Why Can’t It Be Me?

Noah pinned me against my door.

One hand at my waist, preventing me from sliding down.

His palm was hot through my cool silk dress.

“Claire,” he said, voice low, “I heard you got dumped.”

The little kid had grown up.

He no longer called me sister.

And now he mocked me?

“Yes,” I said. “Dumped. Almost embarrassed myself at my ex’s engagement party. Happy?”

Noah stepped closer.

I felt his breathing.

He lifted my chin.

“Mm.”

Great.

Could my life get any worse?

First, a beautiful ex with disappointing functions.

Then, being dumped.

Now, being mocked by the once-little brother I had rejected.

I slapped his hand away.

He caught mine instead.

I tried to pull free.

Failed.

Fine.

A 188-centimeter tall, inverted-triangle, overseas-returned marketing genius holding my hand was not exactly my loss.

“If you came to laugh at me, you’ve seen enough,” I said. “Go home.”

Noah’s grip tightened.

“Not enough.”

His eyes burned.

“Claire, tell me. Why can’t it be me?”

That question stopped me.

Four years ago, it had been easy to reject him.

He was eighteen.

Fresh-faced.

Too young.

Too possible.

Now, with this Noah standing before me, I could not immediately find the old reason.

“I’m not suitable for you.”

I used my elder-sister tone.

“You aren’t me,” he said. “How do you know what suits me?”

My head was dizzy.

The alcohol made debate impossible.

And he clearly wanted to corner me.

My gaze fell to a delivery box beside the door.

Product samples from work.

Next season’s collection.

I picked it up and opened it.

Inside lay a soft leather collar and a puppy-ear headband.

The collar was lambskin.

A tiny brass bell hung in the middle.

I flicked it lightly.

Ding.

Then I looked at Noah.

“Whether we suit each other, we can test.”

There.

Scared now?

For one second, confusion flashed across his face.

Then it disappeared.

Noah reached into the box.

He picked up the collar and studied it carefully.

“Claire,” he asked, “are you sober?”

“I am.”

Mostly.

“You know what you’re doing?”

He fastened the collar around his own neck.

Click.

My confidence shook.

“I… know.”

He put on the puppy ears.

“Good.”

Oh no.

Who could survive this?

The hallway light went out.

In the darkness, Noah leaned down and kissed me.

My alcohol-blurred mind nearly dissolved.

The rational part of me tried not to respond.

Noah stopped.

His fingertip brushed my lower lip.

“Open your mouth.”

Was I being punished by heaven?

Apparently yes.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back.

His breathing changed.

One hand tightened around my waist.

Then he lifted me.

The next thing I knew, I was on the bed in my silk slip dress.

Noah was between my legs, leather collar at his throat, puppy ears still on his head.

I tugged the collar lightly.

The bell rang.

He crawled toward me.

Then the lights turned on.

My best friend Mia Chen entered with four or five male models.

Everyone froze.

Mia covered her eyes.

“Claire Fang, you really don’t mistreat yourself!”

Noah snapped the blanket over me and sat up, shirtless.

“Mia,” he said through gritted teeth, “can you go out first?”

Mia peeked through her fingers.

“Noah? You grew up.”

Then she pointed at me.

“Claire! This is—this is a crime!”

She paused.

“No, wait. He’s an adult.”

Another pause.

“Still. Wow. Studying abroad really changes people.”

I threw a pillow at her.

“Get out.”

She herded the male models out.

One model said,

“Miss, we still need to be paid even if we didn’t work.”

I grabbed the cake Mia brought and dabbed cream onto my finger.

I tasted it.

Then held it toward Noah.

“Want some?”

He did not answer.

Instead, he asked,

“Continue?”

I looked at him.

Then nodded.

Noah put cream on my nose and kissed it away.

The bell at his neck rang again.