the red bag and eyed me questioningly. “I didn't see which one you had.” He also held a bar of the bitter chocolate – the exact kind, I'd just picked.
“I don't want your pity candy.”
“Oh, no, this is me bribing you into keeping your mouth shut about this. I don't need my father up my ass because I made you cry.”
“You didn't.” Just to be sure, I swiped my fingers along my lashes. Some mascara came off but not a single tear.
“Sour or sweet?”
“Green.”
“Figures.”
I let him buy me the candy. He bought a Red Bull for himself and handed me the white plastic bag. I opened it to find a pack of tissues to go along with my comfort food. Had he really expected me to cry?
By the time we were back on the street, the rain had turned back into the faint drizzle I’d come to know. Part of me felt lighter without the reminder of her, the other part regretted spending precious rain time in the shop.
“You have to get yourself cleaned up before Wes or Dad see you like this. They'd think I locked you out.”
“Okay,” I mumbled and pushed a piece of chocolate through my lips.
I didn't have to try very hard not to run into his family. I easily slipped into my room unnoticed and took fresh clothes and my towel to the bathroom without so much as hearing a beep from anyone. The mirror explained Trace's whole crying nonsense. The rain had washed my eyeliner and mascara all over my cheeks. I could've passed for a zebra. Not to mention that my blue eyes looked glossy and distant.
I knew it had been a reasonable resolution to avoid him. I should have told him to leave me alone. I didn't want to be a mess anymore.
Six
Dancing with Wesley was fun and easy, although he was a terrible dancer. That boy had not a rhythmic muscle in his body, but he kept twirling me around and around while he shouted some terribly wrong lyrics along to every Spanish song that came on.
Other than the fact that we were always a foot apart instead of grinding our bodies against each other, there was not much difference to clubbing. The lights were low, the music loud, the drinks overpriced, and the girls wore skimpy dresses and deep frowns.
“I need something to drink,” Wes yelled close to my ear.
I nodded and signaled to Sierra and Marcus, her very handsome and very in-his-forties husband, that we were heading for the bar. Wes wrapped my arm around his and towed me through the tight crowd towards the bar that was decorated with all sorts of exotic flowers. I tugged on a waxy leave to see if they were real. It came off. Crap . I hoped nobody had seen that. I shoved the plastic leave into my skirt's pocket and tried to look as innocent as possible.
“Here you go.” Wes turned around, grinning widely over two blue cocktails.
I eyed the Blue Hawaii extended to me. “I don't drink.”
“Oh, right, you have to wait until you're 21 in America, right? You can try it, though. It's not that strong.”
“No, I mean, yes, technically you have to wait, but I don't generally drink alcohol.” He seemed irritated, at loss with an extra drink in his hands. I smiled apologetically and shrugged. “I'm sorry. I should have told you.”
“No, no, it’s okay. Maybe Sierra wants this one.”
“Or you could try to pick up a girl with it. I’m pretty sure most girls like having cocktails bought for them.”
Wesley’s eyes immediately darted to the other end of the bar. I didn’t have to turn around to know he was staring at some chick with a short skirt and high heels.
“Are you sure?” He asked, still focused on his target.
“Yes. Go. You’re a handsome, nice guy who deserves someone special.”
“Thanks, Tony.” He didn’t leave without the kiss on my hair that I was slowly getting used to. But once that was done, he maneuvered off.
I sat down on a stool and tried to keep track of his head of side-swept hair. It was fairly easy since the men in his family were all tall enough to stand out in a crowd. I ordered a
“I don't want your pity candy.”
“Oh, no, this is me bribing you into keeping your mouth shut about this. I don't need my father up my ass because I made you cry.”
“You didn't.” Just to be sure, I swiped my fingers along my lashes. Some mascara came off but not a single tear.
“Sour or sweet?”
“Green.”
“Figures.”
I let him buy me the candy. He bought a Red Bull for himself and handed me the white plastic bag. I opened it to find a pack of tissues to go along with my comfort food. Had he really expected me to cry?
By the time we were back on the street, the rain had turned back into the faint drizzle I’d come to know. Part of me felt lighter without the reminder of her, the other part regretted spending precious rain time in the shop.
“You have to get yourself cleaned up before Wes or Dad see you like this. They'd think I locked you out.”
“Okay,” I mumbled and pushed a piece of chocolate through my lips.
I didn't have to try very hard not to run into his family. I easily slipped into my room unnoticed and took fresh clothes and my towel to the bathroom without so much as hearing a beep from anyone. The mirror explained Trace's whole crying nonsense. The rain had washed my eyeliner and mascara all over my cheeks. I could've passed for a zebra. Not to mention that my blue eyes looked glossy and distant.
I knew it had been a reasonable resolution to avoid him. I should have told him to leave me alone. I didn't want to be a mess anymore.
Six
Dancing with Wesley was fun and easy, although he was a terrible dancer. That boy had not a rhythmic muscle in his body, but he kept twirling me around and around while he shouted some terribly wrong lyrics along to every Spanish song that came on.
Other than the fact that we were always a foot apart instead of grinding our bodies against each other, there was not much difference to clubbing. The lights were low, the music loud, the drinks overpriced, and the girls wore skimpy dresses and deep frowns.
“I need something to drink,” Wes yelled close to my ear.
I nodded and signaled to Sierra and Marcus, her very handsome and very in-his-forties husband, that we were heading for the bar. Wes wrapped my arm around his and towed me through the tight crowd towards the bar that was decorated with all sorts of exotic flowers. I tugged on a waxy leave to see if they were real. It came off. Crap . I hoped nobody had seen that. I shoved the plastic leave into my skirt's pocket and tried to look as innocent as possible.
“Here you go.” Wes turned around, grinning widely over two blue cocktails.
I eyed the Blue Hawaii extended to me. “I don't drink.”
“Oh, right, you have to wait until you're 21 in America, right? You can try it, though. It's not that strong.”
“No, I mean, yes, technically you have to wait, but I don't generally drink alcohol.” He seemed irritated, at loss with an extra drink in his hands. I smiled apologetically and shrugged. “I'm sorry. I should have told you.”
“No, no, it’s okay. Maybe Sierra wants this one.”
“Or you could try to pick up a girl with it. I’m pretty sure most girls like having cocktails bought for them.”
Wesley’s eyes immediately darted to the other end of the bar. I didn’t have to turn around to know he was staring at some chick with a short skirt and high heels.
“Are you sure?” He asked, still focused on his target.
“Yes. Go. You’re a handsome, nice guy who deserves someone special.”
“Thanks, Tony.” He didn’t leave without the kiss on my hair that I was slowly getting used to. But once that was done, he maneuvered off.
I sat down on a stool and tried to keep track of his head of side-swept hair. It was fairly easy since the men in his family were all tall enough to stand out in a crowd. I ordered a
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