"AS A STRONG, independent female in the 21st century, what do you do when you're feeling... sexually frustrated?"

I steal another sip of my cheap, dry wine, tilting my head as I wait for a response. The kitchen tile is cool against my bare thighs, and the floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the blushing notes of twilight outside. There's a warmth buzzing underneath my skin.

The cat, like always, does not respond.

I sigh. "Cleo, I'm gonna be real with you- straight woman to cat here. I need to get laid. Like, yesterday."

Cleo continues to stare, perched on the counter across from me, green eyes piercing into my soul. I feel weirdly comforted by her feline presence, even with her usual look of contempt.

"I hear you, definitely, I should go out. I'm not going to find any solutions to my getting laid problem alone in here, but I'm lazy. I don't want to try. I want something easy. I want... oh man, I'm gonna end up calling Chad tonight aren't I?"

Cleo licks at her paw.

My shoulders slump. "I know, I know- Cleo, I hear you. Chad is... Chad's a bad idea. Yes, his penis is magical. But also, he hates to cuddle. And you know, Cleo, I love to cuddle. So it's definitely a terrible idea," I say, taking another generous sip. "I definitely should not call Chad, no matter what happens."

When Cleo pauses her licking for a moment, wide emerald eyes shifting to me, I take this as a quiet agreement. It sounds like a better idea the more that I say it out loud- remind myself of why he's my ex-boyfriend in the first place.

My thoughts betray me as they wander to thick black frames and coffee dark eyes, but no, I tell myself, that's an even worse idea than Chad. At least I know that Chad sees me as a human being, one he would also like to have sex with, and not some loud, greedy gremlin.

Involuntarily, that hooded gaze from the Chinese food episode flickers in my memory- the incident that apparently ignited this insatiable need inside of me, but even then, it's quickly followed by the ghost of Nat's scolding voice.

Nope- that's not even an option. The options are sleep with Chad, or not sleep with Chad. And the only actual decision should be not sleep with Chad, and continue having one-sided conversation with the most unimpressed cat in the world while drowning myself in cheap box wine.

I hadn't even seen Noel in the last week, and I can't quiet the thought that he's avoiding me. Not that I'd particularly noticed or whatever.

Still, when I heave another sigh, I can feel my resolve crumbling. My phone lays next to me, open on a new text message, with Chad's name written on the top. It's just sex, a traitorous little voice in the back of my head murmurs. It means nothing.

I pout. "Cleo, what do I do?"

"Stop talking to the cat, for one."

I jump at the new presence, staring up with wide eyes to see Nat grinning in the doorway. Her eyebrows are raised, a condescending glimmer in her gaze as she looks from me to the cat.

My brows furrow. "Excuse you, Cleo and I are having a private conversation."

Nat laughs, padding over to where I'm sitting on the floor and wiggling her fingers down to me. "Come on, up, up, let's get you dressed and out of here. The cat might not be able to help you get laid, but I might."

"Nat! You're a taken woman now!" I allow her to pull me up from my sad little spot on the kitchen tile. "You can't throw out propositions like that anymore!"

She rolls her eyes. "Come on," she says, stealing the plastic cup from me- a substitute for Mark's wine glasses that I trusted myself not at all with. "We'll get some lipstick on you and we'll go out. You're either getting laid or getting drunk and none of those are particularly awful, are they?"

I shrug, a small smile finding my face as Nat's gentle grip pulls me into the bathroom. The more distractions the better, and I allow one last fleeting glance at my phone abandoned on the kitchen floor. A sign, I tell myself. A sign that crawling back to Chad again will not tonight's conclusion.

But as the night grows older and my reality grows fuzzy, the getting laid part of her offer seems less and less likely. No one particularly piques my interest, and despite a few bedroom eyes and nauseating pick up lines, the only thing I'll be hugging by the night's end is either Nat, but she's got Mark, or more likely my oversized bottle of wine.

Maybe Cleo will finally warm up to me in my time of need. Weren't cats able to pick up on this type of thing?

