Chapter 3 Noah
Noah
The front room of Luros House is a strobing blur as I make my way through a sea of people.
“The front door,” Roman calls out from behind me over the thumping bass of the Suicideboys song on the sound system. “Just get to the front door.”
“Trying,” I call back to him.
“Summer fucking kickoff baby, toss it back!” one of the girls says in front of me, and a circle of people all tip their heads back and take shots of green liquor. One girl stumbles a little as she moves, and she hits the side of my body, nearly falling over.
A splash of cold liquid hits my arm.
Tequila, by the scent of it. It shines under the strobing light and I tense up as I move, almost hitting a different guy behind me.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” the girl says, reaching back to grip my arm.
“Don’t sweat it,” I tell her. “Could you let us through to the front door?”
“Steffie! Move aside, bitch!” she shouts toward her friend blocking the way, and the girls erupt into laughter and finally clear a way for us.
I lead the way forward and finally, mercifully, swing open the heavy front door onto the front deck outside the house.
The fresh air hits my face and I breathe in deep.
Someone must have been grilling a couple of hours ago, because the summer air still smells like barbecue, and there’s just enough warmth in the air that it’s perfect T-shirt weather.
It’s a small relief for the pounding in my head.
A summer kickoff party at Luros Sorority like this used to be my happy place, and if I were still trying to be a fuckboy, this party would be a gold mine of pleasures and perfect bad decisions.
But I’m glad to be leaving.
And strangely enough, I’m glad that I’m not sloshed drunk like I’d usually be, either.
“That is what I needed,” I say under my breath as my friends file out from behind me, one by one.
The saving grace keeping this summer from being a shitshow is that my closest friends are still here on campus. A few of us decided to stay for summer break, and then more and more of us got on board.
Weston, Sev, Ollie, Niko, Hunter, Rayne, and Roman all spill out onto the front deck, some of them drunker than others.
Being with the boys feels like having armor around me, though.
I need them.
Now more than ever.
Heading back to Onyx House means something different this summer, too, now that Torin’s here and his presence claws at me like a constant reminder of the wedding night.
It was two weeks ago now.
I’m still plagued by the memory of the way he made me snap, slamming him against the shower before he slammed me right back.
I’ve never done that to anyone.
I can’t remember a single time I’ve had a violent urge in my life, actually.
But I felt cornered, like Torin’s presence had been smoldering like kindling all day and finally, it ignited.
The way his eyes looked when he caught me… and the way I couldn’t control my reaction.
Stupid.
So stupid.
And now I have Stepbrother fucking Psychotic sharing a goddamn house with me.
We all congregate on the front deck of Luros House.
I’m leaning against one of the columns out front, waiting for the rest of the guys to catch up.
A few people from the party are out on the railing, leaning over toward the front lawn and smoking as we walk by.
“Hey, Noah,” Emmy Miller says as I head down the short front steps, giving me a quick wave. She’s wearing dark, stylish sunglasses even though it’s one in the morning, and her best friend is standing beside her with a joint between her fingers.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“Stellar,” she tells me with a little smirk. “Have a good night.”
Emmy doesn’t even bother to wait until I’m three steps down onto the front yard path before she’s talking shit about me to her friend.
“Could smell the alcohol before he even walked outside,” she says under her breath.
Clearly she’s referring to the liquor that got spilled on me.
Even when I’m not drinking, everyone still assumes I am.
My reputation, still preceding me.
Lucky, lucky me.
Her friend laughs. “You dodged a bullet with him.”
“Mmm, I think tequila was better girlfriend material for Noah than I was.”
I could spin around and explain that I’m actually sober, or tell Emmy’s best friend that Emmy was the one who was horrible relationship material to begin with. She said she wanted to be exclusive with me, then fucked a dude from Double Daggers the next week.
“Just keep walking, Noah,” Roman says, coming up beside me on the stone front path. He puts a hand on my back. “Not worth it.”
I pull in a slow breath of air, the heavy thudding of my heart calming down.
“You're right. Not worth it at all.”
“Those two have the maturity level of… fruit flies dancing around pig shit,” Roman says.
“Good imagery there, dude.”
He shrugs. “What? It’s true.”
I exhale, nodding at him as we make our way onto Red Row.
The moment we’re on the sidewalk and further from the house, the tension slowly starts to dissipate in my body.
