Page 22 of Dirty Chorus

“Thirsty?” Noah asks as I take several large gulps. I finish the small cup rather quickly, and start to pour myself another one. I’m not even sure what’s come over me, but after Payton crawled up my ass and thinking I saw Brody follow me up here, all I can tolerate is the aftertaste of vodka.

“I like screwdrivers,” I hold out the cup, but he waves off my offer.

“Calm down, I’ll drink after the show.” He winks, “You can get me drunk later.”

“You ain’t fucking drinking!” Omen hollers over from the couch. “Your neck is still fucking bleeding!” I jolt in his direction and swallow the slimiest knot in my throat. Nope, wait. That was my gum. My eyes darted to Noah, hoping he didn’t realize I ate it. Ice rattles, and the drink’s bitterness hits my upper lip as I take another sip – more like another chug fest since I must be thirsty.

“I’m joking!” Noah hollers back, but Omen plants his hands on the armrest, standing up with a huff. The sleeves of his black shirt look like they’ve been poorly cut with scissors and he’s wearing dark holy jeans. His hair is legit the frizziest thing I’ve ever seen.

“So this is the friend you mentioned?” Omen asks. Tattoos infest every square inch of skin exposed, and he's shorter than Noah and not much taller than me.

“Omen, this is Charlie.” Noah introduces us, but my voice trembles so I can’t even break a hello, and merely flash him a toothy smile. My palms break out in a cold sweat. Am I nervous?

“The girl from the church?” Omen asks.

“Yep, guilty as charged,” I press my shoulders to my cheeks and flutter my eyes.

Omen purses his lips and I can’t read him. He slouches his shoulders and huffs. “Noah can’t seem to shut up about you.”

“Really?” I ask, scrunching my brows as I glance up at Noah.

“Yeah... you gotta stop wearing him out.”

“Oh?” I ask, and Noah gives Omen a cocky smile. My heart doesn’t usually beat like this against my rib cage.

“Well, we have ten minutes. I’m gonna take a piss, make sure you two use protection.” Omen pats Noah on the shoulder and strolls out the door we just came through. One of the other guys with an unruly beard gets up as well, heading out the same door.

My skin prickles. The nervous chuckle escapes and lasts longer than it should. “What kind of protection are we talking about?” My chest flutters like a trapped bird.

“I uhh...” He laughs, and I’m too busy memorizing the way his jaw flexes when he flashes a half smile. “He’s uhh... just joking.”

We stand in place. I tap my nails on the plastic cup. Noah rocks on his feet.

“Sooo...” I take a sip of my drink, resisting the temptation to chug the whole thing again. “You have fans?” I change the subject and catch myself smiling a bit too much, and try to wash it off my face by taking another sip, but it’s stuck there.

“There are a few, I guess.” He’s so nonchalant about it. I bite my bottom lip and wonder if I should've looked him up before coming down here. My stomach does a flip, and I’m not sure what to do with the feeling.

“I guess you get lucky every night you play, huh?”

“Are you jealous?”

His eyes are locked on me, and I notice his pupils dilate. My face grows hot, and I stutter, “N-no.”

“Are you gonna become one of them?” he asks with a half smile emerging from his lips. I chuckle as he leans into my space, but I hold my ground, clenching my thighs together.

“Calm down.” I press my finger to his lips and whisper, “I haven’t even heard you play yet.” A bead of sweat slides down my spine, and I hate how aware I am of my own body.

His dark eyes look at me intensely, and my hands tremble. It’s the same look he gave me at the party, while that girl was going down on him – that same desire imprinted in his irises. My heart shouldn’t be beating in my throat like this. I just got out of a relationship. I shouldn’t fall into another trap with the next guy who shows any interest in me. But for five seconds I invite the thought of Noah. The long brown hair, the sweetness laced in his eyes, and his rosy lips are tempting. Even his smile is infectious, and he has the prettiest face I’ve ever seen on a guy.

His hand grasps my upper arm firmly, stroking me with a thumb. “Excuse me,” he says with a light laugh. “I need water.” Oh boy, do I like these hands with thick veins touching me. I’m all warm and gooey inside, and I think the screwdriver is kicking in. I lean slightly as he takes his cup directly behind me, and he downs the water and gathers ice in his mouth.

I lean in closer to him. His lips are inches from mine as he chews on ice, his eyes burning into me. I wouldn’t mind if he closes the distance. Letting him wash away every fucking memory of Brody. His light smile causes me to breathe harder, and the temptation is suddenly real. I’m fighting the feral urge to grab his hoodie with my hands and kiss him.

I need something to distract me. Anything. I glance at his neck, and in the dull orange lighting of the room, his skin is swollen, puffy, and red. I tug a bit on his hoodie for a better look and see it’s bleeding. “You got a new tattoo right? Is that it?”

“Yeah, Omen tattooed the shit out of my neck this afternoon. I’m in so much fucking pain right now,” he chuckles, and it’s so sweet and not cocky like he’s been. “I don’t know how I'm standing right now.” He places his empty cup on the bar.

Guys I’ve met always have the courage to talk to me. They’re stocky and beefy and egocentric football players. With Noah, it’s obvious that he’s nervous, with his foot tapping a million miles an hour on the floor.