“Well, sorry, but we had a lot to do,” Lydia says.
Cohen finally looks from Lydia to me, and his face changes. He has the same faint look of surprise he wore yesterday, but this time he smiles instead of laughing. His eyes linger; not in a creepy way—more just like he’s taking it all in. It’s unnerving to be the recipient of that look. His smile widens as he walks slowly toward us, and I force myself not to take a step away from him.
When he’s only a few feet away from us, he stops and leans with one shoulder against the wall, folding his arms and raising one brow at me.
“Smell her,” Lydia says.
I look at her. “He doesn’t need to smell me,” I say.
“Mina, the whole point of this was to enhance your physical attractiveness,” Lydia says, speaking patiently. “That involves all five senses. Since you are you and I am not attracted to women, only Cohen can tell us if this is having the intended effect. Cohen, you’re attracted to women, aren’t you?”
“Most definitely,” he says, his eyes never leaving me.
I shiver at that, although I can’t say why.
“Then smell her,” Lydia says.
“You’re making this very awkward,” Cohen says to Lydia, tearing his eyes away from me.
“Well, sorry, but we really do need to know,” she says. “Are you going to tell us or not?”
I should say something, but I have absolutely no idea what. Instead I stare fixedly at the wall behind Cohen as my cheeks burn probably hotter than they ever have in my entire life.
Cohen clearly notices, because he smiles and says, “Your face is so red right now.”
“I can feel it,” I say, my voice squeaking.
Always the squeaking.
He pushes off the wall. “Fine,” he says, a hint of a smile still in his voice. “Your physical attractiveness has been enhanced. And I’ll smell you,” he says. I’m still not looking at him, but in my peripheral vision I can see his smile widen.
“People don’t just go around smelling each other,” I say, finally looking at Cohen. I hope he doesn’t mention that I smelled him just yesterday.
“That’s true,” Lydia says, looking thoughtful as she glances between us. “Let’s just have you hug. That will work.”
Cohen looks at Lydia quickly, and she shrugs. Cohen looks back to me and sighs. He opens his arms and beckons to me. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get it over with.”
“How flattering,” I say, my voice flat.
He grins and beckons again, and this time I step forward.
I wouldn’t mind smelling his cologne again, I guess.
I slip my arms around his middle, and he folds his arms around me—and wow, that’s a muscular chest. And arms. Cohen is kind of ripped. I let my head rest against the solid wall of his chest for a second, feeling strangely…safe. Comfortable.
Is this how it would feel to hug Jack?
“Smelled me?” I say.
He lowers his head so it’s closer to my neck and then inhales deeply. “Smelled you, and you smell good. Check that box, Lydia, and stop making this weird.”
We release each other immediately and step apart. I can’t quite look at him. I look at Lydia instead, who’s beaming once again.
“Great!” she says, her voice chipper. “Well, I’m off to do homework. I’ll see you on Monday, Mina. Thanks for letting me play fairy godmother!”
And then, before I even have time to thank her, she disappears back in her room and closes the door behind her.
I stare at Cohen. He stares at me.
This is awkward.
“I finished the test,” he says, his voice cracking as he speaks.
Right. The ACT. That’s the whole reason I’m here.
“Good,” I say, latching on to that topic with relief. “Good. How was it? Did you check the answer key after?”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice more normal now. “I did the worst on the English section.”
I nod. “And where did you do the best?”
“Science,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Then math, then reading, then English.”
“Great,” I say. “We can start there. Reading and English.” I clear my throat. “Can I get my books?”
“Yeah,” he says, turning and going back to his room. I follow him. “But before you go home…” He trails off, sounding sort of nervous, and I eye him suspiciously.
“First what?” I say, stopping in his doorway.
“You should probably take advantage of”—he waves vaguely at me—“all that. Jack should see you like this.”