Despite the refreshing distraction that Nat offers, when we're both stumbling back to Mark's place, all wobbly knees and boisterous laughter, there's still an unfulfilled need humming underneath my skin. And my thoughts keep drifting to Chad's number burned in my memory, a promise, if anything, for a good time. A bonus, too, if I could fuck whatever this is out of my system and stop holding loose associations of it with someone who it had no business being associated with.

I was doing this for the good of Nat's wedding. She should thank me for getting laid.

As we finally reach Mark's door, Nat murmurs something about taking a call, and I don't even have to look at her phone to know who's on the other end. Instead, I roll my eyes, tell her to pass on a hello from me to Mark, and desert her in the hallway.

Because the only thing that's specifically calling for me is my bed, it seems.

As soon as I step inside, I surrender to Mark's soft beige sectional. A groan crawls up my throat, frustration of the not sexual and definitely sexual kind brewing stronger inside me.

Somehow I always forget that excessive drinking only makes the whole dying-alone-forever thing worse.

My eyes drift to the purse I'd dumped haphazardly on the floor next to me. The purse with my phone. The phone with Chad's number. The number that will get me laid tonight.

I pause, but as the memories of a certain pair of dark brown eyes flood into my mind, further inspiring the dizziness that's clawing into my consciousness, I rifle through my purse with purpose. I am, after all, a weak creature. And the longer I steep in the almosts and what ifs, the what could've beens, the more my resolve begins to dissolve.

"Vika?"

Just as my fingers curl around my cell phone, I look up.

There's Noel, standing in the hallway, head tilted to the side ever so slightly. He's not wearing his glasses for the first time. Cleo's bundled up in his arms, looking the most at peace I've ever seen.

Noel's face possesses the usual shadows from lack of sleep, but his brown eyes are lit up in surprise. He's wearing a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, or as I like to call, my kryptonite

"Are you spending your Friday night hanging out with your cat?"

He blinks, brows furrowing softly, and my answer is written all over his face. The worst part is for some reason, the alcohol humming under my skin reads this as endearing. Were his eyelashes always this long?

Goddamnit.

I drop my phone, and there's a beat of quiet between us. My eyes shift to the door, where Nat is on the other side, but then they shift back to Noel and fuck it. Liquid courage is whispering all the wrong-but-so-right things to me.

Noel watches with curious eyes as I climb up and stumble my way over to him, a fierce determination burning in my chest. Any reasonable thoughts that live inside me have already fallen asleep hours ago.

"What are you doing?" Noel asks, voice softer than usual.

At my oncoming presence, Cleo jumps out of his arms and honestly that's fine with me. The fewer obstacles between Noel and I the better, according to the pleased thrumming in the pit of my stomach. I admit that I'm done questioning the very questionable reactions I have when he's around.

Noel's entire body tightens when I reach out and gently grip his chin, a thoughtful hum in the back of my throat. "You'll do."

His Adam's apple dips in his throat. "What?"

Despite his frozen muscles, he offers little resistance when I turn his head, my eyes dragging appreciatively along the sharp contours of his face. The usual five o'clock shadow dusting his skin is darker than usual, in a way that I'm not complaining about at all.

"I never really knew that I had a thing for jawlines until I met you. You have a really nice jaw; you know that? It could win awards, if there were awards for jaws. The jaw Oscars. The jawscars. You'd win. I'd bet on it."

Maybe I should've stopped at seven tequila shots.

He blinks again, absolute bewilderment reflected in his eyes. "Thank you? That doesn't explain- what are you doing?"

His voice grows rougher as my fingertips trail down the hollow of his throat, steadily committing the feel of his skin to memory. I smile when he swallows, breathing shallow, pinned underneath my gaze.

My soft smile translates into a smirk when my wandering hands continues their path downward, to which he unfortunately captures my wrist two seconds before impact.

"Christ! You can't try and grab people!"

I meet his gaze with a cheeky grin. "Hmm, I wonder if you're like a shiny ken doll down there."

