Chapter 21: CLOSE ENOUGH TO RUIN ME.

The bass was deafening. Good.

He needed the noise, the crowd, the flashing lights. Needed something to drown out the mess in his head, he needed the club.

A drink was in his hand before he even thought about it. Then another. And another. The burn was a welcome distraction, numbing some of the anger simmering inside him.

But not all of it.

He threw back another drink, another burn searing down his throat. But it didn't help. Nothing did.

Not the alcohol.

Not the club.

Not the mindless, desperate bodies pressing up against him, offering distraction.

Because no matter how much he drank, no matter how much he tried to lose himself in the chaos around him—

She was still there.

And he hated it.

"Hey, handsome."

A voice. Smooth, sultry. A woman slid up next to him at the bar, her fingers trailing down his arm.

Alan turned, barely registering her features. Dark hair. Red lips. A flirtatious smirk.

She leaned in. "You look like you could use some company."

He didn't respond. Just tilted his head back and downed another drink.

But she took that as an invitation.

Her hands slid up his chest, her body pressing against his. "Wanna get out of here?"

And then, before he could even think-

She kissed him.

Alan let her.

His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer, using her, needing something-anything-to block out Samantha from his head.

The kiss was rough. Desperate.

But the moment she moaned against his lips, the moment she pressed even closer-

Everything inside him screamed no.

His body tensed.

His mind revolted.

He froze.

And just like that, it hit him.

This wasn't what he wanted.

It wasn't her he wanted.

And just like that-he was done.

Alan exhaled sharply, stepping back. The girl blinked up at him, confused.

The woman blinked at him in surprise. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. Everything.

But he didn't say that.

Instead, he muttered, "I have to go."

He didn't wait for a response. Didn't care. He was already pushing through the crowd, stumbling out into the night air.

The moment he hit the street, reality came crashing back.

Samantha.

Her name pounded against his skull, the alcohol doing nothing to dull it.

He needed to see her.

Right now.

————

The house was dark when he returned. Silent.

But inside him? Chaos.

His steps were uneven, slightly unsteady from the alcohol, but his mind was clear.

Too clear.

His feet moved on their own. Down the hall. Past closed doors.

Until he was in front of hers.

His hand gripped the doorknob. He didn't hesitate. Didn't think.

He just opened the door.

And then—

His breath caught.

Samantha stood in the middle of the room, fresh out of the shower.

A towel barely clung to her damp body, water droplets glistening on her skin. Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, framing wide, startled eyes.

"Alan?" Her voice was soft, laced with confusion.

He couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

Fuck, he was so drunk, and so fucking angry, and so—

Before he knew it, he was closing the door behind him.

And then he was in front of her.

Too close.

His hands slammed against the wall beside her, caging her in.

Her breath hitched, her back pressing against the surface as she stared up at him.

"Why are you doing this to me?" His voice was rough, strained.

She blinked. "What?—"

"You know what." His jaw clenched. "You push me away. You spend time with him. But then you look at me like this." His voice dropped lower, filled with something raw. "Like you feel it too."

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Alan exhaled sharply, his forehead resting hers. "I can't-" His voice was almost a whisper now. "I can't get you out of my fucking head."

Silence pulsed between them.

His fingers twitched. He wanted to touch her.

But she was staring at him, chest rising and falling beneath that damn towel.

And suddenly—

It wasn't just tension.

It was something deeper.

His jaw clenched. "Tell me to leave."

She swallowed.

He lifted his head, their faces inches apart. "Tell me to walk out of this room, and I will."

Her lips parted, but—

She said nothing.

His breath shuddered. "Samantha..."

Her fingers curled against the wall behind her, her body trapped beneath his.

He leaned in, just a fraction. Close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.

Close enough to see the conflict in her eyes.

And just when he thought she would push him away-

She whispered his name.

And fuck-he was done for.

Her skin tingles when he touched her, and for a second-just a second-she feels herself leaning in.

Alan's gaze drops to her lips. He inches closer, his lips barely a breath away from hers.

And then—

"Alan, stop," she whispers, her hands pressing lightly against his chest.

He freezes. His brows draw together, his breathing uneven. His hold on her doesn't tighten, but he doesn't let go either.

A muscle in his jaw ticks. His lips part as if he wants to argue, but then his entire body sways slightly. The alcohol is catching up to him.

Samantha exhales, breaking the moment as gently as she can. "You're drunk," she says softly. "You need to sleep."

Alan chuckles dryly, shaking his head. "Sleep?" he mutters. "How the hell am I supposed to sleep when you're-" He cuts himself off, running a hand down his face. "Forget it."

His shoulders slump, the weight of the night pressing down on him.

Samantha bites her lip, then sighs. She reaches for his wrist. "Come on."

Alan doesn't resist when she guides him to the bed. He sits heavily, rubbing his temples. She kneels in front of him, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt to make him more comfortable, then he took it off alongside his shoe.

He watches her, his gaze hooded. "You're too good," he murmurs. "Too damn good."

She ignores the way her heart skips. "Lie down, Alan."

For once, he listens. As soon as his head hits the pillow, his body relaxes, though the tension in his features remains. His hand twitches, like he wants to reach for her, but he doesn't.

Samantha stands, watching him for a moment, torn between frustration and something she refuses to name. Then, shaking herself, she gently covers him with the covers and she grabs a pillow and a blanket and moves to the couch.

