Page 37 of Dirty Chorus

“Okay.”

He gets out of the chair and guides me down the hallway and outside to the fire pit. The night stretches in an easy blur. I end up sitting next to Noah on a patio couch with my legs tucked under me. We talk about nothing and everything. Music we both listen to, movies we like, and all the crazy girls he comes across at concerts.

Every time he lifts his beer to his lips, I can’t help but stare. No matter how much I try to shake it, my mind keeps going back to kissing him. The taste of him. The way his hands grasped my hips, how they were eager to touch every square inch of me. I feel heat crawl up my neck just thinking about it. Now I can barely look at him without my thoughts catching fire.

He laughs at something Tony says across the fire pit, his head tipping back, throat exposed. He doesn’t notice me watching, or maybe he does and just won’t let on. When he glances over, my heart stumbles. I know my face gives it away. I can feel it in the way he swallows, then smiles. I think he knows exactly what’s running through my head. Normally, I’m good at this part. A bite of the lip, a flutter of my lashes, a tilt of my head. Little tricks that always worked before. But with him, nothing lands. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t take the bait. Just sits there, calm and infuriatingly unreadable.

The most he does is pat my knee when he asks if I want another drink. His hand is warm. But it leaves a trail of heat radiating all over me that lingers long after he pulls away.

Once it’s midnight we head inside. Noah lays on the sectional with a throw pillow under his head, his eyes half-lidded and clouded. There’s a small, lazy smile on his lips.

“I think I’m a little too gone to drive,” he says. “How’re you feeling?”

I laugh, popping a stick of gum in my mouth. I stumble a little as I try to sit on the other end of the couch. “Probably about the same.” I blew out a pink bubble. He doesn’t hesitate to jab a finger into the bubble popping it. “Rude!” I gather it back into my mouth.

“You shouldn’t drive. You can crash here if you want. There’s a spare room down the hall.” He points a finger to it before his arms fall limp and hangs over the couch.

“No. I wanna stay here.” I lay back with a plop.

“Here?”

“Next to you.”

He chuckles, rubbing his hand over his face. “Why?”

“Because you’re cute.”

That earns me some brownie points as his cheeks redden and I watch him swallow. “I’m cute huh? You’re something else,” he says. Then, softer, “I’m not gonna take advantage of you. We should just sleep it off.”

I crawl over to him, placing a hand on his chest, and nuzzling myself into the crease of his neck. I feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, and I inhale the scent of his clothes. They smell so utterly clean like they just came out of the dryer.

I inhale too loud, and that gets him to laugh out, “What the hell are you doing?”

“You smell so good.”

“Yeah... you think so?” When I glance up at him, I sit up only slightly, my hand sinking into the cushions, and hover inches from his face. I tremble, holding my composure as Noah leans up. His breath is on my lips, his eyes scan my face, and before I can even think, I lean down to break that small distance and kiss him.

It’s not a hurried kiss, just our lips brushing together. His lips are so soft, his mouth cold. The warmth of his body sinks into me, and I can taste the faint bitterness of beer on his lips. When he cups the side of my face my heart starts pounding. His fingers are gentle, tracing my cheek, his thumb grazing back and forth.

I breathe harshly into his mouth when he pulls back just enough to look at me, his thumb moves against my bottom lip. His eyes are heavy but are searching mine.

“We should sleep,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, sure. I’m tired too.” I slide to the other end of the couch, trying to calm the storm inside my chest while he leans back against the cushions, his lashes falling shut. He’s asleep within minutes, a faint smile still on his face. I can’t help but stare, memorizing the curve of his mouth, the way his hair is sprawled out all over the place. I wonder if he wakes up with terrible knots like mine.

The house emptied rather fast. There are only the crickets outside, and the faint sound of voices from one of the other rooms. I reach for my purse that I hid behind the couch, digging around everything I shoved in there until I find a smooth Sharpie. I twist off the cap, biting back a laugh.

I crawl back over to Noah and lean in close.

The ink glides lightly under my hand as I draw a small mustache just beneath his nose. Just a tiny one with the thinnest lines. He might need to stare long and hard in the mirror to notice it. The second he flinches, my heart starts to beat out of control, but doesn’t wake up.

When I’m done, I cap the marker and sit back, proud of myself. I gather my things as it’s way past three in the morning, and I already know I’m in deep shit if I don’t sneak back inside the house before mom wakes up. Noah is really knocked out as he snores. He doesn’t hear me putting on my shoes, or even knocking over one of the empty beer cans left on the end table. I tiptoe my way out of the house and head home.

“Where the hell have you been?” Mom paces back and forth as I sit on the edge of my mattress, her feet heavy on the floorboard. “Who were you with last night? I’m not a goddamn idiot. Who were you with? Was it Brody? Huh? Answer me!” Mom runs her hands through her disheveled black hair in a loose bun. She’s been wearing the same shirt for the past three days straight. “I called you, I don’t know, over a hundred times!”

I clear my throat, drop my gaze, and twiddle my fingers. “My phone died.”

“I was up all night! I almost called the cops! Jesus, Charlotte!”