His stare hardens as he gently but firmly moves my offending hands away. "Vika, what are you actually doing right now? Are you drunk?"

Despite the hard line of his mouth, the depths of his pupils draw me closer. The ghost of his touch still burns against my wrist, there's an unmistakable heat radiating from his body, the reminder travelling deliciously down to the base of my spine.

"I'm sorry," I say, looking up at him through my lashes, not very sorry at all. "How unchivalrous of me. Has anyone every told you that you have beautiful eyes? Also, can I kiss you?"

"What? I-'

I arch a brow, his mouth just heartbeats away from mine. "Is that a no?"

He swallows. "Well, no, I mean-"

"Good."

I'm sealing my mouth against his, weaving my fingers through his hair and fiercely tugging him closer. Under my touch, I feel him immediately freeze. The realization that I have crossed every single boundary that's ever existed dawns on me, and despite all my instincts, I begrudgingly pull away. My palms drop to rest on the nape of his neck, and I meet his eyes. They're wide, searching, as they linger over my face.

As I part my lips to apologize, beg him not to say anything to Mark, blame the too-many tequila shots coursing through my veins, he ducks his head. And then, he's kissing me back. Mouth moving against mine, hands curled on my hips, torso flush against my own.

And it's good.

Actually, it's fucking fantastic. In moments he's tilting his head and deepening the kiss, licking into my mouth, hot and wet and hard in all the best ways. The need burning inside me is reflected in the way Noel drags me closer, fingertips just as greedy to cover as much skin as possible.

His touch is digging the perfect pressure into my hipbones, and I'm reaching an entirely new level of dizzy, drunk on his breath melting on my tongue. I can't even question his ridiculously apt technique before he's tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth, causing me to arch my back into him, desperate.

I honestly didn't have any sort of actual plan when I'd jumped him, but all my expectations immediately dissolve between his lips.

I would almost be embarrassed if I wasn't more concerned with the delirious need to get closer, too far gone to even question the logistics of what the hell is going on. Instead, I'm drinking in the little hum in the back of his throat, spurred when I grind my hips shamelessly into his, and smirking when I plainly feel that no, he's definitely not a ken doll down there. I can't help but be mindlessly ecstatic that he's feeling it as much as I am.

The only thing I can concentrate on is his mouth on mine and the simultaneously irritating and delicious friction of our clothes between us.

So much so, in fact, that I'm only mildly annoyed when Noel pauses, and still thoughtlessly trying to kiss him when the reverberating of a door slam pierces my thoughts.

I jump back, panting, as if his skin has literally burned me.

"Vika! I'm here on Chad patrol! You're in lockdown all night! Drunk Vika is too horny for her own good! Where are you?"

With the new distance, I'm able to get a better look at Noel. His dark hair is mussed, a consequence of my wandering hands, and his pupils are blown, wide and dark, focused on me. His bottom lip is wet and kiss bitten. Echoes of me are written all over him, and I'm not sure if it's Nat or Noel who's causing my pulse to trip.

Our gazes ignite in the air, and I swallow.

I bring a finger to my lips, and he nods.

Then I jump out from behind the wall, grinning too broadly at Nat, hooking my hands behind me in innocence. "You've come to seduce me, have you?"

She throws her head back and laughs, completely oblivious to the fact that Noel, just out of sight, is haphazardly fixing his wrinkled shirt. I absently pat my hair down, hoping it's slightly less chaotic and obvious than his. My heartbeat continues to thud too hard in my chest.

"Excuse you, I'm a taken woman, but I did order pizza, so that'll do," she says, shrugging off her jacket.

"Boo," I tease, sticking my tongue out.

Noel seizes this opportunity to disappear into Mark's room, and takes the whirlwind of confusing thoughts with him. There are still lingering traces of his presence all of my skin, my drunken determination still trying to piece together the surreal of it all. A part of me recognizes that my stupidity could have monumentally fucked everything up, from not only our strange relationship but more importantly Nat's wedding, or as she likes to point out, currently her entire life.

But there's another part of me that really wants to do it again.