I throw my hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know, Lydia.” I swallow. “I’ve never felt like this.”
I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I feel like an idiot. But…this is Mina. I’ll have this conversation if I need to.
Lydia smiles and sits up, closing her computer and setting it aside. “Excellent.”
“I have a chance. Right?” More than anything, I just want to hear Lydia confirm that.
“Absolutely. I’m not going to betray Mina’s trust. But yes.”
“So I should go for it.”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Yes. You are way better for her than Jack. I mean, he’s nice. He’s cute. But she can do better.”
“But I don’t want to make a move if she’s with Jack.”
“No,” Lydia agrees. “But I think technicalities are acceptable here. She and Jack aren’t exclusive. They haven’t had that conversation. So I wouldn’t say she’s ‘with’ Jack.”
“How do you know?” I say.
Lydia shrugs. “I asked.”
Interesting. “Fine,” I say. “But I would still feel scummy. I mean, they’re going to the dance together.”
I am not happy about that little detail.
Lydia shrugs. “All’s fair in love and war. But if that’s not your thing, just wait it out. Keep spending time with her.”
“I was never going to stop spending time with her,” I say. I don’t know that I could stay away from her. But I don’t say that.
“She’s not going to keep this thing with Jack going,” Lydia says. “She’s confused right now. She doesn’t think she knows what she wants. But she’ll get there. And I don’t think Jack is who she wants.”
“Right,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Right.” I turn to go, but then I say, “I will deny this conversation ever happened.”
Lydia smiles. “I know.”
I nod. “Right,” I say again. I clear my throat. “Thanks, Lyd.”
Lydia eyes me. “Have you ever been in love?”
“I am not having this conversation,” I say firmly. “Good night.”
She grins. The look is entirely too knowing for my comfort. “Good night,” she says.
I go to my room and flop down on my bed, not even taking off my coat. I close my eyes, but all I can see is Jack kissing Mina. I push back my jealousy, not entirely successfully, and try to focus on something else. Anything else. Because whatever else I see behind my closed eyelids, anything is better than Mina kissing someone else.
My dad’s wedding. I can think about that. I need to think about that. And it says something that I’d rather think about the wedding than Mina kissing Jack.
My mind drifts to what Mina said about how I encouraged her to apply to the university she was considering. I think about how she encouraged me earlier to go to the wedding. And more than that, I think about forgiveness. I let the word swirl lazily around my thoughts.
Being angry takes energy. And I’m tired. I’m confused and stressed and possibly falling in love for the first time in my life. I don’t have the energy for anger right now. And my mom and Mina are right, as much as it pains me to admit it; everyone deserves forgiveness. I haven’t been going to church, but I believe that. And I certainly believe that I can’t want forgiveness for my mistakes and simultaneously withhold it from others.
I remember, unbidden, the time when I was nine that I broke my dad’s windshield with a baseball. I’d run, locked myself in the bathroom, and refused to come out for hours because I was so afraid of why my parents would say.
But they didn’t yell at me. My dad just had me help him clean the glass up. He’d hugged me and told me he loved me.
I think of Mina, of her encouragement. I think of her bravery in stepping out of her comfort zone. If she can apply to college, I can go to my dad’s wedding. Right? It will be scary—something I won’t admit to anyone—but I can try. If not for my dad, then for me. Mina was right; anger is painful to carry around. I can’t force my anger away, but I can stop obsessing about it. Or at very least, I can try.
I take a deep breath, clenching and unclenching my jaw. Then I pull out my phone, and before I can chicken out, I text my dad two words: I’ll come.
***
Christmas is quiet, and I like it that way. New Year’s Eve, however, is not going to be quiet. I know this because it never is. Every year Jack has a party on New Year’s Eve. He’s done it for the last three years, and I’ve always gone, but for some reason the idea isn’t as appealing as it used to be. I don’t have to go, I guess. But I would want to go if Mina were going. I wouldn’t want to abandon her to that.
