Page 86 of Eye of the Beholder
“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 immediately, 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.”
