Chapter Twenty-Five
TWENTY-FIVE
“Hey,” I say when I find Noah in the kitchen, surrounded by several cold pizzas. “Oh, great, I forgot about those.”
“Yeah, the party ended pretty quickly. Cold pepperoni is still delicious, though. Want some?”
Despite the smell of sick lingering in my nostrils, my stomach rumbles.
“I am weirdly hungry,” I say, moving over to the sink to scrub my hands.
I pull my hair back into a messy twist and open the cutlery drawer to grab a chopstick I saw and push it through the bun like a hairpin.
I take out the pizza cutter and hand it to Noah.
“Is she asleep?” Noah offers me the pizza as I sit down next to him. I pick the slice with the most pepperoni and take a bite. He’s right: It’s cold, but it’s still good.
“Yeah. I’ll probably stay up for a bit to make sure she’s okay, but she seems fine for now.”
“Good.”
We eat in silence as I look around the kitchen and note the low hum. There isn’t a glass to be seen, and I realize the sink was empty when I washed my hands.
“Did you put the dishwasher on? You didn’t have to clean up, you know. I could have done that!”
“You had enough to worry about. Plus, Jen had already made a start in the living room. I got rid of the ash and stuff outside, by the way. Jake was out of order for bringing a joint, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I was more surprised that Ford joined in. I meant to ask, how does he know Jake?”
“They went to school together, apparently. Jake was kicked out of, like, three high schools, and the only one that would let him finish was some posh private place a few miles away. He’s the kind of guy who always bumps into somebody he knows.”
“And does he bring joints to every party, then?”
Noah bursts out laughing. “God, no. He just got hold of some weed today and was showing off, that’s all. Jake’s been a friend for a few years, but he’s always had…issues.” Noah pauses, and I sense he didn’t mean to tell me that. Interesting. “Scarlett seemed into it, anyway.”
“I reckon Scarlett has her own stash.” I laugh, deciding I won’t push him on Jake. “It’s definitely not my thing, though.” I wrinkle my nose. “I hate the smell.”
“Me too.”
“So you weren’t out there joining in when I wasn’t looking?” I raise my eyebrows and take a small bite of pizza.
“Nope, drugs make me nervous. I had this heart murmur as a kid,” he says. I go to reply, but he waves me off. “I never told anyone at the time and I’m fine now, just don’t want to risk it resurfacing, you know? We never figured out what triggered it.”
“Thanks for telling me now.”
“No worries. No, enough about me, I have a damsel in distress to attend to.” He finishes his slice and wipes his fingers on the paper towels, staining the roll with neon orange oil. “Let’s have a look at your leg.”
“What?” I almost choke on a piece of cheese as Noah produces the first aid kit and unzips it. “Oh, no. I’m fine,” I argue, hoping my face isn’t also neon. I really want to hate his use of the word “damsel,” but I think he’s flirting with me, so I can ignore it this once.
“Give it.” He leans down and wraps a cool hand round my ankle, lifting my foot onto the chair between his legs and gently pushing my trouser leg up to my knee.
My body stops functioning properly, so I have no choice but to comply.
His bare skin on mine sends all kinds of crazy signals to places I try not to think about.
“I’ll just wipe off the blood for now. Let me know if it hurts.
There might be some glass in your skin—you went down pretty hard. ”
“Okay,” I squeak. The pizza slice is redundant now, dangling uselessly in my hand, so I put it down, my eyes fixed on Noah as he tears open an alcohol wipe with his teeth. God help me.
“Ready?”
I nod and he smooths the wipe onto my shin, rubbing gently. It stings a little, but that is not the overriding sensation I’m feeling. He carries on up to my knee, and I’m almost melting when a hiss escapes my mouth and I pull my leg away.
“Sorry. I knew there’d be glass somewhere. I think it just came out, though. You want me to look at the other one?”
“No, don’t worry, I’ll do it,” I say, immediately regretting my response. I grimace as I lean over to look at the speckled pattern on my knee and put my foot back on the floor. I straighten up to find Noah’s face inches from mine. “Thanks,” I say, wondering why my voice is so low.
“No worries.”
We stay there for a second, and I can hear him breathing.
I know a split second before he leans in that he’s going to kiss me, and I close my eyes in anticipation.
I didn’t realize until right this second, but I’ve been wanting this to happen all week.
His lips are soft and warm as they brush mine, but it’s fleeting.
“Is this okay?” he asks. I can feel the heat from his cheeks radiate off mine.