The low chirp of crickets fills the air. Lamp posts along the street cast little pools of glowy light in the humid night, and the trees in between are so verdant that the street almost feels like a greenhouse.
We walk beneath the canopy of leaves on the sidewalk, keeping a slow pace.
All three of the Crimson College secret society houses are on this street, and Red Row feels more like home to me now than my own childhood house, which is weird to think about.
I’ve had way too much fun on this street.
It’s strange to think that casual sex was my currency for years. Hookups were a dime a dozen, and although every woman I slept with praised my cock, hands, and tongue… none of them ever wanted to make it official with me.
I’m finished with my third year of college and I’ve never even had a serious long-term relationship.
Because of that good old friend, my reputation.
A real bitch, that one is.
But I never wanted transactional hookups to begin with. What I want, deep down, is the kind of spark that leads to all-out obsession.
That leads to needing each other so bad it swallows us whole, and wrecks us in the best way.
I’ve never had that kind of love, but I have to believe it exists. I want something so real it consumes me.
I don’t feel like I’m going to find it at Crimson.
Or ever, maybe.
That’s why this summer, I’m focusing on myself. I just don’t know where to start.
“This place is going to be on a different level this summer,” Roman says.
“The air already feels different out here.”
Roman hums. “Yeah. It’s humid. I hate it.”
I puff out a laugh. “Not everyone would thrive living in a sub-zero Russian tundra like you.”
He nods. “I like the cold. But I can take the heat, too.”
I listen to the chatter of the rest of the guys behind us as we make our way down Red Row. Further up the street is the Double Daggers house, and then after that is our residence.
“Hey,” Roman tells me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “I have a question for you.”
“What’s up?”
Roman glances back toward the guys behind us and then back at me, dropping his voice a little.
“Tomorrow night. Are you busy? Would you be willing to help me with a trade?”
“What kind of trade?”
He narrows his eyes. “The kind we shouldn’t talk about.”
It takes me a moment to realize what he must mean.
He’s offering for me to get involved with the “business” he’s always doing on the side.
Almost certainly illegal, and probably connected to his mafia family ties.
Roman’s cousins have had various levels of connection to the mafia since long before he was born, but that’s as deep as my knowledge about it goes. Most of the time, I can almost forget that there’s a side to the Petrov family I don’t know about, but other times, it’s plain to see.
Roman’s covered in tattoos.
He’s Russian.
He has a fondness for vodka, and he’s built so thick that I swear he could lift a car on his own.
And at the root of it, Roman is a really good person. He’d take the fall for any guy in Onyx, and that’s always how it’s been.
“Um, I guess I could help,” I tell him.
He’s never asked me to help with something before, but that honestly makes it harder to say no.
“Good.” He ignores the obvious hesitation in my tone. “You will meet with my cousin at the loading dock behind Colossus Dining Hall, eleven o’clock tomorrow, right after the workers all go home.”
The sound of the crickets suddenly seems to get louder.
“A loading dock?” I joke. “Does it have to be set up exactly like a gangster movie? Like I’m committing a crime?”
He gives me a look like I’m stating the obvious.
“Noah, it is a crime. Do you want me to ask Hunter instead? He likes doing this type of thing—”
“No,” I interject fast. “I want to do it. I need… well, I fucking need something to fill my nights now that I’m not slamming liquor like it’s my job.”
“Right,” Roman says, giving me a quick pat on the back. “I’m glad. And don’t go without a weapon.”
A faint icy grip hits my chest.
As if it’s something casual: Bring a weapon, obviously. To the fucking crime you’re about to commit.
I listen to our footsteps on the stone walkway.
Fuck it.
I need more risk in my life.
A threat of violence, even if everything will probably be fine.
I’m going to do it.
Finally we’re in front of Onyx House.
Old Victorian style down to its bones, and a classic stone-and-iron look that’s exactly my favorite aesthetic.
Instantly my guard goes up, wondering where Torin will be.
So fucking weird that he’s in there now.
Since he arrived, Torin’s already been walking around Onyx House like he owns the place. He took it upon himself to bring one of the old, weathered bookcases into the backyard on the first day and brought out all of his tools to sand, re-stain, and repair it.
Some of the guys praise him for it, but they don’t know him like I do.
Torin just has to put his mark on everything.
Has to be noticed.
Exhibit one: he always does his woodworking shirtless, in the morning heat.