Page 41 of Dirty Chorus

“Nothing, just a notebook.” I close the drawer, but he snaps his fingers.

“Is that your diary?” he presses with a light laugh.

“No!” I clench down on the deck of cards. “Let's just play a game like you said.”

“Nah, I wanna see your diary.” He reaches over for the drawer, and I try grasping his wrist, but he pries open the drawer pulling it out. It’s definitely a beaten up one. He sits back on the bed, opening it and flipping through the pages. I mentally want to crawl into a hole as I’ve never let anyone set eyes on one of those.

“What are you writing here?” He licks the tips of his fingers before turning a couple of pages.

“I used to write some songs. There are some poems and stuff in there.”

“Little Miss Trouble writing music?” he asks and I attempt to snatch the notebook out of his hand. “Nuh uh. I wanna see.”

I fall forward on the bed, faceplanting into a pillow. God he’s going to read my old high school writing adventures from when I was a freshman.

“Your lips never turn, your brown eyes drifting past mine, my want stays for you.” He turns the page, his head tilting a bit. “Forever searching, I want it to be him, kiss me one last time...” He pauses the pages turning. “You're pretty good, a little hopeless romantic I see.”

“Give me that!” I slap the deck of cards on the bed, reaching for my notebook, but he extends his arm out.

“Okay, okay one more and I’ll give it back... and we will play a game.”

“Fine...”

His eyes soften and I’m swallowing the large lump in my throat.

“A Dirty Chorus?” he asks, his eyes glued to the paper. “Yeah, we’ve been off-key for ages, but I hear you in the sounds, and in every broken lyric – you’re the one I’ve written down.” He attempts to hum it, nodding his head as if he's trying to come up with a beat to it. “This is good. You wrote this?”

“It’s just a stupid song!” I pry the notebook from his fingers, pulling open the drawer and stuffing it back in. “It was just some dumb thing I wrote at the beginning of my freshman year, and figured I’d give it to a guy one day when I fell in love and stuff.” The chargers and cords get all tangled up and the damn thing won’t close. I huff, tossing the notebook on the nightstand before shutting the drawer.

“Did you give the song to anyone yet?”

I grab the deck of cards, and start pulling them out of the box. “No, I haven’t. It was just a silly thing I did.”

“You’re talented. Maybe one day you can give that song to someone.” I bite my bottom lip with the words he just said. “I’ll let you pick the game.”

I toss the stack of cards back and forth between my hands.

“Do you know how to play poker?” I ask and gulp. I don’t really, and the weight of that hazing game is in the back of my mind.

“It’s been a while, but yeah.”

“Can you teach me?” I hold out the deck. “I’m a fast learner.” He reaches for the box, and we both plant ourselves on my bed. My heart hammers against my ribs as Noah shuffles the cards in his hands.

I crisscross my legs and tug my lacy top down to at least showcase my cleavage, but he’s attentive to passing us each a set of cards and setting the deck in the middle.

The dim orange light from my bedside lamp casts shadows across his face, highlighting the delicate curves of his jaw, and the crinkle between the corners of his eyes as he grins. “So, let’s get the basics down. Texas Hold’em is the most popular. You get two private cards.” He holds himself up, waving them at me, and I nod. “Okay, then you have four community cards... wait no it’s five. Everyone can use them. You want to make the best five-card hand.” He explains as I stare at the rosy shade of red his lips are as they move. Telling me the different hand rankings. I tried to absorb it all, but I wasn’t soaking anything in but his presence. His knees were close to mine. He’s sitting in my disaster of a room, and there isn’t a judgmental look in his pretty brown irises.

“Got it?” he asks, lifting a brow. But I’ve been biting down on my bottom lip nodding for the past five minutes, listening to bits and pieces of what he said.

“Alright, so after the initial deal, there’s a round of betting,” he says, and I’m tangled up inside with the sound of his voice. “You can check, bet, raise, or fold.” He demonstrates each action, explaining the strategy behind it. “But I don’t think you have any poker chips, and I’m a bit broke, sooo...” he chuckles.

I dip my head to the side and tap a finger on my bottom lip. “We can bet something else.”

“Like what?” he asks, his index finger playing with the edge of the cards.

“Clothes...”

Noah glances at his cards, then at me with a playful glint in his eyes. “Clothes?”