Chapter 2
Two
NOAH
My head is still spinning when I process the woman looming over me with a knife.
Jesus. A fucking murderer in my buddy’s apartment.
“What the fuck?” I scramble back on the couch, forcing myself upright despite the nausea that churns in my gut. “Why did you scream? Pretty sure I should be the one screaming right now!”
Maybe this isn’t the best time to argue with a deranged killer. I’ve never been held at knifepoint before, and I’ve gotta say, not a big fan.
Her brows furrow, and I’d be tempted to call her the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen if she weren’t preparing to stab me.
Blonde hair that falls past her shoulders in messy waves, round brown eyes a little too big for her face, delicately pointed chin, slightly upturned nose.
Her tight red dress doesn’t look like something a murderer would wear on their killing spree—she’d draw way too much attention in that thing.
The way the silk clings to her every curve, a slit that reveals inviting skin up to her thigh, cleavage that’s damn near about to spill out—
“That was you.” She spins that damn knife in her hand—Jesus, how big is that thing? Ten inches?—and my mouth goes dry.
“But it was so high. And feminine.” I rub at my pounding temples. One hundred percent sounded like a woman. Pretty sure she’s messing with me. The knife-wielding psycho’s got jokes.
Her mouth twists into a wry smirk. “Yeah, it was.”
That smile does something to me it shouldn’t, especially when she’s obviously a dangerous sociopath who threatens a vulnerable, drunk man with a knife and mocks his girly scream. God, that’s embarrassing.
Getting plastered was all I had on my agenda for tonight. Dying at the hands of a knife-wielding psychopath in my buddy’s apartment was not at all how I expected the night to end.
“Are you with Aries?” I clutch a pillow to my chest like that’s going to do shit for protecting me.
“Who the hell is Aries?”
So she definitely broke in.
“The guy who owns this apartment.”
And where the fuck is he? The bastard’s gotta be passed out cold in his room and snoring like a freight train if he hasn’t heard all the commotion.
Her thin brows fold over those bright brown eyes. Somehow, she has the nerve to look pissed at me. “You’re in my apartment.”
Takes a few moments for her words to register, but when they do—
Oh, fuck.
I swing my legs over the couch, even as my head spins. The not-intruder jumps back a step and waves the knife. “Don’t come any closer!”
Aries uses a vintage trunk as a coffee table, while this woman must’ve gotten hers from Ikea.
His entryway is lined with a barrier of shoes that I stumble over every time, and he grabbed his lumpy couch from a yard sale about ten years ago that smells like it has dog hair woven into the fibers.
How did I not notice the unusually soft, welcoming padding of this couch and throw pillows?
The delicate, feminine scent of lavender?
Dropping my head in my hands, I groan. I’ve fucked up before, but this is a whole new level.
“I thought this was my buddy’s apartment.
They all look the same in the dark. Especially when you’re drunk as shit.
” I lift my gaze back to hers and hold my hands up in surrender.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Or ruin your night. ”
“What’s your friend’s name?” She clearly doesn’t believe me.
“Aries Montgomery. Apartment 2C.”
She sighs, and thank god, drops the knife to her side. “This is 2A.”
No wonder I couldn’t find the key Aries keeps on top of the door for when Killian or I need a place to crash.
The events of the night come rushing back.
One too many shots at the bar, stumbling back to Aries’s place, texting him I was on the way, fumbling for the key, kicking the door when I couldn’t find it, and Aries ignoring drunk, belligerent me while I shoved at the door until it finally swung open.
Stumbling toward his couch as the nausea built up, knocking my elbow into the wall while I ran for the bathroom—
“Shit. Um, in that case . . .” I wince. If this woman stabbed me right now, I wouldn’t blame her. ”I may have barfed in your shower.”
She drops her head back and lets out a high-pitched sound that’s somewhere between an exasperated sigh and a guttural screech. “You made it into the bathroom, and you couldn’t puke in the toilet?”
I grimace. “I . . . did. And the trash can.”
“Jesus. No wonder you look like shit.” Her gaze roams over me. “How much did you have to drink?”
The question makes my brain hurt. “What’s four times five?”
Her beautiful brown eyes narrow at me like I’m messing with her. “Are you serious?”
“Do I seem like I’m in the right state of mind to do math?”
“Twenty.”
“Then that’s how much I had to drink.”
“Twenty of what?”
