9. Ruin My Life
Ruin My Life
Natalia
The minute the words leave my mouth, I see it, the armor slipping.
His eyes go dark, intent and unprotected, like he forgot for a single, reckless heartbeat that this was supposed to be contained.
I got past something he's trying to keep locked.
I should step back. That's the smart thing, the sober thing.
Unfortunately, I'm not nearly sober enough to be smart.
The club surges around us, music thumping hard enough to blur the edges of my thoughts.
The drinks I told myself were harmless are sitting warm under my skin now, loosening every careful knot I spent the last two days tying.
I can still see them, I know exactly where they should be, but I can’t quite get my hands around them fast enough.
I can't believe that I said it, that I meant it. I hate how jealous I am that Liv has been in his space all night, hogging his attention, laughing, touching his arm. Seeing him undone like this, by me, makes everything worse. Because now I know.
Now I know I can still do this to him and now he knows, he can still do this to me.
I push closer without meaning to, that’s what I tell myself. That it just happens, the club is crowded and someone brushed past behind me. Gravity gets confused sometimes.
What a pathetic lie.
The shape of him catches me perfectly, like proof. I feel his reaction, the hitch in his breath, the heat of him. That hardening part of his body pressed against me. I can see it in his eyes, how he's trying to fight it with everything he has.
No, I'm not doing this… am I?
I'm definitely not standing in the middle of a club, tipsy, jealous and stupid, looking at Kiri Chhim like I want him to ruin my life with his bare hands.
Except I totally am. Shit.
When I look at him this time, I don’t look away.
I hold his gaze even when his jaw tightens, even when his eyes flick to my mouth.
Whatever distance was left between us burns away.
I know what I’m doing but I can't seem to stop myself.
Some foggy, furious part of me wants to blame the alcohol.
It's just the cocktails making me lean in, making me breathe harder, turning my thoughts molten and humiliating.
But the alcohol isn't doing anything. It's only taking its hands and shoving open every door I've been struggling to hold shut.
Now I see clearly, that behind every single one, is him.
His hands, his lips. That look on his face tells me he's one bad decision away from forgetting every reason not to kiss me.
I know the look on my own is close to begging. My body pressed close, chin tilted up, my mouth parted around a breath I can’t seem to control. I leave the silent request hanging between us, don't stop.
He leans in, near enough I feel his breath skim my cheek. His cologne cuts through the sweat and spilled liquor around us. Suddenly my heart slams so hard it feels like it might burst right out of me.
I'm convinced he’s going to kiss me, consequences be damned.
I’m already halfway there in my head, and I’m angry at myself for it.
Furious and fucking mortified. Because the thought arrives instantly.
His hand wrapped around mine, being dragged somewhere dark, followed by a locked door.
His mouth forgetting his self-imposed rules, and my lips letting go of whatever revenge I had planned.
No room for pride, or space left to think.
Only him, finally him, and the insane relief of not having to pretend I don’t want this.
Then a hand slaps against his back, hard.
“Kiri!” Ronan’s voice cuts through the moment like a razor blade. “Tell me you heard that fucking snare pattern just now. A thing of goddamn beauty.”
We part instantly and the tearing is violent, our bodies snapping away from each other.
The almost of it hangs between us, vivid and obscene.
The image of what we were about to do, what we might have done, if Ronan had been thirty seconds later, flashing hot through my head.
I know Kiri feels it too. His eyes give it away before he turns from me.
Ronan keeps talking, oblivious, already pulling him into some animated explanation, and he lets himself be dragged along. I close my eyes and breathe out slowly, trying to steady the way my entire body feels like it’s still reaching for him. The distance between us suddenly feels unbearable.
That was too close, and the worst part, the part I don’t want to admit even to myself, is that it wasn’t close enough.
Kiri
I get the drinks from the bar and let Ronan talk, nodding in the right places, answering automatically, my body moving while my head is somewhere else.
I don’t even register what I’m carrying until the shot glass and bottle of soju clink together and I realize my hands are shaking.
That’s my cue. Instead of heading back to the table, instead of sitting down and pretending I’m fine, I veer off toward the roof terrace without looking back.
I need space and air. I need to stop imagining everything that almost happened.
The door slams behind me and a cold gust of wind hits my face.
