Page 4

Noah

It's too red.

That's what I'm thinking when I look in the mirror at the color on my lips. It's too red—but Mia gave it to me and insisted it's the right color for my pale, freckled complexion, and she knows a lot more about this than I do. If it looks bad, she'll tell me, right?

I add some mascara and eyeliner, pull on a black pleated denim skirt with a cropped tank, slip on my sneakers, and leave the apartment.

It's hotter than usual, the air thick with humidity from the inevitable early summer rain. Wet hair sticks to the back of my neck by the time I reach the end of the hall.

After trying the knob and finding it locked, I knock on the door.

"What's up?"

Tate stands shirtless in front of me, the band from his boxer briefs sticking out over the top of the sweatpants hanging low on his hips. And that's where my eyes go .

My cheeks flush, and I quickly correct my mistake, meeting his gaze, but it's obvious he saw it, too.

"I'm just here for Mia."

"Mia's not here."

"What? Are you sure?" I ask, confused.

He flings the door open and steps back into the apartment. Silas sits on the couch with a beer in his hand. "If you don't believe me, you can look for yourself, but she's not here. She left with Levi like an hour ago," Tate says.

"Un-fucking-believable," I scoff, plopping down onto the sofa. I grab my phone from my pocket and send her a text. It's been weeks since we've hung out and she promised we'd go to this party together. She even picked out my outfit and this lipstick.

And I know it's too red.

Tate stands at the other side of the room with his arms crossed in front of him, staring at me with his brow furrowed, toying with his lip ring between his teeth.

I know that look. He's thinking—or plotting, more likely. Whatever it is, it probably isn't good.

"What?" I ask, tossing my phone onto the couch. "Just say it."

"Say what?"

"Whatever it is you really want to say."

"I'm not sure you'll like it."

"That's never stopped you before."

"True." He pauses and then holds up one finger. "Do you want a beer, Noah?"

I shrug. "I guess."

As he walks into the kitchen, I swing my legs onto the sofa and lean back, kicking Silas in the leg. "What is he doing?" I ask .

"Honestly, Noah, I have no fucking idea."

Tate sits in a chair across from us, unscrews the cap from the beer bottle, and slides it across the coffee table toward me. As I grab it and take a swig, he says, "You look pretty. Where were you and Mia supposed to go tonight?"

"Calvin Schaffer's party," I say.

He and Silas exchange a look; I notice Silas suppressing a laugh before burying it into his beer bottle.

"What?" I ask him. "Why is that funny?"

"It's not funny," Silas says.

"Then why are you smiling like that?"

"I'm just smiling because I'm happy."

"Yeah, right."

"Don't you get tired of it, Noah?" Tate asks.

I sigh. "Tired of what?"

"Being Mia's sidekick."

I didn't. Not before, anyway. But…now that she spends all of her time with Levi, and I spend all of my time waiting for her to have time for me, yeah. I'm tired of it.

Not to mention that no one ever pays any attention to me when I'm standing next to Mia.

"I'm not her sidekick," I tell him.

"Don't you have any other friends?"

"Yeah. Silas is my friend."

My phone buzzes beside me, and I grab it, reading Mia's text.

MIA OMG, Noah! I totally forgot. I'm in Portland. Levi got us concert tickets! I promise, next weekend, we'll hang out.

"Aren't you tired of it?" Tate asks again.

I shake my head, visibly annoyed. "What do you suggest I do?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe you could be my sidekick."

"Silas is your sidekick…or you're his or whatever."

"There's no rule that says you can only have one sidekick. I think a person should be able to have as many sidekicks as they want, as long as everyone involved is happy with the situation."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Tate?"

"We'll take you to Calvin's party."

"Why would you do that?" I ask. "You hate Calvin."

"I want to play a game."

"What kind of game?"

"It's called 'Obey.' You have to do whatever I tell you for the entire night without hesitating or asking why."

"And what if I don't?" I ask, taking a swig of my beer.

"I'll spank you," he says.

I choke on my drink. Heat rushes to my face…and between my legs. It isn't the first time he's said something like that to me, but he isn't laughing, and his gaze is far too intense for me to believe he's joking this time.

"Okay," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Okay? So, you agree?"

"I don't know. What's in it for me?"

"If you're a good girl, we'll let you play again."

"Yeah, no, thanks."

"I'll give you the tip," he says, causing Silas to burst into laughter.

"I'm leaving. "

"No, I'm serious. If our mission is successful, I'll give you an actual money tip. Come on, Noah. You always like our games. Trust me, you'll like this one, too. I think you'll like it a lot."

I consider it for a minute, tapping the side of my beer bottle with my finger. He isn't wrong—I do usually like their games. Though sometimes dangerous and usually illegal, they're exciting. And that's better than nothing.

