He whispers in my ear. “Is this hard enough for you?”
Why do his words sound dirty and so exciting?
“I’ve felt harder,” I say, pulling away from him, but not before he spins me around and kisses me. He tastes like sweat and sin. My lips part, and he grips my hips, pulls me against him, and continues dancing against me.
I let him. Like an idiot.
When the music suddenly ends, he breaks away from me and smirks. “Was that convincing enough for you, Ah-Ri?”
Tears well in my eyes. My emotions are all over the place. I want him to pull me closer and yet I still want to kick him in the dick. “You’re a prick! And I’m too sweet for you. I hope you die from the bitterness of that kiss.”
“Says the girl who kissed me back.” He towers over me. “Maybe you’re more of a fan than you say.”
“You’re seriously a jerk.” I shove him away from me. “Practice is over.”
“Guess I’ll see you at dinner tonight then.”
I swipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand, grab my water bottle and bag, and shove open the door so hard I nearly take someone out on the other side.
It’s Sookie.
He smiles, but the smile drops and turns to rage as he looks from my tear-stained cheeks—and most likely swollen mouth—to the non-empty room and a still angry Ryan.
Like he even has a right to be angry!
I feel so stupid and used that I immediately want to quit.
But I’m not a quitter, so I just stand there and try to keep the rest of the tears in.
“Sorry,” I say to Sookie in Korean. His English is getting way better, and there are so many bets that he actually understands it but that he just gets nervous about messing up when he uses it.
“Are those tears from him?” he asks.
“Maybe.” I cross my arms. “But he’s not worth it.”
“Did he hurt you?” Sookie goes into immediate big-brother mode.
Only my heart. But I never gave it to him in the first place; the stupid bastard just keeps trying to crack his way in.
Except today he used kindness instead of a hammer.
Lucky me.
Sookie takes a step toward the door. I shake my head. “No.”
I glance over my shoulder in time to see Ryan watching us. I read rage in his eyes and don’t understand it.
He, of all people, should know about me and Sookie’s friendship. And yet he looks ready to punch someone he calls a friend.
Sookie’s fists clench at his sides. His tattoos are on full display under a simple white Gucci shirt and sweats. He’s clearly here to practice, and now I’ve ruined that.
SWT has a new album dropping later this year, so the last thing Sookie needs is to get into a fight or involve the group in a scandal.
“Seriously.” I touch his arm.
“Stay away from him if you can.”
“Yeah, I’ll try,” I lie. “Now, go practice.”
He sighs and then bites out a curse that has me laughing. Yeah, squeaky clean my ass.
He takes off his Supreme hat, plops it on my head, winks, then runs his hands through his light brown hair before walking toward his practice room.
The rest of the guys must already be there since I don’t hear screaming coming from the direction I’m walking.
By the time I get back to the dorm to change out of my sweaty clothes, shower, and get ready, I’m so bone-tired that I want to cry, and there’s nobody I can really talk to.
I’m still at the trainee dorms the label thankfully rented across the street, and while my room connects to a larger communal area, most of the girls I got close with no longer live here.
A sixteen-year-old moved in last week, which was even more depressing. Basically, I’ve dedicated my life to becoming an idol, have zero friends I can talk to, and am having boy problems.
And the final cherry on top? If I actually tell any of my friends, it could get out that my new bandmate and I shared an angry kiss, and we’d be screwed before we even begin.
Besides, while the idea of Sookie punching Ryan in the face makes my heart hurt a little less, it would screw with everything.
The Netizens would not be pleased.
Cancel culture is real, and even I don’t hate Ryan that much.
I glance around my empty bedroom. So many roommates have moved in and out that even the idea of living with Ryan and Haneul sounds nice at this point. Maybe then I could torture Ryan for making me cry and get away with it.
I touch my lips, shake the exhaustion from my body, put on a simple adidas sweat outfit, and decide last minute to put on the hat that Sookie gave me, even though it doesn’t really match.
“Well,”—I look at my reflection in the mirror—“here goes my first group dinner at the devil’s house.”