Chapter 15

He seemed to be in a particularly good mood tonight, sitting at the center of attention, with many people offering him drinks, which he accepted with a smile.

After an hour of drinking, I sat beside him, and the alcohol had mostly worn off.

“How old are you today?” I asked him quietly during a break in drinking.

Because the room was too noisy, he had to lean close to my ear for me to hear him clearly, “22.”

“I remember you said a different number last time.” I’m not stupid, even after drinking.

He paused for a moment, “21.”

Can that change?

“How old are you really? Don’t say random things.” I couldn’t help but raise my voice because the music suddenly stopped, and everyone around heard.

“He’s only 20, afraid you’d think he’s too young,” a group of people started teasing.

Me: …

“Haven’t you drunk enough? Still have the energy to talk?” He glared at his friends.

Alright, everyone fell silent.

Another round of toasts began, and I couldn’t help but frown.

If he gets drunk later, how am I supposed to get him home?

When he picked up his glass again, I quietly tugged at his sleeve, “You… drink a little less.”

He lowered his head to look at me, “Worried about me?”

I’m worried, worried about not being able to get you home…

“Drinking too much is bad for your health,” I advised him earnestly.

He downed the drink in his hand and leaned close to my ear, whispering, “Don’t worry, even if I drink, I still have the strength to handle you.”

My heart raced uncontrollably.

Even though I tried my best to control it, my relationship with him kept veering off track.

I had no choice but to pretend not to understand, nervously fiddling with my phone.

By the time it was late at night, my mom had sent me countless messages, but he still hadn’t finished.

I was already tired. The energy of a young person was truly unmatched by me.

When it ended in the early hours, I wanted to help him get a cab, but he stood straight.

I hadn’t expected him to be able to drink so much.

“Later when we go back, be quiet so you don’t wake my parents; they’re asleep,” I reminded him in the taxi, feeling uneasy.

He casually leaned over and said, “Going to a hotel wouldn’t wake them…”

I moved away from him, sitting at a distance.

“Liam Evans!”

“Hmm.” That soft response was so gentle, I almost fell for it.

“We can’t be like this.” I hesitated, “Forget it, you’re drunk, I can’t explain it to you.”

“If you can’t explain… then…” He leaned closer again, whispering a single word in my ear, “Do.”

My face turned as red as a cooked shrimp, afraid the driver might hear, so I didn’t dare react.

He pushed further, adding, “How about going to a hotel?”

I held back, not responding to him.

Finally, when we got off the car, I pulled him out, and once the car drove away, I couldn’t help but get angry, “Liam Evans, what exactly do you want?”

Why do you always say things that create misunderstandings?

“What did I do?” He sat on the edge of a flower bed, smiling at me.

“Inviting me to a hotel, are you clear-headed?” I was furious, and he had the nerve.

“You said you were afraid of waking them…” He looked innocent.

Me: … Did I misunderstand?

“But we can’t go to a hotel.” Is that a place anyone can just go to? Does he even understand…

He sighed and reached for my hand, “Don’t be mad.”

I avoided his hand.

“Let’s go back.” I walked ahead, but suddenly he grabbed my hand.

“What do you want now?” I was speechless with him, what kind of drunken madness was this?

He held onto me, refusing to let go, just sitting there, staring at me.

Finally, as if losing patience, he pulled me into his arms, and I fell onto his lap.

“Give me five minutes,” he whispered in my ear.

“What do you need five minutes for?” I wanted to go upstairs and sleep.

He gazed at me, his eyes seemingly filled with stars, and said softly, “I want a birthday gift.”

“I didn’t prepare anything!”

“There’s something ready.”

With that, his kiss landed.

His kiss carried a faint tobacco scent mixed with the sweetness of red wine, leaving my mind blank.

At first, his movements were urgent and aggressive, but gradually they became tender and lingering.

I knew this was wrong, but in that moment, I couldn’t push him away.

When he finally let go, I gasped for air like someone drowning.

“You go up first.” He took out a cigarette and lit it.

Smoking again, my mind was unclear, feeling somewhat annoyed, and I sulked my way upstairs.

“Don’t be mad.” He might have noticed my displeasure, pulling me back, “Let me calm down.”

He glanced at himself and sighed.

Following his gaze, I was suddenly startled and rushed to press the elevator button.