Like last summer when we stayed in someone's empty rental cabin for four days before the housekeeper showed up and caught us. Or when we hid inside the movie theatre until after it closed and stayed there all night, getting drunk and eating candy until we threw up.

Or when we found out Silas's mom's ex was an abusive drunk, and when a piece of paper wouldn't keep him away, and the police didn't seem to care very much, we filled his trunk with stolen catalytic converters and called in an anonymous tip.

They cared about that.

But there's one big difference between all of those other times and now—Mia was there, too. Mia hasn't been around in a while, and without her, something within our dynamic has shifted. I can't quite put my finger on what it is, but it makes me nervous.

And they've never made me nervous before.

"What else are you going to do tonight, Noah? You wanted to go to a party—we'll take you to a party," Silas says.

"Don't want that slutty skirt to go to waste, do you?" Tate asks.

"It's your sister's slutty skirt."

"Ew. Are we going or not?"

I look at Silas, hoping to get a better read on what's going on. But if there's something more sinister at hand, he doesn't show it.

"Fine," I relent .

Tate clasps his hands together before standing. "Cool," he says. "I'll go get dressed. Maybe you can even make a new friend who isn't Silas. That was rude, by the way."

Silas laughs and shakes his head. "This should be fun."

After Tate changes his clothes, I follow them down the staircase and climb into the backseat of Silas's car.

"Drink up," Tate says from the passenger seat as Silas puts the car in reverse. He extends his arm to me, his fist wrapped around the neck of a whiskey bottle. I slide to the middle of the bench seat and take it from him.

"Do you have anything to chase it with?"

"No. And I'm going to assume that you didn't know we were playing already, so I won't count it this time, but this is your only warning. Technically, that is both hesitating and questioning me, and the game is called 'Obey.'"

"You're a straight-A student, Noah," Silas says. "You should be a little better at following directions."

"Sorry." I bring the bottle to my lips and take a small sip, wincing as I force the liquid down.

"That was disappointing. Get up here and sit on my lap; bring the bottle," Tate says.

I don't hesitate, but I move slowly, climbing onto the center console before he pulls me into his lap. He takes the bottle from my hand and holds it to my lips. "Open up," he says.

I do as he asks, and he pours the whiskey until it fills the entirety of my mouth. I sputter, pulling away, and he slaps his hand over my lips. "No," he says. "Don't spit it out. Swallow."

Eyes watering, I obey, but it takes three tries to get it all down .

"That's better," he says, taking his hand away. "Now, you do the same thing to Silas."

"He—" I start before Tate raises a pierced eyebrow at me. He's driving, I almost say. But that's breaking the rules, so I don't. And we're only a few blocks away.

"Open up, Silas," I say, leaning over and holding the bottle to his lips. Unlike me with Tate, he doesn't let me fill his entire mouth and then choke and sputter before forcing it down. He takes three big gulps before I pull it away and then meets my eyes as he licks his lips. I'm not used to drinking liquor like this, and it must be affecting me already, because I have to fight the urge to lean down and taste them.

I snap out of it, holding my breath when I feel Tate's hand run casually up the back of my thigh until it's far past the hemline of my skirt, resting against the bare skin just below my ass cheek. I've gotten used to it—him touching me like this because he can when Mia isn't around. At first, it set off this alarm in my head, and my instinct was always to pull back or put space between us in some way. Now, it feels good…in a bad way—like we're just barely not crossing lines we should never cross together, and it makes me feel alive. I pretend to ignore it, but I'm sure he notices I'm letting him get away with it more often, too.

"See? That's how it's done, Noah," Tate says. "Tell Silas what a good boy he is."

"You're a really good boy, Silas," I tell him.

Silas laughs and shakes his head a little. "Thank you, Noah," he says as he parks the car across the street from Calvin's house.

I open the car door and step out onto the sidewalk before Tate pulls it shut behind me. "Have fun," he says through the open window.

"Wait—you're not coming in with me? "

"Fuck no," he says. "If I show my face in there, I'll get my ass beat by half of the football team." The driver's side door opens, and Silas steps out, closing it behind him. "Silas is going with you; they're his friends."

"They're not my fucking friends," he says.

"Whatever," Tate says, visibly annoyed. "Just make sure you're checking your phones. And take another shot." He passes the whiskey bottle through the window. "Make it a good one."

Already feeling the effects of the whiskey and a little more prepared than I was the first couple of times, I fill my mouth and swallow the liquid in one large gulp. I'm not sure if it was a good one, but he looks satisfied when I hand the bottle back.

"Oh, and Noah?"

"Yes?"

"In my absence, you need to obey Silas."

"No problem," I tell him, and turn toward the house.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" I ask Silas as we approach the front porch.