I fold my arms, uncomfortable. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
Cohen shrugs, putting my things in a stack. “Your choice. But—” he hesitates, considering me, and then he goes on, “he’s not going to be thinking about Wet Willy if he sees you. I promise. I think him seeing you like this would only do good things for you.”
I shift my weight, eyeing him hesitantly. “You’re sure? You’re not just saying that?”
His eyes flit briefly over my face. “Yep,” he says, his voice light. “I’m sure.”
“How would I even see him?”
Cohen shrugs again and puts down my books. “Easy.” Without hesitating he pulls out his phone, dials a number, and starts talking a few seconds later. “Hey, man. I’ve got that game I borrowed. Can I bring it over real fast?” There’s a silence for a second, and then he says, “Cool. Be there in a few.”
I smile. “You talk like such a guy,” I say before I can stop myself, leaning against his door frame.
Cohen grins at me. “Dude, man, bro?”
My smile turns to a laugh. “Exactly. Girls don’t talk like that.”
He tilts his head to one side. “Don’t they? Just with different phrases?”
“I don’t,” I say with a shrug.
“You don’t,” he says, considering me. Then he says, “Well, are you coming with me to Jack’s?”
I square my shoulders, but they’re trembling suddenly. This is my year. This is my terrifyingly uncomfortable year.
Isn’t it?
“Yes,” I say, a sort of panicky feeling rising in my gut. “But I need a favor.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Okay. What do you need?”
“I need a pep talk.” The panic is still growing.
He winces. “I don’t know that I’m any good at pep talks outside of football.”
“You have thirty seconds to get good at them. No one believes pep talks coming from themselves. Ergo, you need to do it.” I can hear the anxiety in my voice. Am I really going to put myself in front of Jack? Like…on purpose?
How could this possibly be a good idea?
“You know what? I’m not going. I can’t do this,” I say.
Cohen holds up one finger. “Hang on. I haven’t done my pep talk yet.”
Pretty sure he’s not going to change my mind, but I stare at him, waiting.
“All right.” He comes to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “You’ve got this. It’s going to be fine.”
I just stand there, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t.
That’s it. That’s the entirety of his pep talk.
I burst out laughing; I can’t help it. Somehow my worry fades away in the face of my laughter. “That’s it?” I manage. “That’s all you’re going with? That was terrible!”
He purses his lips, but I can tell he’s trying not to smile. “I told you I wasn’t good at pep talks.”
“That was worse than ‘not good,’” I say, still smiling.
“But did it work?” he says.
My fear floods back. “No,” I say. My voice is quiet. “I can’t. I’ll just see him on Monday.”
“When Virginia will be swarming him,” Cohen says. He steps closer, and I realize his hands are still on my shoulders. He seems to realize it at the same moment I do, because he drops them to his sides at once. He looks a bit nervous as he speaks. “Look, Mina, you s
mell good. You look incredible. I promise you, Jack will not think of you as Wet Willy. Come with me. I’ll do all the talking if you want. You can just stand next to me and mess with his head as he tries to reconcile this”—he gestures at me—“with the girl he saw in the flower shop. It will be fine. It honestly will.”
I frown. “I would never mess with someone’s head.”
“You’re messing with mine,” he says over his shoulder as he turns around. “Which I only say in my capacity as your mentor. Just so you know that it’s working and all that.”
That puts a funny little squirm in the pit of my stomach, and I push it away. I wait as he picks my stuff up again and hands it to me.
I take the stack of things he gives me and put them in my bag. Then I pull the hair tie off my wrist, but before I can pull my hair back, Cohen steps forward and plucks the hair tie from my hand.
“Your hair looks perfect the way it is,” he says, holding the hair tie high above his head. “It looks soft. He’ll want to touch it.”
My hand falls limply to my side, my face burning. “Just saying that as my mentor?” I finally manage to get out.
He grins. “Exactly.” He tucks the hair tie in his pocket and then walks past me out of his room. “Now let’s go.”
“Fine,” I say with a sigh.
