It was this couple who made their own friend look like a fool earlier. The college men, who were struggling to find a target for trouble, were naturally delighted when he came to them willingly.
Isidore pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. A few college students exchanged knowing glances in the dim light, silently agreeing: "Is it really so impressive to be good-looking and accurate with a gun? Later, we'll team up to get him so drunk he'll be on his knees calling us 'dad'."
As they say, "A young bird has no fear of the bow." Of course, it also had to do with Isidore's usual laid-back demeanor, which gave those with less discernment the illusion that he was someone easily provoked.
Eloise vaguely understood that he had joined the game to help her. Under the dim, romantic glow of the colorful lights, everything seemed blurred. His thick lashes half-lowered, and the sharp contours of his profile flickered in and out of view, appearing both mysterious and profound.
She hadn't thought it through, but in her drunken state, she leaned in and kissed his face, leaving a lipstick mark. Isidore looked over with his eyes, and she pressed a finger to his lips. "No other meaning, just a Lucky Kiss."
A buzzcut guy impatiently tapped the table. "Hey, hey, can we move on?" Isidore didn't respond, just gave a slight smirk, took the dice cup, and rolled it. The first one he landed on was the buzzcut guy.
What a coincidence, right? The buzz-cut man stared wide-eyed, gearing up to play rock-paper-scissors with Isidore. He lost miserably, and then heard Isidore calmly make his demand: "Run naked three laps from here to the lobby and back."
That's too harsh, the others murmured in disbelief. He was so bold to play such a risky game, clearly fearless. Eloise couldn't help but laugh, slapping Isidore on the shoulder. "You really have guts." The buzzcut guy reluctantly drank the shot, then subtly signaled to his friends to help him redeem his honor.
The others nodded, rolling up their sleeves and thinking about what tough challenges they could throw at this arrogant man.
In the end, they were still too naive. For the next hour, they suffered from Isidore's merciless "beatdown"—he single-handedly took on the entire group.
Except for Eloise, everyone at the table had been forced to drink at least three times. The buzzcut guy alone had drunk eight times, ending up as a soused man. Everyone knew Isidore was toying with them, otherwise, how could he land on their numbers perfectly every time?
Isidore neither hid nor felt guilty. First, he was merely repaying in kind, and second, no one could find any concrete evidence to back up their claims. On the last dice roll, he landed on Eloise's number.
Eloise, enjoying the spectacle, blinked and raised her soft, dainty fist to play rock-paper-scissors with him. Isidore lost, for the first time at this table. Eloise tilted her head, thinking for a moment before saying, "How about you sing a song?"
Isidore glanced at her, walked to the front, and chose a song. The melody started playing; it was an old classic song, the theme song of a romantic film. Isidore's voice was deep and rich, blending perfectly with the melody. After singing a few lines, his gaze shifted to Eloise.
His singing was unexpectedly beautiful, something Eloise hadn't anticipated. The alcohol had already clouded her mind, and now, as the warmth enveloped her, she sank even deeper into her drunken haze.
She didn't even know when Isidore finished singing or when he walked up and squatted in front of her. Without thinking, she threw herself onto his back and tightly wrapped her arms around his neck.
As Isidore carried her through the hallway toward the room, she hummed the song off-key.
She was placed on the bed, and Isidore went to get a towel to wipe her face. Above Eloise, the ceiling was fitted with a pane of glass, through which she could see the night sky. The countless stars twinkled, so beautiful it almost took her breath away.
She wanted to call him over, but as she opened her mouth, she suddenly remembered that she still didn't know his name. She then found it rather amusing, because after all, they had only met twice—this being the second time.
"Hey, what's your name?" she asked as Isidore walked over. Isidore, while wiping her face, said, "My name is Hub..." Eloise foolishly repeated, "Hub." Isidore continued, "...by."
"by...," Eloise repeated, "Hub, by, Hubby... Hubby?"
"Yeah," Isidore replied, his expression unchanged. Eloise, realizing what he meant, was so embarrassed she kicked his waist in frustration, "You're disgusting, I can't stand you!" Isidore laughed and grabbed her foot, then said seriously, "You can call me, Isel."
"Is that your nickname?"
Isidore's expression grew nostalgic. "My family used to call me that."
Eloise repeated, "Isel, Isel, Isel..." With each repetition, Isidore's gaze deepened until he leaned down and kissed Eloise's lips.
In the midst of their passionate embrace, Isidore's hand slipped under the robe and into Eloise's thighs, pulling down the insignificant pieces of fabric and teasing the bud. Eloise quickly grew anxious, but as usual, she hesitated, "Isel, I'm really afraid of pain."
Isidore looked at her deeply, and this time he didn't withdraw his hand. Instead, he lowered his body and opened his mouth to kiss the flooding place.
