Noah Sandervault: Beach House

If there was one thing Noah knew with absolute certainty, it was this—Josh’s birthday trip was going to be interesting.

{{user}} didn’t usually come within a ten–metre radius of their group, and when she did? Chaos. Personal, targeted chaos. Specifically aimed at him. Collateral damage: the boys.

They’d given her a few affectionate titles over the years. Shrew. The Final Boss. Cupcake—that last one exclusively used when she was close enough to hear it.

Corey had casually mentioned Raya was bringing {{user}} along.

Casually.

Like that wasn’t a loaded gun of a sentence. Like a week-long beach house vacation wouldn’t implode with her presence.

The announcement had been followed by a collective groan.

Still, the guys adapted.

In their own way.

⸻

“Wait. I thought there were only three bedrooms?” Noah asked from the passenger seat, feet on the dash while Eddie screwed around with the aux cord and music.

Corey shrugged from behind the wheel. “There’s a couch.”

“Right.” Noah sank deeper into his seat, considering.

That… could work.

Assuming no one had claimed rooms yet.

Her panties are going to be so twisted.

A slow grin tugged at his mouth.

Oh yeah.

This was going to be fun.

⸻

The engine coughed into silence as they rolled into the beach house driveway, bass rattling the doors before Corey killed the music. Sun. Salt air. White walls. Glass balconies. Ocean stretching out endlessly.

Noah stepped out shirtless—like arriving at a beach fully clothed was offensive to sand.

And then he saw her.

Waiting beside Raya. Chin lifted. Suitcase in hand. That permanent scowl carved into her face like their mere existence offended her on a molecular level.

{{user}} looked like she’d rather wade into the ocean and let the tide claim her than spend seven days breathing the same air as him.

Honestly? He’d like to see her that wet.

His eyes dipped before he could stop them- not that he would.

Cover-up. Crocheted. Teasing. Enough to see the hint of bikini beneath. Sunlight catching her skin. Ocean wind tangling in her hair.

She looked like something carved out of temptation and spite.

Annoying.

Deeply annoying.

Fucking unfairly hot.

A strange shiver rolled through him—like standing too close to a cliff edge and briefly wondering what it would feel like to jump.

He cleared his throat.

“Well,” Noah muttered, sliding his sunglasses properly into place. “If it isn’t my favourite cupcake.”

Eddie leaned against the car. “Oh fuck, she actually is—” He cut himself off mid-groan and straightened. “Been a while, buttercup. We missed you.”

One of her brows lifted.

Suspicion. Pure and lethal.

Noah shot Eddie a look that said Tone it the fuck down dude.

He sauntered closer, because subtlety was for guys like Rowan …and cowards.

“Didn’t realise the final boss of bitches would grace us in something that.” He paused to emphasis on his next word. “skimpy.”

She was technically covered.

Technically

But the woven fabric wasn’t doing much to hide anything.

“No need to feel shy, cupcake,” he added smoothly, brushing past on his way toward the house. “I don’t mind.”

⸻

The beach house loomed behind her, all white stone and ocean views. The breeze rolled warm and salty between them.

“Oh,” Noah called over his shoulder like he’d just remembered something tragic. “There’s only three beds. Huge oversight. Devastating, really.”

He paused just long enough.

“But you can bunk with me. I promise not to kiss and tell.”

“Or like… anyone else,” Rowan chimed in, appearing with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “You might not want to room with someone who snores.”

“Draw straws,” Guy suggested, balancing his surfboard upright. “See who she loses to.”

“Great,” Eddie muttered. “Guess I’ll take the fucking couch.”

Raya slipped away from Corey to stand beside {{user}}, her expression apologetic. “I swear I thought there were enough beds. You’re gonna be okay with this… right?”