“Impressive,” Taylor says, nodding at me as he takes the bottle and follows suit. “You didn’t even grimace.”
I shrug. “I like vodka.”
“Okay, so I know you like vodka and picking fights with girls at parties. What else makes you tick?”
“I didn’t pick that fight!” I say, my voice a little too loud. “That bitch got mouthy with Ellie.”
“And that’s a mistake, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
“You’re not like most of the girls I know,” he says and nods down at Ellie to include her in his assessment.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, most girls don’t chug vodka straight from the bottle. And most girls don’t actually get in fights at kegs. When a girl says she’s going to kick someone’s ass, I can pretty much always assume she’s full of shit.”
“Ellie and I don’t mess around with stuff like that. We’ve had to stand up for ourselves way too often for it to be a joke. When Ellie threatens someone, she means it.”
“You too?”
I nod. “Though I don’t feel the need to threaten quite as often as she does.” I meet his eyes. “But when I say something, I mean it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice is a soft rasp that makes the hair on the backs of my arms stand up. I stare at his lips, wishing I could kiss him. Why had I been so stupid and told him I prefer conversation to cheesy lines? I could be making out with this hottie right now if I had kept my mouth shut and laughed at his little jokes like any other girl.
“How long have you guys known each other?” he asks.
It takes me a second to come back to the conversation. “Ellie? We’ve been tight for a few years now. I guess we started hanging out when we were seventeen.” I manage to keep my voice casual, as if that year, and the circumstances surrounding our becoming friends, hadn’t been any big deal. “What about you? You said you grew up with Preston? Are you guys tight?”
He lifts one shoulder. “Not particularly. I mean, I guess we were. But we don’t have a lot in common anymore.”
That’s a little cryptic. Does that mean he doesn't live in one of these huge mansions on this side of town? Or is it simply that he stayed home and got a job while Preston went off to school?
“He’s not a bad guy, though,” Taylor says. “His parents travel a lot, so he throws a ton of parties in the summer.”
“Maybe I’ll see you at another one of them.”
He’s quiet for a moment as he holds my gaze. “I hope I see you regardless.”
His tone makes my stomach flip and all in a rush I’m frightened. Am I getting in too far here? Flirting at a party is one thing, making plans to see each other after tonight is another. To my great relief, Ellie chooses that moment to wake up fully.
She moans as she sits up. “Ugh, I have a headache. Zoe, you weren’t supposed to let me mix beer and pot. You know this.”
“I warned you,” I say. “You told me to fuck off.”
She laughs weakly, rubbing her head. “That does sound like something I’d say.” She pulls her phone from her pocket and starts to type. “Let’s find Hunter. I’m in need of sustenance. I want pancakes.”
“Mmm, pancakes,” Hunter says, as he walks up behind her. “I’m in.”
Ellie holds up her phone. “I was just texting you.”
He taps his forehead. “I could sense that my presence was desired.”
I look over at Taylor. “I guess we’re leaving.” Somehow I’m both disappointed and relieved.
“I guess so.”
I know it’s better to leave before I start getting any weird ideas about seeing him again, but I still feel a sense of letdown. I’ll never get to find out what it’s like to kiss that gorgeous mouth. To trail my tongue across that jaw…
As I start to stand, Taylor grabs my hand. “I’ll be seeing you, Zoe. That’s a promise.”
I look down at him, not knowing what to say. I should discourage him, tell him I’m not interested. But I just can't do it. “We’ll see,” I murmur, then turn to help hoist Ellie into a standing position.
“Let’s find Everett,” Hunter says. “He’s the DD tonight. Why’s it so dark down here?” He looks around the room. “Hey, Everett!” he shouts. “I want pancakes!”
Everett’s laugh sounds from across the room, and we head off in that direction. I refuse to turn around to take a last look at Taylor. Even though we aren’t heading home yet, leaving the party takes me one step closer to my real life.
And there is no place for anything as beautiful as Jet Taylor in my real life.