"Calvin took something of Tate's," he says. "Tate wants it back—thinks maybe if he can get into his house tonight while it's full of people, he can find it."

"What did he take?"

"Money," he says before opening the front door. Upon entering, we're met with a cloud of smoke, the scent of marijuana and stale beer heavy in the air. The house is dark, loud, and crowded. Tate probably could have come inside and no one would have noticed. "A couple thousand dollars."

"What? Where did Tate get that kind of money? And how does he know Calvin took it? "

"Because he did take it."

"You didn't answer my first question. Are you guys selling drugs or something?"

"No."

"Well, then, where did the money come from?"

Silas purses his lips, thinking it over before he finally speaks. "We're making fake IDs. Drivers' licenses, passports, selling social security numbers. You can't tell anyone, Noah. Not even Mia."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"Are you good at it?"

He scoffs. "What do you think? I'm good at everything."

I roll my eyes, but he isn't wrong. Silas is a genius when it comes to math and technology. Like me, he's a good student, and if we went to a better school district with decent funding, we'd probably both be in some kind of advanced placement program and have scholarships by now. He actually hacked into the district computers in seventh grade when they were considering holding Tate back and changed all of his grades to A's. They hadn't been paying enough attention to Silas to notice he had this particular skill and inclination, so they thought Tate did it himself. They punished him for it, but didn't hold him back, partly because they had sympathy for the school he missed due to his mother's illness and because, being premature, Tate and Mia started school late and were already older than everyone in our class. But mostly, it was because the teachers didn't have any written records of what his grades actually were.

"Hey, Silas!" Wyatt, another guy from the football team, shouts. "What's up, man? I never see you at parties like this."

"Hey, what's up, bro? "

"Calvin's got a keg in the dining room behind the beer pong table," Wyatt says, gesturing behind him. "Who's your friend?"

Are you kidding me? I have two classes with this fucker.

"No one you need to know about," Silas says, draping his arm around my shoulders. "Come on, let's get a drink."

Wyatt laughs. "Okay, I see how it is."

Steering me toward the dining room, Silas leans in and says, "You're fuming. I can almost see the smoke coming out of your ears."

"I've gone to school with that asshole since third grade! There are only two hundred kids in our entire class, and he copies off my goddamn math papers. And he looks at me and says, 'Who's that?' I mean, am I really just that…"

As he fills our cups with keg beer, I trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence. That pathetic? That much of a loser? That invisible?

"Are you really just that what?" he prompts, handing me my cup.

"Unremarkable."

Before he can answer, Calvin Schaffer takes a step backward and stumbles into me, causing me to spill my beer down the front of my shirt.

"Whoa. Sorry about that," he says. "I'm Calvin. Nice tits."

I glare over his shoulder at Silas. "Thanks. Nice to meet you for the very first time ever."

"Nice tits?" his girlfriend says, shoving him. "What the fuck, Calvin?"

"Oh, shit," he says, laughing.

"Come on," Silas says, guiding me out of the room.

"Hey, at least let me clean that up for you!" Calvin shouts at my back. "With my mouth! "

Laughter fills the room as we leave, and Silas steers me toward the staircase.

"Where are we going?" I ask as we make our way up to the second floor.

"I believe you're not supposed to question me," Silas says. "Remember the name of the game?"

"Yes, sir," I mock. "Whatever you say."

He turns to me, looking me up and down, raising one eyebrow. "You be careful with that mouth, Noah," he says. "Or I might have to teach you how to use it."

"What makes you think I don't know how to use it?"

Shit. I said that out loud. I blame the whiskey.

"Do you want me to tell you to prove it?"

I swallow hard, feigning laughter even though I'm pretty sure he isn't joking, and avert my gaze, following him until we reach one of the last bedrooms. Silas immediately goes to the window, unlocking it and throwing it open so Tate can climb inside.

"Ah, thank you very much," Tate says. "How's it going? Is Noah obeying or does she need to be spanked?" He crinkles his nose as he approaches me. "Why do you smell like old beer already?"

I shrug. "Because I'm a fucking house plant."

He purses his lips. "Not sure what that means. Do house plants drink beer?"

"Are you serious, Tate?"

"I don't know. I don't have any fucking house plants."

He steps around me and opens Calvin's closet. "Ah, here you go," he says, pulling his jersey from a hanger. "Take off your clothes and put this on instead."

I open my mouth to protest .

"Please, say no and see what happens," Tate says. "Make my day, Noah."

Sighing, I pull my tank top over my head and then put on the jersey before stepping out of the skirt. It's just long enough that it reaches the back of my thighs, but if I lift my arms over my head, I'm sure anyone who's looking would get a full view of my ass in this pink thong.

But hey, maybe they'd remember my fucking name if they did.