The room is silent except for the faint sound of Alan's breathing.

As she lays down, staring at the ceiling, she knows one thing for certain-tonight changed everything....

————

A groan rumbled from Alan's chest as he stirred, his head throbbing like a relentless drum against his skull. His hand dragged over his face, then up to his temple, pressing against the dull ache pulsing there.

The scent of something familiar-something soft-lingered in the air. Clean linen. A faint hint of vanilla. It wasn't his room.

His brows furrowed as his eyes blinked open, adjusting to the dim morning light.

And then he saw her.

Samantha.

She was moving quietly around the room, picking up something from the desk, smoothing down the couch-where, he realized, she must have slept last night.

His stomach clenched.

Before he could say anything, she turned, noticing him awake. Her eyes softened, and without hesitation, she crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Don't get up," she murmured, her voice gentle. "You're probably still feeling it."

Alan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face again. "No shit," he muttered, the regret already weighing on him.

She reached for something on the nightstand-a glass of water and a small packet of pills. "Here," she said, holding them out to him. "It'll help."

He stared at her for a moment, then took the pill, swallowing it down with the water. His throat was dry, the cold liquid a relief.

"Thanks," he muttered, voice rough from sleep.

Samantha gave a small nod, watching him carefully.

Silence stretched between them for a beat too long. Then Alan sighed, shifting to sit up against the headboard.

"I'm sorry."

She blinked. "For what?"

His jaw tensed, his fingers curling over the blanket. "For last night. For barging in here. For—" His eyes flicked to her briefly before dropping again. "For whatever I said. I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," she interrupted softly. "You were drunk, Alan."

"Yeah, well, that's not an excuse." He rubbed his temple again. "I shouldn't have put you in that position."

Samantha studied him for a moment. Then, with a small shrug, she said, "You didn't do anything terrible."

His lips pressed into a thin line. He remembered enough to know he almost had.

"You should have pushed me out," he muttered.

She gave a small, dry laugh. "I thought about it. But you looked like you needed someone."

Alan's gaze snapped to hers.

Something mild flickered in his expression—something that felt dangerously close to vulnerability.

He swallowed hard, looking away. "You're too good," he muttered under his breath.

Samantha tilted her head. "Maybe," she said lightly. "Or maybe I just know what it's like to feel lost."

His chest tightened. He didn't like that. Didn't like how much that hit him.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

BACK TO SAM'S POV.

"Umm, well life hasn't always been the best for me, I have always been alone, I have not really had anyone."

"Seriously?" he asked with concern.

"Yes, but it is okay now. Now I am not alone" I tried saying, not to bring back any sad memories.

He was about to say something, I didn't want this conversation on for too long so I interrupted.

Before I could stop myself, I asked, "Why did you come to my room?"

His jaw tightens. For a second, I thought he won't answer.

Then—

"I don't know." His voice quiet. Honest. "I just... needed to see you."

My stomach twists.

"And do you... want to talk about why you were so upset?"

He tensed. His fingers twitched against the blanket.

Then he glanced at me, really looked at me.

And maybe it was the remnants of last night's emotions, or maybe it was just the exhaustion, but for once—

He didn't brush me off.

Instead, he exhaled slowly and said, "It's complicated."

I gave him a knowing look. "I've got time."

"Yeah of course you do" he whispers, his eyes not leaving mine.

He slowly turns his head round the room, studying it. "You stayed in here all night?"

I nodded. "I wasn't about to leave you all drunk by yourself.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk but didn't have the energy. "Where did you sleep?"

"On the couch."

"Fuck, that must have been uncomfortable. Why didn't you sleep on the bed?" His voice held a trace of concern.

"Well, you were on it, and I didn't want to bother you. Plus, it wouldn't have been professional."

"You don't have to be professional with me, sweetheart. I'm not your boss," he said, his gaze drifting before settling back on me.

"Yeah... that's right," I whispered.

The room went silent for a moment, tension creeping in like a shadow. I felt it—thick and heavy, curling around us.

And then he shifted closer.

I didn't move. I should have, but I didn't.

His hand reached out, cupping my face, his fingers warm against my skin. My breath hitched, heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

"You know I like you," he said quietly. "It's obvious."

I swallowed hard, words tangling in my throat.

"Well... do you?" he asked, his thumb brushing softly along my cheek. "Like me?"

I froze, my thoughts a chaotic mess. "I... I don't know what to say."

"Of course you do," he murmured, his voice softer now. "You know exactly what to say." His eyes searched mine like he was waiting—hoping, for me to say it.

I stayed quiet.

His hand shifted slightly, sliding back to cradle the side of my face. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and rough. "For avoiding you these past few days." His thumb traced a slow path along my cheekbone. "I only did it because of my brother. But I'm done with that now. I don't care anymore." His gaze hardened. "I like you. And I want you."

My heart stuttered.

"I... I don't know..."

"Yes, you do," he cut in gently. "You know exactly how you feel. You're just scared to say it."

I felt my breathing slow, felt the warmth of his hand still holding my face. He was so close now, his face just inches from mine. The air between us was electric, the tension almost unbearable.

And then, just like that, he pulled back. His hand fell away, and the space between us felt colder without his touch.

"Will you be my date for the ball?" he asked quietly.

I stared at him, my mind spinning. After everything... I hadn't expected that.

"I..." I started to speak, but the words stuck.

"You don't have to answer now," he said, his voice softer than before. "Just... think about it."

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