I can see the steam as I breathe out, January isn’t forgiving in Seoul, even with their fancy outdoor heaters dotted around.
I set everything down as gently as I can before I lean my forearms against the railing and breathe in deep, like I’ve been deprived of oxygen.
My stomach churns, I feel sick, the kind that has nothing to do with the drinks and everything to do with how badly I want her.
It’s fucking stupid. It feels pathological, like if I don’t get control of it I might actually go insane.
Broken by a tiny blonde force of nature.
I drag a hand through my hair and press my knuckles into the concrete along the railing, grounding myself in the pain and cold.
Part of me honestly thinks I could punch a hole straight through it just to bleed off the energy coursing through my body, every thought circling back to the same place no matter how hard I try to redirect it.
I force another breath. Then another. The skyline stretches out in front of me, Seoul lit up and sprawling, beautiful and distant.
The city is bright below, traffic threading through it like veins, alive and unconcerned with my internal meltdown.
I focus on that. On the lights, the height. On anything that isn’t her.
Slowly, the vibration in my chest starts to ease and finally some blood starts flowing through the rest of my body, not just the part she left throbbing.
My dick is still very unhappy with the interruption.
The edge dulls just enough that I can think in full sentences again.
I tell myself this is fine. This is exactly why I stepped away.
If I just keep my distance, keep my head down, keep breathing, I can get through the rest of the night.
Then her face demands to be remembered anyway.
The want in her eyes, the first time since she landed that she gave it without hiding it or weaponizing it.
Then I hear it, the soft click of the door opening behind me. I close my eyes and sigh, bracing myself for whoever it is, because I don’t have the capacity to speak right now. I can barely manage to breathe.
I know the moment she steps onto the terrace. It’s the sound, the soft click of heels against concrete, the faint peach and taffy scent that gets carried on the cutting breeze. I should have guessed she’d find me. Of course she would when I’m barely holding myself together. Great.
I reach for the soju, take a shot, and pour another before I dare look over.
“I needed a breather, it was… warm, in there.” Natalia says, the door closing behind her. Her voice is light, casual, but she’s already moving toward me, confidence guiding her steps. From the look on her face, she knows exactly whose space she’s walking into and she doesn’t want distance.
I divert my eyes, trying to focus on the skyline. “It’s a big roof, plenty of space over there to cool down.” I gesture to the space she's already closed.
"Good thing. You need the square footage,” she shoots back. I grin as I shake my head but try to stop myself from smiling back.
I risk a glance. That dress should be illegal, black and smooth, hugging every line of her body like it was poured directly onto her skin, and short enough to show off her incredible legs.
She knows exactly what she's doing. I watch her face as she makes her way closer, makeup perfect, gaze intense as always, those brown eyes. God damnit. I swallow hard. Her footsteps come closer and stop right beside me, close enough that the warmth of her arm brushes mine. I should move. I don’t.
“Do you usually wear shit like that in the middle of winter,” I ask, knocking back another shot of soju, “or is this a targeted attack?” I set the shot glass between us on the railing, like it might somehow protect me.
Warding off the demon of lust with strong spirits and an inebriated prayer.
The soju burns on the way down, but not enough to cauterize whatever the hell has gotten loose in me.
Her eyes cut to mine. She grins, slow and knowing. “Oh, kochany, I’m always trying to attack someone. It’s just more fun when it’s you, you’re such an easy target.”
There it is, that spark I pretended I'd imagined through the phone, in the elevator, at dinner, in the gym, backstage, here, everywhere. The one I can never seem to get away from. The one she’s not even bothering to hide now that she’s a little tipsy, how much she gets off on wrecking me.
I turn back toward the railing, fingers drumming against it, breathing deep like that’s going to help.
The music thuds beneath us, muffled by glass and concrete, but I can still feel the bass through the soles of my shoes.
It should calm me down, remind me of the stages I spend most of my life on, but it doesn't. I doubt anything could.
I could go back inside, that'd be the smart thing.
For a while, neither of us says anything.
It's long enough that I start to hope silence might be all that passes between us.
That’s a stupid idea. Silence itself is afraid of a woman like Natalia. She lets it linger until it feels like a hand around my throat. Then slowly, she turns fully, leaning back against the railing, one hand braced on the cold metal.
“So,” she says calmly. I glance over, her eyes are already on me. “When do you cut the bullshit?”