Chapter Three
Zoe
I wake up the next morning with a raging headache. As is often the case, Hunter and Ellie had found a second wind after their midnight pancake snack. Along with Everett, we ended up in the park with another fifth of vodka. I can't remember actually getting into the house, and I say a silent prayer that I was quiet.
There’s far too much light in my bedroom, and I pull my raggedy quilt up over my face. No sooner am I ensconced in my cocoon than my phone starts vibrating on the nightstand. The sound of the phone clattering across the cheap particle board of the nightstand might as well be a jackhammer in my already pounding head. Groaning, I stick an arm out from under the covers to grab it.
“Hello.” My voice is raspy, and I rub my eyes.
“You sound lovely this morning,” Ellie says, sounding amused.
“How are you not hungover?” I moan. “You drank more than I did.”
“You were downing vodka all night,” she says. “I didn’t start on the hard stuff until we got to the park.”
“Right. What’s up? Or are you calling me at this God-forsaken hour just to be a bitch?”
“It’s noon, Princess. I thought you might want to get your lazy ass out of bed and go get burritos.”
I moan a little. Burritos are our sure-fire hangover cure. “When can you get here?”
She laughs. “Give me twenty.”
It’s a struggle, but I manage to roll out of bed. Once I’m on my feet, I slowly make my way to the bathroom down the hall. So far I haven’t heard anyone else stirring, and I’m relieved. Some things I just can't handle when this hungover.
Once I finish brushing my teeth and rinsing out my mouth, I peer into the mirror, debating whether or not to jump in the shower. Ellie said twenty, which usually means more like a half hour. My hair looks like shit, greasy and lank, and my blonde roots are starting to show through the bottled red. I’ll have to get Ellie to dye it for me soon. My face is pale, with huge dark circles under my eyes. I sigh. A shower would be great, but I need to check on my mom first before I leave, and that could take a while. I settle for washing my face and pulling my hair up into a messy bun. I take my makeup bag from under the sink and smear some foundation over my face, but it doesn’t do much to hide those dark circles.
Not in the mood to devote any more effort to a lost cause, I sneak back down the hallway to my room and change out of the boxers and t-shirt I’d slept in. I can't face the thought of anything but yoga pants, so I pull on my softest pair and find a clean blue tank top. I know I still look like ten kinds of shit, but I figure it’s more than sufficient for the Burrito Barn.
I look at my watch. I have about fifteen minutes, and I’m out of ways to stall. I need to check on my mom. I pad down the worn carpet to her room and take a deep breath before pushing open the door. It’s dark inside, all the blinds closed tightly against the early summer sunlight. I stand stock still until her form moves under the covers and I can be sure she’s breathing.
“Mom?” I whisper, not really wanting to go any closer. “You awake?”
There’s no answer so I move across the room to the chair next to her bed. Pulling it around to face her, I take a seat. My mother looks so peaceful when she’s sleeping. Her face is relaxed, her dark lashes—one of the only features I share with her—fanned out and distinct on her pale white skin. Even though it’s m
ostly hidden by the blankets, I can tell her hair is dirty—when is the last time she’s showered? I’ll have to make sure she takes one today—but I can almost pretend that things are back to normal, that she’s just sleeping, that she is fine.
Her eyelids flutter open and her gaze immediately fixes on my face. I hold my breath, having no idea what she’ll be like today. When she smiles slightly, I exhale, but I don’t relax.
“Zoe, baby,” she says softly, moving her hand from beneath the blankets to take mine. “How are you, love? Did you have a nice time with Ellie last night?”
“I did, Mom.” I squeeze her hand, and swallow down the worry when her grip is too weak, her fingers too frail. She hasn’t been eating much lately. “How are you feeling?”
Her smile fades. “I’m pretty tired, baby.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. Did you take your medicine?”
She shakes her head, and I bite back a curse. Jerry is supposed to make sure she takes it every morning. He promised. Had he even been in here yet today?