“Yes,” I manage to respond, every fiber of my being screaming for him to kiss me again.
I lean forward a fraction of an inch, pushing my lips toward his impatiently, and his hand creeps round to the back of my neck, pulling me closer.
A little sigh escapes as his lips meet mine, and I’m vaguely aware of him moving closer, his other hand snaking under the hem of my top and round my bare waist as he brings me toward him.
He traces a line of kisses from my jaw down my neck to my exposed shoulder, and my chest swells, filling me with such a sense of urgency that the kitchen blurs out of existence and I move from my chair to his knee.
I twine my arms round his neck as I coax his lips back toward mine so I’m kissing him again and—
“Fliss?” Izzy’s voice from the doorway forces us apart, and I fly off Noah’s lap and back into my chair with a speed I didn’t know I was capable of.
Noah’s face is flushed and his chest rises and falls quickly as Izzy leans on the doorframe, rubbing her eyes.
“What time is it? Can I have some water?”
“Sure,” I sigh, annoyed at past me for not taking the glass of water from Dad’s room to mine.
“I think that’s my cue to leave.” Noah smiles sheepishly before getting to his feet. He gestures at the pizza as I bite my lip, inwardly cursing Izzy. “Do you want me to clean this up?”
“No, you’ve done enough,” I say. Izzy looks at me, oblivious that I’m still feeling Noah’s lips on mine. My stomach twists with a yearning I’ve never felt before, and I realize I’d do anything to rewind the last five minutes. “Thank you,” I manage to say.
“No problem.” He rakes a hand through his hair and shoots me a crooked grin as he hovers for a second.
“I’ll text you. Maybe we can do something this weekend?
” I nod, my head bouncing like a dashboard doll, and he grins in a way that makes me wish Izzy was still asleep.
“Speak to you later, then. Bye, Iz.” Noah rubs her arm as he passes her, and she nods sagely.
“Bye, Noah.” She waves.
I watch him leave, wishing I could follow him out and throw myself at him one last time, but I’m not that confident, and he doesn’t turn back. The front door clicks shut, and when I glance back at Izzy she’s looking between me and the door with shrewd eyes.
“Hang on.” She grins. “Did I just catch you kissing Noah Devlin?”
“Maybe.” I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face, and Izzy lets out a weak little kitten squeal.
“Details, now.”
“I would have some if you didn’t interrupt,” I protest, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. I spot a little white box on the top shelf and pull it down. Bingo. “Here, two of these, please.” I hand her two ibuprofen and fill the glass with water. “They should help with that lump on your head.”
“Lump?” She washes down the tablets and feels her face with the other hand. Should I be worried that she’s already forgotten she banged her head? “How did I do that?”
“You tell me.” I turn off the kitchen and living room lights, double-lock the front door and usher Izzy back to our room.
“I’m serious. I didn’t even drink that much,” she says, climbing back into bed. “There was only one bottle of wine in that jug, and you drank two glasses—”
“One. I poured two but never drank the second,” I correct her. “I stopped once I saw you were hammering it.” Izzy yawns and snuggles down.
“But I wasn’t! Scarlett had at least two glasses, and Ford had one.” She stops as a look of horror crosses her sleepy face. “Ford! What did he see?”
“Nothing,” I lie. Let her worry about that tomorrow.
“Good,” she mumbles. She’s fading quickly.
“I’m going to brush my teeth. I’ll be back in a second,” I whisper.
She makes a noise that I take to mean “okay,” so I grab my pajamas and go to the bathroom.
I wash my face quickly and stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth.
I kissed Noah. Noah kissed me. I relive the feeling of him pulling me close as I rinse my toothbrush and float back to my room.
Whatever just happened between us, I need it to happen again, preferably very, very soon.
I climb into bed next to a sleeping Izzy and look at my phone until my eyelids grow heavy and I have to resign myself to the fact that when he said he’d text me, he didn’t necessarily mean when he got home.
Hopefully I’ll see him this weekend, though.
And hopefully that will mean more kissing…
I grin to myself as I turn off the lamp and listen to Izzy’s even breathing until I feel the sweet pull of sleep—but that’s the moment something tickles my brain.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and type into Google frantically.
I click on a link that takes me to the Blackwood police website and read through a list of symptoms. Suddenly, all the warning signals from earlier tonight line up in a neat row: loss of balance, unconsciousness, vomiting, confusion… Izzy showed them all.
She wasn’t drunk.
Her drink was spiked.