12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Anastasia
" S omething tells me no part of this will be small," I scoff, scanning Walker’s extensive list of items for tonight’s so called get together. From the sheer amount of alcohol he’s stocking up on, it’s clear this isn’t about socializing, it’s about getting blackout drunk.
"Alright, fine, it’s a party," Walker admits over the phone. "But if you come, you can bring Elijah and Megan to make you feel less out of place."
I arch a brow. "Out of place?"
"I just mean… parties probably aren’t your thing-"
"Walker, I was sneaking out and going behind my parents’ backs before I even had my learner’s permit." I snort.
The words taste bitter the second they leave my mouth.
One of my biggest regrets.
There was so much time I could have had with my dad before he got sick. Time I wasted chasing cheap thrills.
Clearing my throat, I force the thought away.
"I've had my fair share of house party thrills ."
Walker’s tone shifts, turning suggestive. "Do tell. What is this thrill you speak of?"
Smirking, I play along.
"Let’s just say, after four good shots, I’ll happily ditch your ass and take my turn playing spin the bottle with the hottest girl in the room."
Alcohol has always been the great equalizer of my attraction. I like to pretend I prefer men, but a few drinks in, and that false certainty unravels fast.
High school proved that well enough. One too many shots, a five-minute make out session with Erica that escalated to hands under shirts and fingers exploring unfamiliar territory.
But then my dad got sick, and suddenly, the idea of sneaking out to get wasted at some stranger’s house felt like a betrayal.
Back then, Cole and Erica were my constants. My stability.
And looking back, I should have seen it. The way Cole was happier watching Erica and me make out than he ever was alone with me.
The signs were all there, the cracks forming long before they split wide open.
Who knew he’d use my dad’s cancer as the perfect excuse to take advantage of my distance?
"So, you’re telling me there’s a chance I might get some girl-on-girl action-"
"Bye, Walker!" Megan chirps sweetly before ending the call, cutting off whatever gross comment he was about to make.
Blinking as she tosses my phone onto her bed, she plants her hands on her hips with a glare so sharp it nearly cuts me.
"What was that about?" I ask.
Her expression hardens. "I don’t like him."
"You don’t like him?" I scoff.
"You heard me, Ana." There’s zero playfulness in her voice now. "I don’t like him. I don’t know much about Cole, and thank God for that, because from everything you’ve told me, I’d probably punch him in the face. But Walker? From the outside looking in, he seems like nothing more than a rich, narcissistic boy having fun with his new plaything."
Her words land like a gut punch.
Because deep down?
I’m terrified she might be right.
"I’m assuming I’m the new ‘plaything’ in this scenario?"
Megan rolls her eyes and drops onto the bed beside me, arms crossed like she’s bracing for whatever bullshit excuse I’m about to give.
"Are you seriously going to keep avoiding telling me what happened on movie night after Elijah and I left?" she presses. "Because ever since then, every time Walker is around, you look like you’re holding back vomit."
I’d like to blame my reaction on Walker alone, on the way his presence makes my skin crawl. But deep down, I know my avoidance isn’t just about him.
It’s about the man who’s been occupying my mind ever since.
And I doubt Megan would stomach the real reason why.
She narrows her eyes. "Full honesty?"
I hesitate, but nod. No point in dodging it now.
"He couldn’t get me going that night, and… I might’ve slipped up and moaned an ex’s name to get off."
Her eyes widen. "Holy shit, Ana-"
"So, as an apology, I tried to give him a blowjob and… he got rough."
Rough is an understatement.
Megan’s posture shifts instantly, her expression hardening. "Did he touch you in a way you didn’t like-"
"No, nothing like that," I cut in quickly. "It was just… a lot."
A lot in the way that made my stomach knot and my body freeze.
But here’s the fucked-up part.
When Noah was having his way with me, the pain, the bruising grip of his hands, the raw intensity of his touch, it thrilled me. I craved it. With Walker, I was scared. But with Noah?
I only wanted more.
Tell me how one man’s brutal touch could leave me trembling in fear, while the other gets me wet just thinking about it.
Megan groans, flopping back onto the bed. "You are astronomically awful at picking men."
"Thanks for that." I scoff.
"And even worse," she continues, "I think the only reason Walker is inviting us over tonight is to live out some stupid lesbian porn fantasy in real life."
I snort, shaking my head. "I’m not making out with some random girl to stroke Walker’s ego, if that’s what you’re worried about."
Megan pouts, clearly unconvinced.
"I’m mostly using tonight as an excuse to let him down easy," I reassure her. "The alcohol gives me the courage I need to break things off."
She studies me, skeptical. Then her gaze sharpens. "And what if Cole and Erica are there?"
The question hits like a punch to the gut.
"You’re not worried they’ll make your little breakup with Walker considerably worse?" she adds, still stiff, still pissed, her usual lightheartedness gone.
I force a shrug, even though my stomach twists at the thought. "We’re not dating, Megan. This isn’t some dramatic breakup."
She doesn’t budge.
Her eyes narrow, searching mine like she knows I’m holding something back.
"What else is this about, Megan?" I sigh. "I get that you’re looking out for me, but you’re poking holes in everything I say-"
"I'm fine, Ana," Megan hisses, her voice sharp, her frustration thick in the air. "You’re going to go to that party and have the time of your life, breaking hearts, blaming your make out session with some random sleaze on the alcohol, while Elijah and I have to watch. It’s the same shit every straight girl loves to do."
