When an online influencer meets (and falls for) a social media skeptic, she has to decide whether to keep her masks on ― or finally show the world her real self.
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Krista Ming has perfected the art of duality.
She's a bookish introvert by day and...
"You know what? You can say whatever you like, but I've been upfront about my intentions from the start. At least I can say that. At least I know that about myself. At least I'm not faking nice till I make it, and at least I go for the people I care about."
I didn't usually let drunk people get under my skin. They were incoherent and insensible most times, but somehow Noah's words sunk in, letter by letter, syllable by syllable. Perhaps it was because, as he spoke his next words, his usual haughty, clever, reserved mannerisms withered away.
This was the brutal, honest core of him that sat before me. Maybe it was tinged darker by alcohol, but it there and it was deeply sad.
"Do girls appreciate being criticised? Does this really work for you?"
He raised his bottle to his lips again, but the drink ran empty. Noah picked himself up with careful movements, rising unsteadily on his feet. "You've never witnessed the things that work for me."
Then he glanced down at me. I saw straight into his red-veined eyes for a crystal clear moment, before he averted his gaze.
"I'm not trying to win you over anymore, Krista. Who cares what you feel or don't feel? You're so fake. You'll DM and flirt with guys you don't even like and call complete strangers bestie and I'm trying to protect my best friend."
Noah opened the front door and let himself in. For the few seconds that the door was ajar, I heard the raucous inner happenings of Callum's party, then it slammed shut and the world was silent once more.
I let out the shaky breath I'd been holding.
I was angry beyond words. I'd stepped out here to cool down, but talking to Noah had ignited a conflagration in my gut that heated me all over. In all my years—having dealt with the stresses of working in a club, studying Pre-Med, and being a woman under a spotlight—nothing had infuriated me as much as Noah.
I wanted to break something with my bare hands.
Over the next few minutes, I thought back through the conversation and let the worst of my anger simmer away.I pushed myself up from the porch step and started strolling Callum's driveway. I must have looked as drunk as everyone else at the party, walking back and forth with no destination. But I was so full of shock and ire that I had to move around to help myself process it.
Everything just falls into your lap. Even men.
As my fury hardened and condensed, I started thinking more clearly. Noah was the worst of nice guy. He was a 'nice' guy. He thought that being remotely respectful entitled him to whatever he wanted. If he wasn't satisfied, then the manners completely disappeared and out came the vile person within.
I'm trying to protect my best friend.
I didn't know if he was genuinely, in his own deluded fashion, looking out for Quentin or if that was a ploy to get under my skin. If it was the former, did that mean he thought I had the power to hurt Quen? How would I hurt him?
The moment Noah had sat down, I had thought he was going to flirt with me and goad me in that exhausting technique of his and braced myself accordingly. But he ended up doing nothing good for any of us. He backhanded Quen, infuriated me, and shot my opinion of him to pieces.
You've never witnessed the things that work for me.
Damn right I hadn't. Even if he was trying to be my friend before he turned on his supposedly hidden charms, I was glad I'd stonewalled him at every turn. I knew my instincts were right about him, and his ugly personality would have come out sooner or later. It was so ironic that after I decided to be warmer to Noah, he went and took himself out of my life on his own.
I felt, honestly, relieved that he'd had his little tantrum and finally resolved to stop trying with me—even if it only happened because I hurt him. If that was Noah's surrender, I could sleep peacefully despite all his pointed words. It took more than a few minutes of whining from a guy I didn't care for to bruise my feelings. Tough as nails, mentally. Riley had been right after all when she said that.
The pacing was not working to calm me down. I slipped back into the house and wandered upstairs. Thankfully I didn't have to look far for the bathroom. The door for it stood ajar just to my left. I locked it behind me when I entered.
I splashed cold water on my cheeks, which were makeup-free, and took a few deep breaths. The person in the mirror looked shaken. Unsure. I didn't know if the pink on my cheeks was from the blush I'd swept on or from my anger. I stared at myself, not really seeing, for countless moments.
You're so fake.
Was I? Did Quen see what Noah saw? I couldn't imagine him being as horrible as his friend, but they were friends for a reason. Maybe the reason was something I didn't want to consider. I shook myself clear of the paranoia. Quen had been nothing but empathetic and open-minded in all the months I'd known him.
Three sharp knocks came at the bathroom door to jolt me out of my stupor.
"Hello in there!" a familiar voice called politely. "May I please use the bathroom? It's kind of dire. Not extremely dire, but getting there—"
Quen's eyes widened in shock when I pulled the door open.
Then he rushed past me into the bathroom, bent over the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach into the bowl.
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A / N :
Who had Quen throwing up? Congratulations, you have earned yourself a digital high-five.
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There will be no more projectile vomiting in this book! If you would like more, go to Blackout (I'm not kidding, lmao. Viv is a hot mess. Emphasis on hot. Emphasis on mess.)
