Page 97 of Eye of the Beholder
My face flushes with embarrassment. No way am I telling Cohen that I broke up with Jack because I have feelings for Cohen. Especially since he doesn’t feel the same way. “Yeah,” I say, wincing slightly at the lie.
“I—I called him the other night. He’s not happy with me.”
He’s probably not happy with me either. I wait for Cohen to say more, but he doesn’t, so I just shrug. "You taught me some useful stuff, though,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Don’t think you didn’t.”
He snorts skeptically. “Like what? How to pretend you’re interested in football?”
“That,” I say, eyeing the menu. I think I already know what I’m going to get, but I like to pretend that someday I might get something different. It makes me feel adventurous. “But you sort of got me into some social interaction, too. You make me feel confident.”
Oops. I meant to say that in past tense. But it’s true; he makes me feel confident. He makes me feel like being myself is good enough.
“You taught me about priest holes,” I go on, and Cohen grins. Then, more seriously, I say, “And I’ve been thinking over what you said about Virginia.”
“Yeah?” Cohen says, looking over at me.
“Yeah,” I admit. “And I’m trying to just…let the Virginia thing go.”
Cohen smiles softly. “Good for you, Willy.”
The look in his eyes is tender and unnerving, and I can’t stand it. I change the topic. “And you taught me how to kiss,” I go on, forcing a grin—although I keep my eyes firmly on the menu. I definitely know what I’m going to get by now, but I don’t want to look at Cohen. Especially for the next part. “And you were right; you can tell when it’s a good kiss.” I hope he can’t see how red my face it.
“Oh, yeah?” he says, sounding pleased. “Was it good?” I’m still staring intently at the menu, but I can hear his grin.
I swallow. “It was incredible, which I think you know.”
A beat of silence. Then, “I do know.” More silence, during which my heart is threatening to come out of my chest. Then he says, “I’m sorry, Mina. I shouldn’t have—we shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” I say, looking vaguely at my hands on the steering wheel. My nail polish is starting to chip. I try to keep my voice neutral as I say, “I started it. It won’t—it won’t happen again. I assume that’s what you talked to Jack about?”
“Yeah,” Cohen says after a beat of silence.
“Well, it won’t happen again,” I repeat.
It might be the saddest thing I’ve ever said.
There’s even more silence, but somehow I’m unable to break it. It’s not a comfortable silence. It’s charged—electric. Full of things I don’t know how to say.
“Incredible, huh?” he finally says. His voice cracks slightly, but even though I’m still not looking at him, I can tell he’s grinning.
I can’t help it; I smile. “I wouldn’t have even noticed the scar. Now wipe that look off your face,” I say.
“You’re not even looking at—”
“It’s that smug, cocky smirk. I hate it. Get rid of it.”
I’m spared his response by the voice blaring out of the speaker, and I give my order. I look at Cohen. He has not yet removed the smug look from his face. “What are you getting?”
“A large fruit punch and a taco,” he says.
“You know that fruit punch is only one tiny step above a juice box, right?”
He doesn’t answer; he just grins.
Well, at least he’s happier now than he was right after the kiss. But I’m not going to think about that, because it makes my soul want to wither.
I pull into a parking spot so that I can eat my food. We talk comfortably for a while, laughing enough to make my stomach hurt and my heart glow.
And I realize that I was wrong. I don’tneeda man. But…I want one. I wantthisone. I want Cohen, in all his crooked-nosed, wonky-mouthed glory.
