirtatiousmove. It’s the kind of move you make when you want an Alpha to bite you.
And Donghwa?
The bastard doesn't pull away. He doesn't scowl. He just turns his head slightly, saying something low that makes Heesung cover his mouth and giggle. Donghwa’s dark eyes are fixed on Heesung’s face, and for a second, I see a flicker of a smirk on his lips.
My vision actually goes red. Like, cartoon red.
The rage hits me so fast I nearly choke on my own spit. It’s a hot, acidic wave that starts in my gut and burns its way up to my throat.
Heesung is touching him.
Heesung, who politely declined my offer to walk him to class. Heesung, who barely reacts when I flex in his direction. Heesung is draping himself over the guy who takes pictures of trash and thinks smiling is a sign of weakness.
"Are you seeing this?" I hiss, slamming my cup down on the coffee table. Beer sloshes over the rim.
Seungchan jumps, looking around wildly. "What? Cops? Is it the cops?"
"No, you idiot! Look!" I jab a finger toward the corner. "Look at that traitor!"
