ELLE'S POV
I should have known the alcohol would do this. My body had always betrayed me this way—rejecting anything stronger than grape juice with violent objection.
At the masquerade party last month, the tequila shot hadn't hit me until I was back home, which had foolishly made me believe I'd outgrown my alcohol allergy. Clearly, I hadn't.
The room spun as another wave of nausea hit. Through the haze of misery, I felt gentle hands gathering my hair back, keeping it from falling into the disaster zone.
Someone was patting my back with surprising tenderness, murmuring soothing words I couldn't quite make out over the pounding bass that vibrated through the floor.
When the worst had passed, those same hands offered a damp towel, cool against my burning face. My breathing gradually steadied as whoever my bathroom guardian angel was helped me clean up, even working my disheveled hair into a neat bun with a ribbon I hadn't seen materialize.
"Thank you," I whispered hoarsely, finally looking up to see who had witnessed my humiliation.
Noah's concerned face came into focus, and shock jolted through me like electricity. Noah? Of all people?
"You feeling better?" he asked, his eyebrows knitted together with genuine worry.
I stared at him, stunned into silence. How could Noah be the one patting my head, wiping my face, and tying my hair? If it had been Steven or even Lucas from chemistry class, that would make sense. But Noah?
The same Noah who'd been avoiding me since that kiss? The same Noah I'd seen with his arm around Madison just yesterday?
We stared at each other in silence. The party continued to rage on outside, but in here, time seemed suspended. I noticed things about him I usually tried to ignore—the slight crease between his eyebrows when he was worried, the faint scar above his right eyebrow, the way his eyes looked almost green in certain light.
"Did Steven give you that drink?" he finally asked, voice taut with something that sounded like carefully controlled anger.
I raised an eyebrow, suddenly defensive. "What?"
With effort, I pushed myself up from the floor, wobbling slightly. Noah reached out to steady me, but I yanked my arm away from his grasp.
"I'm allergic to drinks, so that's why I was purging," I said stiffly, "not because anyone gave me anything."
"Good." His eyes narrowed. "Don't take anything from him. Not even sweets or candy or anything else."
I scoffed, folding my arms across my chest. "Who do you think you are to order me around? You don't get to tell me who I talk to or relate with."
"I have my reasons, Elle," he said, his voice dropping lower. "I came to this party because of... you."
I stilled, my heart skipping a beat before I remembered why I was mad at him in the first place. "To see me make a fool of myself again like I did at the masquerade event, right? Well, you're wrong, because this time—"
"Don't be so sure," he cut in. "Steven will make a fool of you."
"Steven is not like you," I shot back. "The bully is you, not him."
Noah fell silent, watching me with an unreadable expression. "Why are you suddenly cold to me, Elle?"
"Where's 'Fluffy' these days?" I asked, deflecting. "When you call me Elle, it sounds so strange."
A soft chuckle escaped him, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Did you miss me calling you that?"
"In your dreams," I retorted, but my voice lacked conviction.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability cracking through his usual confident exterior.
I didn't reply, though the words burned in my throat. I wanted to shout at him, to demand why he'd kissed me one day and had his arm around Madison the next.
Why he acted like nothing had happened between us. Why he seemed to think he had any right to dictate who I spent time with. But I stayed silent, swallowing the questions along with the bitter taste in my mouth.
"Is it because of what you saw the other day? With Maddy?" he pressed.
I laughed, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "So you know what you did. I'm not bothered about that—"
"That's a lie," he interrupted.
"It isn't."
"Prove it," he challenged, taking a step closer.
"What?"
"Prove to me that what you saw didn't affect you."
Something snapped inside me. "Just like what you saw when I hugged Steven also affected you, right?"
He stilled, his expression darkening. "You did that intentionally?"
"Of course not," I started, but before I could finish, Noah moved with startling speed.
His hands cupped my face, and before I could process what was happening, his lips pressed against mine in a brief, electric kiss.
I gasped when he pulled back, my brain short-circuiting. "What are you doing?"
For a wild moment, I was painfully aware that I'd just been violently ill—hardly the romantic prelude to a kiss—but Noah didn't seem to care as his thumb traced my cheekbone.
"Steven or no Steven," he muttered, his eyes locked on mine with fierce intensity, "you are mine!"
My eyes widened at his declaration, shock rendering me speechless. Before I could find my voice, Noah leaned in again, slamming his lips against mine with a possessiveness that made my knees weak.