***
As it turns out, Jack lives closer to us than I thought he did. His house is nice, which I guess I should have expected. But Cohen is just as popular as Jack, and his house is pretty average. No sweeping wrap-around porch or fancy trees like Jack’s house has. I bet there’s a pool in the back.
Fancy houses owned by attractive people usually have pools.
I take a string of deep breaths as we pull into the driveway. None of them feel deep enough, but I keep trying anyway. I’m trying to talk myself into the frame of mind that will allow me to stand on Jack’s front porch and not faint or blubber like an idiot.
“Mina,” Cohen says as he parks the car—which is in a lot better shape than it was before he took it to the shop to get fixed—and I look over at him. He actually looks concerned. “Calm down. He’s just a person. A pretty average person. You’ll be fine.”
I don’t know if I would call Jack average, but I don’t say anything. I just nod.
“Just…think of something positive,” Cohen says. “Think of something that makes you happy, or something you’re excited for. Can you think of something?”
“There’s a meteor shower in January,” I say, almost on autopilot. “I’m excited about that. It’s going to be incredible.”
“Great,” Cohen says. “Channel that energy right now. You like Jack. You’re excited to see him. He’s just a person. Just smile. An impromptu lesson: if you have a nice smile, use it. Guys like to be smiled at. You have a nice smile.”
I look at him with surprise. “Do I?”
“Yeah,” he says immediately, not fully meeting my eyes. “Definitely. So smile at Jack.”
“Right,” I say under my breath. “This is my year.”
We get out of the car and are all too quickly at Jack’s front door, which seems larger than a normal front door. Do they come in different sizes? There’s a big fancy knocker, but Cohen just uses his fist.
The door opens after only a second, and there, in all his glory, is Jack Freeman. I swallow nervously and instinctively shuffle slightly closer to Cohen, suddenly self-conscious. I thought I looked good, but what if I don’t? What if there’s food in my teeth or something?
“Hey,” Jack says, jerking me out of my spiraling worries. He nods at Cohen and smiles at me. His gaze sweeps over me, and I can see a tiny frown line between his brows. “You’re the girl from the flower shop, right?”
Well, he recognizes me. That’s more than I can say about the past several years, so we must be moving in the right direction.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to smile and hoping to heaven that there’s nothing in my teeth. I should have checked. “I’m Mina,” I say.
He nods. “Mina; right.” He pauses, still looking at me intently. “You look different.”
I smile again, and it’s less faked this time.
Cohen says, “Here’s your game.” He hands a game to Jack—something about sports, which sounds terrible—and says, “Thanks, man.”
“No problem, dude.”
I try to ignore the man language.
To my surprise, Jack’s eyes swing back to me. “So Mina, you live next to Cohen, right? And you go to our school?”
I nod.
“How haven’t I seen you around?” he says, leaning casually against the door frame.
Ah. This question. I send a mental glare at Cohen. He said he would do all the talking. He should have warned me I’d have to fend off questions.
“I’m pretty quiet,” I say finally, because Jack is just staring at me, waiting for an answer.
“And you guys are…” he says, looking between Cohen and I, his eyebrows slightly raised.
Is he asking if Cohen and I are dating? I have no idea how to answer that. Can I nudge Cohen at all discreetly? I can’t, right? Jack would see.
“Just neighbors,” Cohen says. “She needs a ride somewhere, so I brought her along.”
I notice he doesn’t call us friends. “Yep,” I say, smiling again.
Jack nods, still looking back and forth between us. “Cool. Well, I have to run, but…I’ll see you around?” he says to me, grinning. “And maybe I can get you to talk a little more?”
My heart lurches. Is he flirting with me? He’s not even looking at Cohen.
“Yep,” I say again, my voice squeaking. That squeaky word is all I can get out. I feel my face burning, and I’m beyond relieved when Cohen says,
“See you later.” He turns and waves over his shoulder at Jack as he walks away, and I follow him quickly. I look back to see Jack watching us, and he grins at me again before he closes the front door.