“Four fingers of whiskey. Five glasses. At least, that’s how many I remember.”
She sighs, that formidable knife still dangling casually from her hand. Her mouthwatering thigh peeks out as she turns away from me. “Okay. I’ll grab you a glass of water. You need to drink something before you try to stumble to his apartment.”
“I’ll go clean up the bathroom—” I attempt to stand. A dangerous quest, it turns out, as I sway, my vision goes dark, and I fall back onto the couch.
She’s on me in a second, hand squeezing my arm. “Are you okay?”
When my vision clears again, something in my chest softens.
Impossibly, she’s concerned about the well-being of the drunk stranger who literally broke into her apartment.
Her perfume drifts up my nostrils, and the sweet nutmeg scent makes me forget about the nausea and fear and adrenaline and pounding headache. “What’s your name?”
She hesitates, not sure how much personal information she wants to divulge to a stranger. “Summer.”
Under my breath, I try the name out, the syllables rolling off my tongue like a lullaby. “Summer. Summer, Summer, Summer.”
Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, a small, genuine smile where her suspicious frown used to be. Shit, I guess she can hear me. How much louder do I talk when I’m drunk?
Oh, no. My torso is drifting toward her. How I managed to stumble here from the bar is a miracle, even if it’s only a few blocks. “I’m Noah.”
“Are you okay, Noah?” she repeats, steadying my shoulder so I don’t fall on her. God, my name on her lips—
“Yeah. I’m all right. That water sounds great right about now.”
Summer nods and scurries off, returning moments later with a glass. Have I stumbled into the home of an angel? I break into her apartment in the middle of the night, and she’s worried about me?
She’s still armed with that knife, but I don’t blame her. If there were a strange man in my home, I’d be armed too.
“Don’t worry about the bathroom,” she says. “I’ll call a cleaner.”
I shake my head quickly. Too quickly. Bad decision. I sip at the water and hope the hydration will help. “No way. No one should be subjected to that. I’ll come back tomorrow when I can stay upright for longer than five seconds.”
“So you still think you’re leaving this place alive?” She twirls the knife in her hand with a sardonic smile, and the sight makes my cock twitch.
Clearly, drinking as much as I did tonight made me both a criminal and a masochist because I’m dying for her to climb on top of me in that paper-thin dress, press that blade to my throat, and make me beg for her.
Summer must confuse my lust for terror because she lets out a musical laugh. “I’m kidding. I’m not going to murder you. At least, not tonight. Unless you fuck up.”
“If you let me live until tomorrow, I’ll bring my toolbox with me in the morning and fix the front door too.
” That’s the least I can do after busting through the damn thing.
In one night, I’ve managed to break this woman’s front door and completely destroy her bathroom. There’s no coming back from this.
“You couldn’t have just used the spare key?” she grumbles.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She gives me a soft smile, and I’ve won the world. “It would be nice not to worry about some random stranger breaking into my apartment.”
I snort into my glass of water. “I’ll make sure it’s fixed so well that even I won’t be able to break in.”
Her phone pings, making both of us jump. No idea what time it is, but it must be well past midnight. Who would be texting her?
Summer grabs her phone from the coffee table in front of us and types back a response without a word. Curiosity consumes me. Or maybe it’s jealousy. Who the hell is that?
Jesus, I need to calm down. I broke into the poor woman’s apartment. I don’t have any right to wish she’d dump the asshole she’s texting at two in the morning.
As soon as the swoosh that she’s sent the message breaks through the silence, her phone rings. She chews her lip and hesitates with her thumb hovering over the screen.
Great. Her boyfriend’s pissed that there’s an intruder in her home, and now he’s on his way to knock my teeth in. And I can’t even escape. Maybe if I crawl.
“Hang on. My friend’s calling me.”
Before Summer can say a word, a sharp, feminine voice demands, “Let me hear Summer’s voice so I know she’s alive and not being held against her will and that the asshole who broke into her apartment isn’t sending these texts.”
Stupidly, relief flows through me. A protective friend is way better than a protective boyfriend.
“Hey, Hazel. I’m alive and well.” Summer glances at me sidelong, spinning the knife absentmindedly. “Unharmed.”
Even though I can already hear her with perfect clarity, Hazel demands that Summer put the phone on speaker.
“Nice to meet you, Hazel.” I try to keep my voice as light and friendly as possible. If anyone is a threat in this apartment, it’s the woman holding the knife. “I’m Noah.”