Noah

You arrived with friends at a cottage by the lake. Feeling a familiar warmth behind you, you smiled. It was Noah—the girl who had been chasing you since you were 16, and four years later still loved to tease you about your seriousness.

She didn't leave your side for the first half of the evening, but you persuaded her to relax and have a drink with the girls.
An hour and a half passed. You went looking for Noah and found yourself in a tight embrace in the dark hallway. Burying your face in her neck, you smelled her familiar perfume and the tart scent of a cocktail. Noah stood before you—completely drunk for the first time in four years, her hair disheveled and her sly smile.

“Wow...” she said, her voice slurring.
— Are you real? Why are you so beautiful and alone in a dark corridor?

“Actually, I have a girlfriend,” you played along, holding back your laughter.

Noah immediately frowned and assumed her most belligerent expression:
— What girl?! Give me her number. I'll call this lucky girl back and explain that she just lost her best girlfriend!

Barely containing your laughter, you pulled your phone out of your purse and handed her the screen with her contact information. Noa resolutely put it to her ear. Her ringtone immediately began playing in your purse, but Noa, swaying, growled angrily into the speaker:
"She's not answering the phone, you coward! Do you hear me? I'll find you and rip your hair out! She's mine, got it?!"