I call Mina the morning of New Year’s Eve, feeling strangely nervous. I guess I’ve been reduced to a twelve-year-old boy talking to his first crush. I don’t love the feeling.
“Are you going to Jack’s tonight?” I say.
“Yeah,” she says, sounding sort of miserable.
I smile. “Don’t sound so excited.”
“I hate parties,” she says with a sigh.
I shrug even though she can’t see me. “So don’t go. Stay home and read a book.” That’s her ideal evening.
“Eh, I’ll go. I sort of feel like I should now that we’re going to the dance together.”
She hasn’t talked much about the dance, and I haven’t asked. I like it better that way. “Well, do you want a ride?” I say.
“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “That would be great, actually. Jack can’t pick me up, and I really don’t like parallel parking.”
I swallow. “How are things going with you guys?” I say, trying to sound casual.
“I don’t know,” she says. “And I don’t really want to talk about it.”
I back off immediately. “We don’t have to talk about it. Just meet me at my car tonight at eight. Is that good?”
“Yeah,” she says, sounding relieved. “Thanks, Cohen.”
“Yep,” I say, and we hang up.
When I get to my car that evening, Mina is already there, waiting. She’s wearing a sparkly dress that I vaguely recognize as Lydia’s—and I really wish Lydia would stop lending her clothes, because Lydia’s clothes look really good on Mina—and heels that make her legs look incredible. I mean, they look horridly uncomfortable. But…the effect is nice. My mouth goes dry when I see her.
“Hey,” I say, pulling my eyes back to hers.
“You’re not subtle,” she says. “I told you this. You said you were going to do better.”
I laugh. “I did say that. Sorry.”
Despite her words, she doesn’t actually look upset.
I open the passenger door and bow low. “My lady?”
Mina’s mouth quirks in amusement. “I’m not your lady.”
I am so aware of that. “My bad,” I say, rolling my eyes exaggeratedly. “Just get in the car.”
She smiles and slides in, and I close her door. I get in the driver’s seat, and within three minutes we’re pulling up in front of Jack’s house. Mina starts to get out of the car, but I put a hand on her arm, and she turns back to me.
“I should warn you,” I say. “These parties can get a little wild.”
“Ugh,” she says. “How long do you want to stay?”
I shrug. “I’m flexible.”
She hesitates, looking unsure. “Define ‘wild.’”
“Nothing ridiculous,” I say quickly. “No one’s stripping on the tables or anything. No one’s doing cocaine in the bathroom. But it’s no study group, either.”
“Right,” she says, still eyeing me warily. “Well, I may just follow you around.”
Please do. “That’s fine,” I say instead.
She nods, and we go in. There’s loud music coming from the basement, and we make our way down. Jack’s house is nice, and his basement is finished and perfect for hosting things like this. There’s a foosball table and a pool table, and there’s a giant TV and a large sectional. There’s a wet bar, too. That’s where Mina heads immed
iately, so I follow her.
She picks up one of the drinks that’s there, but I swoop in and pull it out of her hands.
“That is almost certainly spiked,” I say, putting the cup back on the table.
“It’s lemonade,” she says with a frown.
I pick the cup back up and sniff it. I wrinkle my nose. “Yes. It is lemonade. With alcohol.”
She moves closer to me. “That’s illegal,” she whispers.
“Yes,” I say, smiling at her. “So is jaywalking.”
“So…you drink?” she says. I can’t interpret her expression, but she’s not jumping with joy.
I shake my head. “No. I mean, I have,” I say. I don’t love admitting it to her, but I’m not going to lie. “But I felt like crap. And made some iffy choices that I regretted later. So, I steer clear. Coach doesn’t like us to, anyway.”
“At least half the football team is here,” she says, nodding at the room. She’s right.
“Yeah, well,” I say with a grin. “We can’t all be morally superior in every way.”
She laughs. “So humble.” She eyes me. “So can I assume that the girls you’ve kissed”—I groan—“have been largely kissed while you were drunk?”