I’m dying. I’m dead. I might be dead.
And yes, I’m being silly—he’s just a guy. But…he’s Jack.
When we get back in the car, the first thing Cohen says is, “You need to learn how to flirt. He was flirting with you. You know that, don’t you?”
I look at him, still sort of in awe. “I think you’re right. I think he was actually flirting with me.”
“We’ll work on that next time,” he says. “Let’s go home. Nice job with the smiling, though.”
A sort of giddiness is rising in my chest, but it’s dampened slightly when I remember what Cohen said. “So, we’re just neighbors?” I say, and I hesitate. “Not friends?”
Cohen’s silent for a second, and I glance at him, but his face is unreadable. “We’re friends,” he says.
“Good,” I say as he pulls into our neighborhood. I’m surprised at the fluttering of relief I feel.
The sun is almost completely down by the time I get back to my house. It’s been a long evening. “I’m home,” I call, and I hear my parents’ responses from the kitchen. My mom rounds the corner. She smiles when she sees me.
“Wow,” she says. “You’re beautiful! Was this Lydia’s doing?”
“Yeah,” I say. “She’s really sweet.”
“You got my hair,” my mom says, smoothing her hands over the top of my head. “You and your sisters all look just alike.” She nods to the photos lining the wall—Violet’s senior picture, then Leah’s, then Bella’s, then Ruby’s. And she’s right; there’s a definite family resemblance. Looking at their pictures makes me a little sad; I miss them.
My mom hesitates, folding her arms. Then she says, “Is all this about a boy?”
I smile. “No.” And it’s not completely a lie.
“Good,” she says. “It should be about you. You’re lovely. Now, do you want some dinner?”
I’m not hungry, for some reason, so I say, “No. I’m going to do homework, and then I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”
“All right,” she says. She gives me a hug goodnight, and I mak
e my way upstairs. Before I do anything else, I put my pajamas on—I am a creature of comfort. Then I flop down on my bed.
A mistake—I’m going to fall asleep if I don’t get up, and I don’t want to have to do my homework on Sunday, so I force myself to sit up. My window is still open, so I cross the room to close it…
And see Cohen doing the same. Only he’s not wearing a shirt—hello, muscles—and I’m wearing nothing but a tank top and boxer shorts.
Our eyes meet at the same time.
12
Cohen
I have only one thought when I see Mina about to pull down her blinds:
Crap. She looks good.
I had the same unbidden thought earlier when I saw her after Lydia’s forever-long makeover; I was hoping it wouldn’t happen again, because it could get problematic. Because I have no right to be attracted to her. Not even a little bit. But apparently I’m more shallow than I thought I was. That’s not a great realization; I feel strangely like I’ve let myself down.
I keep my eyes firmly on her face and don’t let them stray anywhere else, like they keep wanting to, and I watch her as she watches me. We just stare at each other for a second that feels a lot longer than a second. Her eyes are wide, her hand frozen on her blinds, and her jaw is slightly dropped.
Then I realize with a start that I’m shirtless; that’s why she’s staring at me.
I’m suddenly glad football keeps me in good shape, and I can’t stop a grin from spreading over my face. I grab my shirt from my bed and pull it on, and when I go back to the window Mina is slipping into a robe. I pick up my phone and call her.
I watch her as she answers.
“Hi,” she says, leaning sort of sideways against the window.
“Hi,” I say, and it occurs to me for the first time that there’s no purpose for this call. Why am I calling her?
“Um,” she says.
I think quickly, wanting to dispel the awkward tension between us. I shouldn’t have called her. “Jack was definitely interested in you. Or at least interested in being interested.”
She looks relieved at the topic of conversation. “I know,” she says, her voice musing. “I mean, I thought maybe he was. I don’t know what to do with that, though.”
Eye of the Beholder (Stone Springs Book 1) Page 9