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"I don't really—" I protest, but she doesn't listen, pulling me back into the living room, through the throngs of people grinding their bodies into each other.

And before I can think about it, I'm doing it, too. The other Noah comes up behind me and presses his body against mine, running his hand up my thigh and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Then he places a hand on my hip, grinding against my ass, and I feel like I'm wrapped up in a warm blanket.

A warm, wet, sexy sex blanket.

"Zoey…?" She dances with her back to me, her long, dark hair swaying behind her, and I can't stop myself from reaching out and running my fingers through it. "It's so soft," I tell her when she turns around. "You were right—mine's frizzy, and it sucks."

"No," she says, smiling. "I didn't mean that it'salwaysfrizzy. Your hair is nice." She places her hands on my cheeks before raking her fingers through my short, sweat-soaked hair, and I rub up against her palms like a cat.

"Zoey, what the fuck did you give me?"

"It's just a little bit of molly."

"Are you serious?!" I ask. "This is going to make it worse."

She laughs, pressing her cheek to mine. "No," she says. "It's not going to make anything worse. What did you think it was when I gave it to you?"

"Vicodin? Percocet? I don't know."

"What?" She laughs. "You thought I was giving you opioids? Lilah, that'sdangerous. Those are highly addictive; you should know that. And I would know because I'm a nurse."

Shit.

Hot breath against my neck sends chills of pleasure up my spine, reminding me that Mason's friend is pressed up against me, that it's his hard cock I'm grinding my ass into. He slips hishand under my tank top, pressing it against my stomach before I feel his lips against the bare skin of my shoulder, and I moan.

But this—as good as it feels—this will definitely make it much, much worse.

I pull away from him, turning until Zoey is between us. Zoey—with her thick, dark hair and beads of sweat rolling between her cleavage and down her bare stomach.

I run my fingers through her hair again, bringing it to my nose and inhaling. It smells like jasmine—the way Mia's used to smell. Jasmine used to grow along the east facing side of our apartment building, and Mia would pick the small, white blossoms and weave them into her braid. I've always associated the fragrance with two things—Mia and home—both of which I'll never have again.

"You're pretty," I say, resting my head on her shoulder. "You remind me of someone I used to know. And I'm so mean to you at work."

"Pfft, no, you're not."

"I am. Iammean. And look at you—you're just better than me. You saved me from the bad guys."

"The bad guys? What are you talking about?"

"I…don't know. I really wasn't a bad person. I don't know why any of this happened to me."

"Of course you're not a bad person." She laughs again and nuzzles her cheek against mine, hooking her thumbs through my belt loops as we move together to the music. "Stop thinking. You need to relax."

Apparently, I'm not able to apply the same logic I did with Mason's friend to Zoey, because when she kisses my neck, Isink further into her, running my hand up her thigh and gripping her ass before turning and letting her mouth meet mine.

My body is on fire as her tongue twists with my own, my pussy throbbing as she grinds against my thigh, moaning into my mouth.

I come up for air, resting my forehead against hers when my eyes catch a glimpse of something else in the dark room just over her right shoulder.

The two masked men from earlier stand near the front door, their gaze fixated on me.

No.

Is it really them? Could I be hallucinating? Is that a thing?

"Hey, are you okay?" Zoey asks. When I don't answer, she turns, following my eyes, and sees them, too. "Oh, it's your friends again. Wait, are they the bad guys?"

Not a hallucination.