“I’ll be right back,” I say. I walk quickly back to the bathroom, not bothering to be quiet now. I almost hope my stepfather will hear me. There are some things I’d love to say to him. I find her weekly pill organizer in the medicine cabinet and fill up a plastic cup with water. When I get back to her room, I see that she has fallen asleep again. “Mom,” I whisper, shaking her shoulder. “Wake up, Mom.”
She moans softly, and I shake her harder. “Come on, Mom. You need to take your medicine.”
She finally opens her eyes, but this time she doesn’t smile at me. Instead she silently allows me to pull her head up and place a pill on her tongue. Her hands remain limp at her sides, so I bring the cup up to her mouth for her. Her compliance, her weakness, fills me with a familiar mixture of rage and pity, immediately followed by guilt. The three of them, along with fear, are my constant companions. I feel pity for the state she’s in, but I’m also angry that I’m the one who has to deal with it. The anger generally leads to guilt, because what kind of daughter feels that way about her mother? Fear usually follows along closely behind, reminding me that she is fragile, and sick, and that anything can happen.
Once I’m sure she has swallowed, I help her to lie down again. “Are you heading out, baby?” she asks sleepily.
I pause. “Maybe I should stay with you.”
She shakes her head, smiling sadly. “I’m just going to sleep. And Jerry is here, he’ll check on me. You go on and get to class.”
I consider telling her it’s Saturday, a day I don't take classes, then realize there is no point. What does it matter to her what day of the week it is? She’ll spend the day the same way she spent the last dozen, in bed with the curtains drawn.
I lean down to kiss her forehead, hating myself for the relief I feel when her eyelids flutter closed again. When she sleeps all day it worries me and makes me sad, but it’s a hundred times better than the alternative. It’s been a while since one of her more dangerous episodes, and I’m in no mood to experience that anytime soon. Sleeping, on the other hand, I can handle, like the calm before the storm. Sleeping means I am safe to leave for a few hours. Sleeping means a little freedom, at least for now. I watch her for a moment before finally standing again and slipping from the darkened room.
As I grab my purse and head outside to wait for Ellie, I hear Jerry moving around in the basement. There are no crashes or muffled curses, so I can be fairly sure he isn’t drunk yet. Hopefully he’ll have the sense to check on Mom a few times before I come home.
I step out onto the porch, the sunlight beating down on me, hurting my eyes. Still, I’m grateful for it. Grateful to be out here and not stuck in that house anymore. Not watching and waiting for the next disaster in the room where my mother sleeps.
***
When Ellie pulls up a full ten minutes later, Hunter is in the passenger seat. “I’ve stolen your seat, Zoe, girl,” he says as I climb into the back. “I’m finally making my move to take over as best friend.”
“Sounds good to me,” I say, hitting the button to roll down my window. Both Ellie and Hunter are smoking and the smell doesn’t help my headache. “She’s kind of a bitch. I’ll be happy to be rid of her.”
“See, I told you,” Ellie says, pouting. “She only loves me for my ride.”
“You think this ride is something to love?”
“So, Zoe,” Hunter says, turning in his seat to look at me. “What’s this I hear about you making out with Jet Taylor last night?”
I slap a hand over my mouth, the memory of the sex god with the hair hitting me full force. I completely forgot about him in the fog of my hangover. How could I forget something like that? Now that Hunter has brought him up, the memory of his face, his beautiful eyes and the way they watched me, is overwhelming.
“So it’s true?” Ellie says, watching me in the mirror.
I quickly shake my head and wince at the pain that causes. “No, we didn’t make out. We just talked for a while. Down in the basement. You guys were both there.”
Ellie scrunches up her face. “I don’t remember seeing him in the basement.”
“Yeah, well, you were both baked and pretty much asleep.”
“Are you sure you didn’t make out?” Hunter asks. “Because that’s totally what I heard. From more than one person.”
I stick out my tongue at him. I am so not a fan of being gossiped about. It’s the reason I pretty much stick exclusively to my own little group of friends. “Who said this?”
“Everett heard it from Mary. And then Kristin told me that Jet was asking about you.”
My stomach drops. “He was?”
