And I wasn’t attracted to Jasmine like that either, at first. That’s not what happened. I don’t reallyknowwhat happened. But I wasn’t staring into her eyes like I am now, looking at her lips like I am now, remembering the feel of her skin on mine like I am now. It wasn’t anything until it was, and then it wasn’t, and now…
Now I am staring at The Spot on her neck and I cannot fucking stop.
I know exactly the sound she’ll make if I touch my tongue to it. If I suck gently on it. If I suck not-so-gently on it. I can hear it in the vestiges of my brain and it’s sending unwelcome waves of electricity right through my leather shorts.
I know the sound she’ll make and I know what it does to me and she knows what it does to me and what to do next. Like a faraway dream I see exactly how this night can progress if we just shut her goddamn door and forget that there’s an outside world, that there’s a party downstairs and a boy at that party who’s supposed to be the only one who makes me feel like this.
“We should go downstairs,” she says, her voice hoarse. “People will be wondering where we are.”
People. Shannon. Gia. Kiki the Detective.
Chase.
“Yeah,” I say. I sound just as hoarse. And I don’treally want to go downstairs. But staying here isn’t an option. I wait for her to leave, but she doesn’t.
So I do.
“There you are!” Chase finds me as soon as I make it downstairs, and despite my libido having gone into overdrive with Jasmine, the smile that lights up his face makes my stomach do a very familiar flip. God, I am a terrible person. A terrible, horny person. “I thought I lost you. Everything OK?”
I can feel Jasmine’s eyes on us, watching as he rests a hand comfortably on my back as if there’s always been a space for him. In a way, I guess there has. She wasn’t there for my full-on gushing about him to our OBX friends, but she knows exactly who he is.
Suddenly, my skin feels prickly and itchy and I need to get out of her line of vision. “I’m fine,” I assure him. “Or I will be once I get your ass on the dance floor.”
He laughs. “Lead the way, madam.”
When I’m sure she can no longer see us, I relax, moving my body along with his to the music. His hands are firm and warm on my hips, and I feel other people watching, sizing up the situation. But I’ll take a thousand eyes of Stratford onlookers over two of Jasmine’s intense, inquisitive ones any day.
“Shamir special?” Two deeply tanned hands extend red Solo cups our way, and I see they’re attached to Shamir Ben-Dror, who fancies himself an amateur bartender but only makes anything remotely potable about forty percent of the time. I think about accepting oneanyway, but things already feel so loaded. I’m afraid I’ll do something even more stupid than I almost did upstairs if I get a drink into my system.
“I’ll pass, but thanks.” I look at Chase. “Feel free to help yourself. I’m happy to be designated driver if you trust me with your keys. You should be celebrating.”
He grins, and it’s too freaking adorable. “You are a very cool girl, Larissa Bogdan. I’ll take one of those, Shamir, my man.”
“Bottoms up!” says Shamir, and he hands Chase a cup. They clink their drinks, and I watch Chase down his and look like he’s gonna puke. While I pray vomit isn’t in my future, it’d probably be worth it to hear “You are a very cool girl, Larissa Bogdan” over and over again in my dreams.
Never mind it’s Jasmine who taught me how much it can mean to offer to be DD.
I am definitely not thinking about that.
I am not thinking about her at all.
Chapter Five
I get home fifteen minutes after my midnight curfew, but the deal is as long as I text before twelve to say I’m fine and running late, I’m OK. I’d texted at a quarter to, when it was obvious that driving a plastered Chase home in his car with Shannon following in hers to bring me home afterward wasn’t going to be without time delays, so I’m in the clear. But when I let myself inside and find my mom up and waiting on the living room couch, I worry that I’ve misstepped.
I’m even more concerned when she asks, “How was Jasmine’s party?” as soon as I close the door behind me.
“Good,” I say cautiously, positive I never told her exactly what I was doing tonight. “How’d you know it was Jasmine’s party?”
My mom has a very knowing smile that I absolutely hate, and there it is. “You think she planned that whole thing on her own in a single week? Please.”
“Ugh.” I drop onto the other end of the couch andpry off my strappy sandals. “You being involved in my social life to that extent is officially weird.”
“But it was a good party, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” I grudgingly admit. I should’ve guessed my mom had something to do with it when I spotted the pickle-flavored potato chips. My mom is always trying to make those happen. She’s convinced if people justtriedthem, they’d fall in love. So far, she’s converted exactly no one. I’m pretty sure that bowl was still seventy-five percent full when I left, and I’d eaten most of it. What can I say? I’ve gotten used to the taste. My mom loves pickledeverythingand her Russian genes run strong. “But it would’ve been better at Hunter Ferris’s house.”
“Because I wouldn’t have had anything to do with it?”
