barely see the top of Sam’s blond hair bobbing in the sea of people. I don’t recognize many of the kids or even the couple adults, maybe chaperones? There’s a guy from my history class, a girl from English Lit, and a guy who looks like my foster father from behind. I scan the perimeter and see someone sniffing something off a table. I laugh inwardly, imagining what Mr. and Mrs. Carter would say if they knew what was going on here. It’s strange that this place is marketed to teens.
“So what do you think?” Tyson asks.
I have no idea what he’s asking about, so I give him the universal excuse for go away. “Sorry, I need to find the ladies’ room. Thanks for the drink.”
I try to step away but get a dizzying head rush. The room is even hotter than before, and I realize I need fresh air. Reaching out to grasp the edge of the bar, I take a few deep breaths to steady myself.
“You okay?” Tyson asks.
“I think so.” I rub my eyes to clear my blurring vision. “I’m just a little claustrophobic. Maybe some water?” Tyson orders water from the bartender while I fish out an ice cube from my nearly empty cup of soda. I flex my fingers to fight the weird tingling sensation in my hands.
“Hey,” a soft voice murmurs in my ear. I whip my head around, fighting against another rushing sensation in my head, and gape at the hot guy in a black leather jacket leaning on the bar next to me. His blond hair hangs long over his forehead, and the kaleidoscope of colors swirling through his eyes cut deep into mine. I lower my gaze, despising the genes that cause the heat to rise into my face so easily.
He says something but I can’t hear him over the throbbing beat of the music. I feel a nudge on my arm and twist slightly to see Tyson holding an unopened bottle of water, looking pissed about something. I try to take the bottle but it seems to blur and skip away from me. The blond guy takes it instead and opens it, handing it to me. Tyson glares at him before turning to storm away. I look back to the guy to see his eyes twinkling. Something about those dark hazel irises with flecks of emerald, the pouty smirk…
“Z? Is that you?” I gasp. What the…?
He leans closer to me and I catch an appealing scent of leather and spice. My knees tremble and I hold the bar to steady myself.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he says. “You here with Sam?”
“Um, yeah, Sam. She’s out there on the dance floor somewhere.” I throw my hand in the general direction of the dance floor, not taking my eyes off him. He looks out over the bobbing heads before his gaze wanders back to me. I’m so much more relaxed now, almost dreamy. He’s got an intoxicatingly hot body, propped against the bar like some sexy model, and he’s looking at me . And is that the start of a smile? I finger my locket and smile back at him, batting my eyelashes. Flirting like I know what I’m doing.
I have no clue what I’m doing. I can’t help it. I start giggling.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing. I’m just not good at this.”
“At what?”
I wave my hand back and forth between us and accidentally pop him in the stomach with the water bottle. “Sorry. See? Point made.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. I kind of like that you’re not good at this.”
In my mind, I scream, What does that mean? What does that mean? But all I say is, “Where’re your glasses?”
“Contacts.”
“Cool. I like this look.” Did I really just say that?
He says something but the techno music sounds like it’s been cranked up a few notches. I shake my head and point to my ear. The fact that I can’t hear Z is really funny for some reason. I laugh out loud, then lean over to say something, but the floor seems to shift and I fall forward into his arms. His touch on my skin is burning, like me.
I put a hand on his chest to steady myself. His body is hard and muscular, even covered by the jacket. A sudden and unfamiliar craving grips me and I move closer to
“So what do you think?” Tyson asks.
I have no idea what he’s asking about, so I give him the universal excuse for go away. “Sorry, I need to find the ladies’ room. Thanks for the drink.”
I try to step away but get a dizzying head rush. The room is even hotter than before, and I realize I need fresh air. Reaching out to grasp the edge of the bar, I take a few deep breaths to steady myself.
“You okay?” Tyson asks.
“I think so.” I rub my eyes to clear my blurring vision. “I’m just a little claustrophobic. Maybe some water?” Tyson orders water from the bartender while I fish out an ice cube from my nearly empty cup of soda. I flex my fingers to fight the weird tingling sensation in my hands.
“Hey,” a soft voice murmurs in my ear. I whip my head around, fighting against another rushing sensation in my head, and gape at the hot guy in a black leather jacket leaning on the bar next to me. His blond hair hangs long over his forehead, and the kaleidoscope of colors swirling through his eyes cut deep into mine. I lower my gaze, despising the genes that cause the heat to rise into my face so easily.
He says something but I can’t hear him over the throbbing beat of the music. I feel a nudge on my arm and twist slightly to see Tyson holding an unopened bottle of water, looking pissed about something. I try to take the bottle but it seems to blur and skip away from me. The blond guy takes it instead and opens it, handing it to me. Tyson glares at him before turning to storm away. I look back to the guy to see his eyes twinkling. Something about those dark hazel irises with flecks of emerald, the pouty smirk…
“Z? Is that you?” I gasp. What the…?
He leans closer to me and I catch an appealing scent of leather and spice. My knees tremble and I hold the bar to steady myself.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he says. “You here with Sam?”
“Um, yeah, Sam. She’s out there on the dance floor somewhere.” I throw my hand in the general direction of the dance floor, not taking my eyes off him. He looks out over the bobbing heads before his gaze wanders back to me. I’m so much more relaxed now, almost dreamy. He’s got an intoxicatingly hot body, propped against the bar like some sexy model, and he’s looking at me . And is that the start of a smile? I finger my locket and smile back at him, batting my eyelashes. Flirting like I know what I’m doing.
I have no clue what I’m doing. I can’t help it. I start giggling.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing. I’m just not good at this.”
“At what?”
I wave my hand back and forth between us and accidentally pop him in the stomach with the water bottle. “Sorry. See? Point made.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. I kind of like that you’re not good at this.”
In my mind, I scream, What does that mean? What does that mean? But all I say is, “Where’re your glasses?”
“Contacts.”
“Cool. I like this look.” Did I really just say that?
He says something but the techno music sounds like it’s been cranked up a few notches. I shake my head and point to my ear. The fact that I can’t hear Z is really funny for some reason. I laugh out loud, then lean over to say something, but the floor seems to shift and I fall forward into his arms. His touch on my skin is burning, like me.
I put a hand on his chest to steady myself. His body is hard and muscular, even covered by the jacket. A sudden and unfamiliar craving grips me and I move closer to
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