"Much better. We're looking for a small black metal box. We'll have to look high and low," he emphasizes, "so…Noah, you should look low. You have to crawl."

"Perfect."

I drop to the ground, get on all fours, and start crawling around the room, "looking low" for the black metal box. I'm aware my ass is entirely visible, and I feel their eyes on me, but I don't care. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's just that I'm so fucking used to going unnoticed, and I'm so fucking tired of it that this actually feels good. But it does…it feels better than good. My clit pulses as I crawl around on the carpet on my hands and knees, squeezing my thighs together to relieve some of the pressure.

I check under the bed and in the nightstands as Silas turns out drawers and Tate tears apart the closet.

"I think I'm out of low places to search, Tate," I say.

"Really? Well, then, I guess you can just crawl over to Silas and rub up against his leg like a cat. For moral support."

Silas laughs. "Jesus Christ."

"What's wrong, Silas?" I joke, crawling in his direction. "You don't want any moral support?"

"No, I want moral support, Noah," he replies .

"That's hot," Tate says as I take my time, rubbing up against Silas's leg before I notice a duffle bag under the desk. It smells like shit when I open it up, and I almost don't even bother looking inside, but I decide to dump it, and a box like the one Tate is looking for falls to the ground in front of me.

"Hey, I think I might have found it!"

"Oh shit, she really did," Silas says.

"Are you fucking serious?" Tate shouts, turning toward the two of us. "Yes!" He pumps his fist in the air and jumps onto the bed. "Fuck yes! Fuck this guy! Fuck Calvin fucking Schaffer; he can kiss my fucking ass!"

He jumps down and scoops up the box, opening it before counting the contents.

"Noah," Tate says, "as an integral part of this mission, you deserve a reward." He lifts the jersey and stuffs a few hundred-dollar bills into the waistband of my thong. "How's that for what's in it for you?"

"Um, fair. Very fair."

"Now, I get to tell you a secret."

Tate brushes my hair away from my ear before leaning in, his cheek against mine and his breath hot on my neck. "I saw that wet spot on your panties when you were crawling around on the floor. It's not hard to figure out what someone's kinks are if you know them, and you know what to look for. I told you that you'd really like this game."

He pulls back, and I sit there, stunned. No smart ass reply or brush off comes to mind before someone pounds on Calvin's bedroom door.

"Calvin?" a female voice calls. "Are you in there? If anyone's in there, I'm giving you five seconds, and then I'm coming in. One…"

"Closet!" Silas says. Tate grabs the box, and we all rush toward the louvered double doors and into the corner of the small space. I watch Calvin's girlfriend, a cheerleader named Hailey, through the wooden slats as she steps into the room.

All the while trying to stay still, pretending not to feel Silas's hard dick against my backside.

"What…the fuck…happened in here?" she mumbles to herself, taking in the room's state of disarray. Then she freezes; something must catch her attention, because she gasps, then leans down and picks up my discarded tank top and miniskirt.

"Nice tits," she mocks before throwing them across the room. "That fucking asshole. I'm going to fucking kill him!"

Then she climbs onto the bed and, standing, pulls her underwear down, kicking them off before hiking her skirt up.

What the hell is she—

But before I can finish the thought, she squats just a little, and we watch her piss on the mattress.

Oh, my god.

I quickly slap my hand over my mouth, stifling a gasp. Behind me and at my side, Silas and Tate are silently laughing their asses off.

And she pees for a long fucking time.

When she's finally done, she dries herself off with his pillow, steps back into her underwear, and leaves the room.

"Oh, my god!" Tate says, still laughing and out of breath. "That was fucking awesome! God, I hate this guy so much. He's going to be pissed."

"Always better to be pissed off than pissed on," Silas says, and we all start laughing again.

"My god, it's like…a lake." My lip turns up as I look at the soiled bedding and mattress. "I can smell it."

"Girl really had to go," Silas says. "What about us? Are we leaving?"

"Not quite yet. Hold this," Tate says, thrusting the metal box into my hands. He crosses the room, picks up Calvin's laptop, brings it over his head, and then slams it against the edge of the desk once, twice, and then three times before casually tossing the destroyed remnants aside.

"Feel better?" Silas asks. He picks up his red solo cup from earlier and takes a drink.

Tate shrugs. "Yeah. Little bit. But I have one more job for Noah. And I'm going to need that cup."

"All right." Silas drains the contents and then hands it to him.

"Great."

Without warning, Tate unzips his jeans, whips out his dick, and starts pissing in the damn cup.

"Jesus, Tate." I quickly turn around, averting my gaze upward while they both laugh.

I hear him zip up a few seconds later. "Okay, Noah," he says. "The glass is half-full."

Silas laughs harder, and I turn around. "That's not funny."