Page 92 of Eye of the Beholder
And then she’s kissing me. She’s kissing me more than I’m kissing her.
My world stops completely.
I respond immediately, instinctively, deepening the kiss without even thinking about it, because I’ve already thought about it—so many times. There are fireworks going off in my chest and behind my eyes. One hand tightens in her hair; the other is around her waist, trying to pull her closer.
Mina.
Mina.
She’s everything. There’s nothing but her.
Our lips are moving together, insistent, impatient, hesitation completely gone. It doesn’t feel instructional. It feels real.
We shouldn’t be kissing like this—kissing like wemeanit—if we don’t mean it. If I had my way, she would never kiss Jack like this. She would never kissanyoneelse like this. Ever.
Seemingly at the same time, we both come to our senses.
We break apart, gasping, our breathing ragged. I feel like I’ve just run ten miles.
We’re silent for one long minute, the space between us filled with the whistling wind.
And I panic. This was a mistake. An incredible, mind-blowing mistake. How do I fix this? How do I ease out of this; how do I maintain what we have?
And how do I tell Jack that I’m scum?
Mina clears her throat. “So,” she says, her voice squeaking. “Ears and face. Move your lips. Do something with your hands.”
My fuzzy brain takes a second to catch up to what she’s saying, but when it does, such a profound sense of relief washes over me that I could kiss her again.
And again.
And again.
“Yes,” I say, doing everything in my power to sound calm instead of shaken to my core. “Ears and face. Move your lips. Hands,” I say. I swallow. “Good job.”
Then I pull my keys out of my pocket and press them keys into Mina’s hand. “You can drive my car home. I have to go.”
I turn away from her with a jolt of speed and jog all the way home.
28
Mina
There are not many things I consider myself an expert on. Not even flowers, and I know a lot about flowers.
But, as it turns out, I am an expert at avoiding things I don’t want to think about or deal with. It seems that introspective Mina can be put off after all.
On the first of the year, I get it together just long enough to call Jack, twirling my hair nervously as the phone rings.
I’ve liked Jack…well, for years. And now I’m going to break up with him? Is this something that can be worked out?
My first instinct when I saw him playing pool with Virginia was to blame Virginia, to hate her for the pettiness of trying to steal someone else’s…well, whatever we were. Someone else’s boyfriend? I don’t think Jack was really my boyfriend. I don’t think we were there yet.
But as I’ve thought more about Virginia, the only thing that keeps coming to my mind is the way she looked in the cafeteria, staring at her food, looking miserable and utterly pitiful.
I don’t understand her. So I’m choosing to let it go. I don’t want to waste any more energy on disliking her.
Virginia aside, though, my issues with Jack can’t be worked out. I know deep in my soul that they can’t. And what’s more, I realize, I don’twantto work it out. Because I kissed his friend. And even though it was pretty clear that Jack wasn’t feeling exclusive about our relationship,Istill don’t feel great about kissing someone else. Because exclusivity might not be as important to Jack, but it’s somethingIwant. And I can’t stop thinking about that kiss—about Cohen’s hands fisted into my hair, about him pulling me closer, about the impatience of his lips against mine…
