Nightlife ✓

24 | league

AS I ABSORBED THE SIGHTS, sounds and smells of Callum's fall break party, I felt like I'd stepped back into freshman year of college.

House parties had totally been my thing before I became too busy and tired to party. Growing up, I had been exposed to parties of various intensity, from downbeat nightcaps to drug-laced ragers. New Year's Eve bashes to effortless drinks with my model and photographer friends in an apartment.

Mom accepted that it was part of the industry, part of how connections and networks were made—though, in my eagerness to be what I thought was mature and experienced, I may have exaggerated their necessity.

But house parties had always been my favourite—the right mix of loud and quiet, new and familiar. Granted, I hadn't had any other options in my earlier college years, before I turned twenty-one.

Anyone who wasn't legal to drink resorted to house parties; closed windows, hushed music and hazes of light. The opportunities to steal away into gardens, bedrooms, or onto balconies for fresh air. Plus, I trusted the bathroom way more than any club.

It wasn't always that I felt comfortable enough to drift away by myself at a house party, but Callum's seemed trustworthy. The host was admittedly drunk out of his mind, but Sophie had pointed out to me a handful of his responsible friends—like Quen—that always looked out for the attendees, the furniture and the authorities. She trusted Callum, and I trusted her.

Besides, Viv was having far too much fun destroying her competitors at strip beer pong, and Riley was engrossed in secretly filming her and sending the videos to Jamie. Jake was an idiot. I was going to be fifty dollars richer by graduation.

I sat alone on the front porch, scrolling through an Instagram feed full of fanart until someone spoke from beside me.

"You looked good last night."

I smirked at Noah, a.k.a. Mario, throwing my loose hair over my shoulder. "Good?"

"Did you want me to say radiant, incandescent or magnificent instead?" he retorted as he sat down two feet away from me. "Because it's all true."

I rolled my eyes. I wondered if Noah was born rich, or raised as an only child or something. He had this air of unshakeable surety about him every time I met him. He radiated taciturn confidence, one that was so pronounced in the way he held himself and looked around that it used to piss me off.

But as we'd had more positive interactions than bad ones, I tried to treat him as nicely as I did my fans.

"I'm impressed, Noah," I told him sarcastically. "I didn't know you had it in you." Okay, maybe not as nicely as my fans. Nicer than I had been would be a good start.

"Had what?"

"The ability to compliment a girl with no ulterior motive."

Noah placed both his hands behind him on the porch and leaned back casually. He angled his head towards me and he asked genuinely, "Who said I had no ulterior motive?"

He had a bottle hidden away in a paper bag. From the portion of the colourless bottleneck that I could see sticking above the brown parchment, the glass was thick and the bottle was hefty. It must have been some hard liquor.

"You're drunk," I muttered. "And you know I'm not interested in you, right?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "How do you know you're not interested when you won't give me a chance? I could be a nice guy and you'd never know it."

His drunken candour made my jaw drop. "I don't need to know how nice you are. I'm not into you, so you're wasting your time."

Noah nodded, then moved further away from me. He was peering at me like my face was a labyrinth and he was trying to solve it.