Beneath

5 BARELY A KISS

C A M I L A

Noah points his beer across the room. "Looks like your matchmaking is going well." 

Maddie and Fox, a dim haze across the other bodies, are now deep in conversation.

Leaning into the wall, I try to muster some semblance of relaxation. Noah mirrors my stance, facing me a little, close but not too close.

In a moment of sheer panic, I bite down on my tongue to stop myself from saying something dumb like, You smell like heaven, holy shit, emphasis on Holy because I already made a fool out of myself with the beautiful eyes thing.

I say, "Fox said you weren't coming."

"Hm. I was planning to study."

"What kind of history do you study? Is it war? Liberation? Do you get to see ancient scripts? You don't have to answer any of these questions by the way. I'm just saying everything that's in my brain—"

"Cam," he interrupts, a small smile twitching as he looks at me. "This semester, it's essay classes on the Romans, and Greek Punishment."

I nod, trying to appear thoughtful and not like I'm mentally cataloging how his throat moves when he swallows. "The whole eternal punishment thing always seemed a bit harsh."

"Harsh but effective. Imagine rolling a boulder up a hill for eternity. I know I'd repent."

"You would get good at hill climbs. Your calves would be fantastic."

Noah's grin widens, and he leans a little closer. The proximity sends a jolt of electricity through me. "What about you? What's your punishment going to be, huh?"

What do I say? How do I flirt back? Do I nibble on my lip like a squirrel?

I gesture frantically with my beer bottle to Maddie and Fox. "I'm Cupid."

"That's very noble of you."

"Yes I know. I'm the patron saint of awkward love. I do it for the little guy."

"I'll light a candle for you," he says around the rim of his bottle, sipping again.

The party rages rumbles around us, a blur of music and voices and smoke, but it feels like we're in a little bubble.

"You're doing a nice thing for Fox. He's a hopeless romantic with a hard time believing in love." Noah tips his bottle at me. "You're kind."

My chest constricts, and I'm pretty sure my face does too, feeling that deeply. No one has ever told me I am kind.

There's a beat of silence, and we're just staring into each other's eyes, seeing more than we bargained for, then—

The collision is sudden. A blur of a lacrosse jacket and a slurred apology. 

Noah is shoved toward me.

My hands fly up to his chest, steadying him. He's solid under my palms, all muscle and warmth that radiates through his shirt to my hands. I don't breathe. I don't know how.

Noah's glare sends the lacrosse player scurrying away. I think, just for a second, about the kind of intensity Noah carries. That look could probably stop time, or at least make someone reconsider their life choices. The scar, those eyes, that jawline, his broad frame—it's all too much. It's like someone sketched my idea of mesmerizing and made it human.

I jerk my hands away as if I've touched fire and grab my beer bottle again, holding it with both hands. I take a desperate chug of my beer, finishing it off, the cold liquid doing little to cool the warmth spreading through me.