Page 107 of Aria

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Noah

I was good at faking things.

Smiles for the press. My love for Rosa’s pineapple upside-down cake. The eye exam for my driver’s license test. My enthusiastic interest in Candyland.

Butfuck… I couldn’t hide the feeling that came over me when I saw her standing there.

I was dumbstruck.

Chelsie stared back at me, her eyes burning hot like embers. I didn’t hear the reporters speaking to me. I didn’t hear Beth repeating my name. The voices were a quarry of gibberish in the back of my mind.

All I could see was her. All I could hear was the rush of heat surging through my veins.

All I could envision was her writhing beneath me while I brought her to ecstasy.

She picked up the skirt of her dress and began to approach me. Our eyes were still connected by an invisible wire as Chelsie stopped a foot away and licked her lips. She dropped the dress, pressing her palms against the bustle of fabric. “Hey.”

Hey.

It was easy enough to say back. One syllable. A commonly used word in my vocabulary. An appropriate response. Instead, I blurted, “You have bangs.”

I watched as she raised a hand to fiddle with her hair, ducking her head with a semblance of modesty. “Yeah… I’m still getting used to it,” she murmured.

Beth coughed beside me. “I think it looks great.”

Blinking, I felt Beth’s hand give my arm an effective squeeze, snapping me back to reality—the reality where Beth was my date and Chelsie was the woman who told me she’d only let me go down on her because she was drunk and upset. I cleared my throat. “Chelsie… you remember Beth,” I said, redirecting the conversation.

Chelsie gave a thin-lipped smile, her eyes only briefly leaving mine. “You look beautiful, Beth. I’m sure you’ll have a great time tonight.”

“Thank you,” Beth replied.

Chelsie returned her attention me. “Is Sam with Rosa?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, scratching at the nape of my neck. “He misses you.”

I miss you.

Flecks of teal and aqua sparkled in her eyes, reflecting the brilliant colors of her dress. “I miss him, too.”

I was doing a terrible job of redirecting the conversation.

A photographer appeared in front of us, breaking the tension that had developed like a third party. “Noah Hayes—can I get a picture of you and Chelsie?”

I’d forgotten where we even were. There were cameras and reporters and A-list musicians surrounding us, and there I was, making puppy dog eyes at a woman who very publicly belonged to someone else.

“Uh… sure,” I replied, flustered.

Beth pursed her lips together and took a step out of frame as I gave her hand a light kiss before letting it go. Chelsie moved closer to me.

“Closer, please,” the photographer ordered.

Clenching my jaw, I wrapped an arm around Chelsie’s lower waist and pulled her in until our bodies were touching.

Electric.

We were fucking electric.

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