In the front seat, Ellie laughs. “Oh, this is so sweet. Someone has a crush on you, Zoe.”
I flip her off as she pulls into the parking lot of the Burrito Barn.
“I think she’s right, Zoe. He wouldn’t be trying to find out more about you if he didn’t like what he saw.”
I’m embarrassed that my heart is racing. Get a grip, I tell myself. You’ll be giggling next. I get out of the car and join my friends on the sidewalk. “And I should listen to you because you have so much insight into the mind of the straight male, right?”
Ellie laughs, and Hunter holds open the door to the diner for us. “As a matter of fact, I know a lot about straight dudes. Most of the guys I like invariably end up being one.”
“Sorry, babe,” I say and take his arm. I know he hasn’t had much luck dating lately. It’s not like we live in the most cosmopolitan or progressive area in the country. The out and eligible gay scene isn’t super promising.
A waitress calls out a hello to Ellie, who works here part time. “You can sit where you want,” she says over her shoulder as she hurries by with a full tray. We make our way to the back of the diner and slide into a vinyl booth. Contrary to its name, the Burrito Barn is not a Mexican restaurant. In fact, burritos and nachos are the only items on the menu that even slightly resemble Mexican food, and even those are a stretch. The decor, and most of the food choices, are typical American diner fare. The name is something of a mystery, though maybe it’s as simple as the owners capitalizing on their most popular menu item. There is no point in ordering anything here other than a burrito.
The waitress that greeted us brings over our water, which I attack with gusto while Ellie chats with her. The water makes me feel a little better immediately. Ellie has told me a million times that a hangover is just the alcohol dehydrating my body, and I won't feel so crappy if I just remember to alternate water and vodka throughout the night. But I never remember.
Once we’ve placed our order and the waitress has gone, Hunter leans across the table. “So tell us about Jet. I want to hear everything.”
I shrug. “I don’t really know anything. We just talked for a little bit. I thought he was flirting at first, and I was quite looking forward to making out with him.”
Ellie laughs. “I bet you were.”
“Yeah, well, there was no making
out, unfortunately. We just talked for a while until the two of you woke up and started shouting about pancakes.”
Hunter rests his chin on his hand. “That surprises me. I haven’t heard that Jet is much of the talking type. If you were willing to play tonsil hockey I’m kinda shocked he wasn’t all over it, to be honest.”
“Do you know him?” I ask, my interest piqued. I assumed he’d be as much a stranger to my friends as he is to me.
Hunter nods. “A little. We went to school together.”
“I always forget you were born a rich bitch,” Ellie says. “Did you live in a fancy house like the one from last night?”
Hunter shakes his head. “Nope.” He pauses. “Ours was bigger.”
Hunter grew up every bit as privileged as Preston Barkley. His fortunes, however, only lasted until he came out to his parents. He’s been living in a shitty apartment on our side of town ever since they kicked him out.
“So you went to school with this kid,” Ellie says. “What do you know?”
“Not a whole lot, to be honest. He was two years ahead of me, and we didn’t exactly run with the same crowd.”
“Don’t tell me he’s a jock.” I feel a rush of disappointment. With his tattoos and lack of higher education, I had let myself believe he was different from all those other guys at the party last night.
“What do you care?” Ellie asks. “If all you’re looking for is a little horizontal fun, what does it matter if he’s a jock? High school football careers have never stopped you from hooking up with a dude.”
I fidget with my napkin. She has a point. When it comes to my hookups, I’m rarely picky. If a guy is cute and into me, he generally meets my criteria.
“Maybe ‘cause she wants more than a hookup,” Hunter says, as he studies my face. “Maybe she’s hoping Jet’s the kind of guy she could actually have a relationship with.”
I throw the napkin at him. “Stop being such a girl, Hunter. I was just asking.”
“Well, you’ll be relieved to find out that he wasn’t a jock. At least, not by the time I became aware of him. There were rumors that he used to be your typical Mr. America golden boy, but he ditched all that his senior year and started hanging out with a rougher crowd.”
Escape In You Page 3