Her words hit harder than I expect.
Then it clicks.
She thinks I’m going to use her.
"Megan," I say, cutting her off mid-tangent. My hands find her arms, stilling her restless movements. She looks at me, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Do you honestly think alcohol would be my only motivator for kissing someone as gorgeous as you?"
Her breath catches, but I don’t let her look away.
"I didn’t mean to hurt you by letting you think that’s the case."
Her expression falters, softening into something raw. But then, just as quickly, it twists into something hardened. Something tired.
"You and every girl I’ve been with love to pick up a bottle and use people like me, people who are sure of what we want. Then the next morning, you wake up and blame it all on the liquor." Her jaw tightens. "I’m not hurt, Ana. I’m pissed."
I don’t think.
I react.
Leaning in, I press my lips to hers, silencing whatever protest is about to spill from her mouth. My fingers graze the side of her face, cupping her jaw as I push her back against the mattress. She doesn’t resist.
She pulls me closer, fists tightening around the front of my shirt, and I feel it, that slow burn deep in my stomach, the quiet hum of something dangerous beneath my skin.
Maybe this is what I need.
A distraction. A healthy distraction.
A way to explore my curiosity. To drown out Noah.
I let my tongue tease the seam of her lips before sliding lower, my hand slipping beneath her shirt. The second she gasps, I take my chance, deepening the kiss as my fingers trace upward, dragging her shirt along with them.
The wet sounds of our mouths moving together mix with her breathy moans, and heat pools between my legs when my thumb skims over her hardened nipple.
This should be where I stop.
I’m not drunk.
I’ve already made my point.
But then, Noah.
His touch slams into my thoughts, uninvited, unavoidable.
How would he touch me right now? What would he do if he saw this? Would he be angry? Would he want to join?
How far does his obsession with me go?
A sharp need coils inside me, twisting, dark, and hungry.
I drag Megan’s bottom lip between my teeth, but the ache I crave doesn’t come. It’s not enough.
I need to feel pain. I need to inflict it.
Without thinking, my fingers tighten around her nipple, pinching. Hard.
Megan gasps, her body jerking beneath mine. The sound sends a fresh wave of arousal crashing through me, my instincts driving me further. I bite down on her lip, harder than I intend to.
The metallic tang of blood coats my tongue.
Megan pulls back abruptly, touching her swollen, reddened lip. Her fingers come away stained.
Her wide eyes meet mine.
"Ana," she breathes, something unreadable in her voice. "You bit me."
Cocking my head, reality comes crashing down around me.
Megan isn’t Noah.
No one is.
No one has the touch that Noah gave me, and I just shamelessly felt up my dorm mate trying to chase the high he left behind.
Fuck.
Heat floods my cheeks as I pull down Megan’s shirt for her, shame clawing up my spine.
"I got carried away," I mutter, my voice tight. "The pinching, the biting-"
"Your point was made," Megan says, wide-eyed but eerily calm. "Clearly, we would not be compatible in bed, but I can’t say I didn’t enjoy that." She exhales, running a hand through her hair. "I’m sorry for doubting your intentions-"
"No, don’t do that," I cut in quickly. "I’m sorry for hurting you." Rubbing the back of my neck, the weight of embarrassment settles deeper. "I wasn’t trying-"
"You like it rough, Ana. Don’t be ashamed." Megan scoffs, rolling her eyes.
I stare at her, still searching for any sign that she might be upset, but she just smirks like she’s already figured me out.
"And you’re not… hurt by what just happened?" I ask cautiously.
"If you’re asking whether I’m in love with you after that? No." Megan grins, shaking her head. "Generally, it’s the straight girls who break my heart. But you, my friend, are at the very least bi-curious."
I open my mouth to protest, but she doesn’t give me the chance.
"But do tell me, who were you thinking about when you were kissing me? And don’t give me that lie you fed Walker."
She sees right through me. Like she always does.
"I wasn’t-"
"You were," she snaps, cutting me off effortlessly. "You may be able to sway a man, but I see right past whatever distraction you were trying to create with me. So… who is he?"
Megan adjusts her shirt and sits cross-legged in front of me, her gaze locked on mine, waiting.
The heat between us has already faded, replaced by something heavier.
"He’s a bad idea." I sigh.
Her brow lifts. "A really bad idea?"
"It’s not worth entertaining," I mutter.
She holds up two fingers, shaking her head. "If I’m counting right, you’ve fantasized about him twice. With two separate people, yet you still think it’s not worth entertaining?"
"There are bad ideas, Megan, and then there are bad ideas." My voice sharpens as I shake my head, "I’d rather just let this pass and have a drunken make out session to distract myself from whoever might be occupying my thoughts."
"And I’m who you want to distract you?" Megan smirks.
"I’d rather kiss you than Walker." I grin.
Dramatically falling back onto the mattress, she groans.
"Fine. We can go. But on two conditions."
I wait silently, bracing myself.
She holds up one finger. "If we make out again, no biting." She laughs.
I nod, a small smirk tugging at my lips. "Fair."
She takes a deep breath before holding up the second finger, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
"And the second condition?"
Megan glances toward my closet, her smirk widening.
"You wear something that makes Walker and your mystery man fall to their knees. I wouldn’t mind a little drama."
I scoff, shaking my head.
"Easier said than done."
Last I checked, professors don’t linger at college parties.
Then again… maybe that’s for the better.