I rub my temples. “You could assume that.”
“That’s tacky, Cohen,” she says. But her expression isn’t condemning or judgmental. There’s just a small smile playing at her lips.
“I agree,” I say. I hesitate. Then I go on. “I used to be sort of self-conscious. About this”—I touch my scarred lips—“and…you know. Kissing with it.” I can feel my face turning red. I already regret telling her this. “So I ended up doing a lot of kissing.” I shrug. “Sort of to prove to people that I could, or something.” I swallow. “It’s stupid, I know. Thus the no more drinking.” I pick up two of the cups, go behind the wet bar, and dump the lemonade in the sink there. I rinse the cups and fill them with water instead. I hand her one of them.
She takes the cup, watching me. “It’s not stupid,” she says. Then, maybe sensing my intense desire to change the subject, she says, “I like carrying a drink at social functions. That way if I see someone approaching me, I can just take a big drink and they can’t ask me anything because my mouth is full.”
I grin at her, glad to have moved on from the drunk-kissing conversation. “A solid plan.”
She smiles back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know. I—”
“Mina!” Jack comes through the crowd, smiling at us. He gives her a once over and then says, “You look good.”
She turns bright red. “Thanks,” she says, looking uncomfortable.
I feel a stab of annoyance. Is that all he talks to her about? How good she looks?
Jack turns to me. “Doesn’t she look good?” He’s not completely drunk yet, but I wouldn’t call it sober, either. He gets pretty blunt. Most of the time that’s how I can tell. I used to find it amusing. Tonight it’s rubbing me the wrong way.
I clear my throat. “Yep.” Now I’m uncomfortable, because even though I’m staring at my drink, I can feel Mina’s eyes on me.
“Your legs look amazing,” Jack says to Mina. He swivels to me. “Don’t her legs look amazing?”
“Yep,” I say again. I take a drink of my water. When it’s gone, I pretend like it’s not; I fake a few more sips.
“I’m going to play pool,” Jack says. “Make yourselves at home.” He leans forward and kisses Mina on the cheek. Then he turns and disappears into the crowd again.
When it’s finally too ridiculous to keep pretending there’s water in my cup, I look up. I’m startled to see Mina watching me.
“What?” I say.
She gives a little smile. “How long has that drink been gone?”
I can’t help it; I smile back at her. “Since he talked about your legs.”
“About how amazing they look?” she says, her smile teasing. But under her smile is something a little uncomfortable.
“Yeah,” I say. I hesitate. Then I go for it. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says automatically. “He just—yeah. I’m fine.”
I don’t answer, knowing that if I give her a second she might elaborate. Sure enough, a beat of silence later she says,
“He just keeps telling me how beautiful I am.” She’s staring determinedly at the cup in her hands.
“How rude of him,” I say. There’s a weird tangle of feelings in my gut, and I push them around, prodding, trying to figure them out. “He should never compliment you.”
Mina rolls her eyes, but my words have had the intended effect; the corner of her mouth quirks. “It’s not that he says those things. It’s that most of what he says is a variation on that sentiment.”
“I did notice that,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual.
Mina shrugs. “I mean, I appreciate it. Of course I do. Sometimes it just doesn’t feel genuine. When you said I was beautiful, you were completely sincere. It wasn’t just flattery.”
“I don’t remember saying that,” I say, my voice airy. As a matter of fact, I do. But I know she’s going to see through my lie in no time.
“Yes, you do,” she says, swatting my arm and grinning. “You said it in the hidden room of the haunted asylum.”
“I am not having this conversation,” I say, but I grin back. I gesture to her drink. “Are you done with that?”
“Why? Looking for more fake water to drink?”
“Trying to be a gentleman and refill it for you, actually,” I say, and she laughs. She hands me her cup.
“Thanks,” she says.
While I’m making my way around the bar, I say, “Do you want to sit somewhere or play a game or something?”
She shrugs. “Not really. But go ahead if you want.”
