Page 6 of Quiet Obsession
“Mini Ward!” Dash greets the moment Hyde and I step into room 529. “You made it.”
He’s lounging on an L-shaped couch, one arm bent under his head like a pillow, the other cradling a half-empty beer bottle.
His white t-shirt clings to his collarbones, damp around his neck, hair sticking to his temples and dripping at the ends. He must’ve showered recently. The scent of soap and cologne hangs thickly in the air, and I wonder if he showeredhere, in Noah’s bathroom.
“Beer?” he asks, reaching into a case on the floor.
I shake my head, glancing at Noah. He’s in a green velvet armchair, knees spread wide, a glass of golden liquid in his hand. He’s... broody. Bad boy type. Tattoos snake up the right side of his neck, his dark hair is buzzed at the sides, longer atthe top, and he has a small black plug piercing in his ear.
My mouth goes dry when he lifts his gaze to mine, his quiet intensity amplified by his black clothes: loose sweatpants and a tee that hugs every muscle to perfection. He’sripped.
I’m sure my face is on fire, but I can’t stop staring. His looks are only half the reason why. The aura of unwavering confidence droning around him is the other. There’s not an ounce of uncertainty in his posture. He knows where he belongs.
He lifts the glass to his lips, his forearm taut, tan, and inked. He looks relaxed but controlled, and it makes the air feel thick. A stack of leather bracelets adorns his right wrist, a silver watch on the left, a signet ring on his pinky.
“Millie,” he greets.
My name rolls off his tongue, his voice as smooth as the low jazz pulsing in the background. Heat lashes down my spine.
“Hi,” I breathe.
“Oh, comeon!” Dash sits up, mock offense written all over his—admittedly—handsome face. “He gets ahiand I get a head shake? No fair, Mini.No fair.”
I meet his hazel gaze, shrugging the sleeves of my jumper until the tips of my fingers disappear and I can doodle over my hip without anyone noticing.
“It’s Millie,” I say.
Dash grins, pulling from his beer bottle. “Millie...” he repeats, testing my name, head tilted to the side. “Yeah, I’ll stick with Mini Ward if you don’t mind.”
I offer him a tight-lipped smile.
Noah’s room is bigger than mine and Abby’s. At least it feels bigger. The kitchenette and ensuite are on the right, just like in 212, but the room’s arranged differently.
His bed is a double, across from the entrance, tucked against the left wall, same as mine downstairs. The sheets are black, pulled tight, and smoothed down like he ironed them in place.
It gives military precision.
The pillows are stacked with care, and the whole thing looks immaculate... and cozy. Shelves run the length of the wall, lined with books, records, and a smart speaker. There’s a narrow desk pushed against the tall window, a single silver pen on the surface, parallel to a closed notebook.
I’m starting to get a feel for Noah and Hyde’s friends as a group. So far, each represents something different.
My brother’s all tension and vigilance. Shoulders tight, jaw tighter, assessing eyes never missing a thing.
Dash is ease, carelessness, and bad intentions wrapped in devilishly charismatic packaging.
Noah’s the controlled one. He’s order, calm, and cold logic.
I wonder what Creed’s like.
I can only guess, given Hyde keeps him so close to his chest. Going off what he said earlier, his annoyance, and what this group’s missing, I bet Creed’s the hothead. Bad temper, bad decisions,I don’t give a fuckattitude.
Every bunch of guys has one like that.
“Come on, Mini.” Dash pats the cushion beside him.
The seating area is where Abby’s bed is in our room. A couch, two armchairs, and a wide coffee table where a bottle of scotch sits beside an unfinished chess game. The pieces are scattered across the board, the whites—facing Noah—clearly winning.
Hyde places a hand between my shoulder blades, urging me forward until I’m sitting a foot away from Dash, who looks infinitely pleased with himself as he pops the cap off another beer bottle, offering it to my brother.