“I don’t want.” I refill our cups, then make my way back to Mina.
“You’d rather hang out with Wet Willy?” she says, eyeing me as she takes the water I hold out.
“Yep,” I say, my voice light.
She laughs. “Have you ever noticed that you do that?” she says.
I frown. “Do what?”
She grins. “When someone asks a question that makes you uncomfortable, that’s how you answer. “You say ‘yep’ or ‘nope.’ You try to do this casual voice.”
“I don’t do that,” I say immediately. But even as I think about it, I realize she’s right.
“Jack asked if I look good. He asked if my legs looked good. You said ‘yep’ both times. That time in the corn maze when I ran into you and then Jack asked if we got lost, you said it. We were both flustered. And there was the time—”
“All right,” I say quickly. “All right. I yield.”
“Are you sure?” she says. “Because I could go on. I love being right.”
“I’m very sure,” I say, my voice dry. I eye the milling group of people in the room rather than look at her. “You’re right this time.”
“That begs the question, then: Why did it make you uncomfortable when Jack asked your opinion on how I look?” she says, grinning mischievously.
“Because I feel uncomfortable inflating your ego,” I say, staring around the room once more.
“No. It’s because you feel uncomfortable telling me what you think of me,” she says. I’m still determinedly not looking at her, but I can see her smirk out of the corner of my eye.
“You already know what I think of you,” I say, taking a large gulp of water and not taking my eyes off the baseball game on the TV. “You are very attractive. Personality included.”
Wait. What did I just say?
“Now drink more water so you can’t ask me any more questions,” I say before she can respond. “Uncharacteristically bold questions for you, I might add.” I finally look at her, raising one brow. “What brought this on?”
She shrugs. “I just like seeing you squirm. It’s worth my internal discomfort to see your external discomfort.”
I grin at her, and she smiles back.<
br />
My grin fades as my eyes go back to the crowd in front of us, however, and I see Jack playing pool with Virginia. Well, no; that’s not accurate. It looks more like Virginia is pretending she doesn’t know how to play pool—which she does, because I taught her—so that Jack will “teach” her. And he’s falling for it; his arms are around her, helping her aim. Even from here I can tell she’s laying on the charm. Jack leans close to Virginia and nuzzles her, whispering something in her ear, and she giggles. I look away, but the expression on Mina’s face tells me that she’s seen, too.
What surprises me is that shortly after her look of disappointment comes a look of relief. It’s brief, and it’s replaced again by hurt, but it’s there.
“Look,” I say under my breath. “Jack…likes women. He’s cool. He really is. And I’m sure that doesn’t mean anything. But I’d be lying if I said he’s not a sucker for a pretty face.”
“I know that. It’s fine,” Mina says, but I can tell she’s lying. “We never said—I mean, we’re not exclusive or anything.” I think about pressing the issue, but ultimately decide against it; this isn’t the time or the place. Instead we just talk, watching as the people around us—Jack included, I’m sad to say—grow more and more ridiculous.
The time whizzes past, and before I know it, I hear Jack’s voice above the din. “Five minutes to the new year!” The people around us cheer. “Find someone to kiss at midnight,” Jack calls.
I look at Mina, who blanches. She looks at me, shoves her cup into my hand, and pushes her way through the crowd. Then she opens the door to what I know to be a coat closet, steps inside, and closes the door again.
27
Cohen
What on earth is she doing?
I set down our cups and follow her, laughing to myself. I open the coat closet.
“Whatcha doing?” I say, grinning at her terrified face. “This isn’t—” But before I can finish speaking, she’s grabbed a fistful of my shirt and yanked me into the closet, pulling the door shut behind us.
“I can’t kiss Jack,” she says, sounding urgent.
My heart picks up its pace. She’s close enough to me that I can smell her perfume. It’s a heady, intoxicating scent. I think flowers are forever ruined for me; I’ll never be able to smell anything floral without thinking of her.
Eye of the Beholder (Stone Springs Book 1) Page 21