Robin Constantine - The Promise of Amazing

Grayson was already pouring something from what looked like a wine bottle into a drink shaker when I broke through the crowd. He added vodka and put on the top.

“You made it,” he said, shaking it vigorously over his shoulder.

That mouth.

Had been.

On mine.

“Yeah, pretty crazy.”

“Andy’s house always is,” he said, placing the shaker on the bar and leaning below. He pulled out a few shot glasses and poured the purple liquid from the shaker. He pushed one of the glasses toward me. It had a picture of the Three Stooges on it. I brought it up to my face and sniffed, which Grayson found funny.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Absolut and acai berry.”

“You lost me at Absolut.”

“Tiff sells this stuff by the case. Acai-berry juice. Supposed to be like megavitamins, boosts your immune system. So half of this shot is good for you, and the other half not so good. Kind of like us,” he said, raising his glass.

Us.

The shot was smooth and sweet. Warmth spread through my chest as it went down. I ran my tongue along my bottom lip, trying not to react to the tart berry flavor. Grayson leaned in closer, resting his chin on his hand.

“So. What did you think?” he asked.

“Of what? The drink?” I teased, pushing the shot glass toward him.

He rolled his eyes. “Of the band. Of me.”

The first thought that came to mind was I think everything about you is amazing, Grayson Barrett, but I wasn’t about to share it with him. Instead I leaned back and shrugged.

“Damn, Wren. Nothing?” he asked, reaching into the fridge and pulling out an orange Gatorade and some water. He cracked open the cap on the bottle of water and handed it to me.

“I thought we were pretty good, considering we haven’t practiced in months,” he said, taking a gulp of Gatorade.

“Do you want to know what I really think?” I asked, feeling brave from Maddie’s pep talk.

He leaned on the bar again, curious. “Um, yeah.”

What was I doing? My thoughts raced. The word brainathiminal popped into my head, and I laughed. Grayson waited. I picked at the label on my water bottle. “I think you’re so . . . well . . . you’re smart, you play the drums, you play lacrosse. Seriously, what don’t you do?”

A slow smile crept across his face. “I never told you I played lacrosse.”

Snagged.

“Well, so, I did some info digging. Same way you found me, right?”

“If you want to know anything about me, just ask.”

There was so much I didn’t know about him. Where to start? Logan’s comment about Gray always being with the prettiest girls? God, no. What made him kiss me the other day? Did he want to kiss me now? Were we just friends?

“This,” I said, touching his piercing lightly. He seemed vulnerable there. “Did it hurt?”

“That was sort of the point,” he said, closing his eyes, leaning into my hand. My fingers took on a life of their own, moving through his hair. I didn’t care that I didn’t know much about him. All that mattered was this. Now. Giving into the overwhelming urge to press my lips against his again.

As if he read my mind, he opened his eyes, closed the space between us . . .

“Barrett, where’ve you been?”

We snapped out of our trance, brought back to Andy’s house by a tall boy who stood a few inches away. Grayson stood up, arms straight, hands firmly on the bar.

“Luke. What’s up?”

My eyes were drawn to the boy’s mouth. His upper lip was slightly fuller than the bottom, giving the impression that he was frowning. Deep-set hazel eyes held mine more intimately than was called for, but it somehow felt impolite to look away.

“Grayson, aren’t you going to introduce me to your girl?” he asked, leaning on his elbow against the bar.

“This is Wren,” Grayson said. “And she’s not my girl. Just a friend.”

My breath locked up. How quickly he said it. I tried not to flinch but felt hot with shame. Hadn’t we just been connecting? Or was it my imagination? Not that a shot and me running my fingers through his hair meant I was his girl, but it meant we were . . . something, didn’t it?

The corner of Luke’s mouth upturned, eyes still on mine. Chin-length golden-brown hair framed what should have been a pleasant face. All the right parts were there, but there was something unnerving and charged about him.

“Luke Dobson,” he said, nodding slightly.

“We went to Saint Gabe’s together,” Grayson added.

“Bro, we went to Saint Gabe’s together?” Luke said, turning toward Gray. His shoulder brushed against mine, sending a shiver through me. He bowed his head like he was about to tell me a juicy secret.

“Wren, don’t let him fool you. We were besties with testes. C’mon, fix me up with one of those, Grayson,” he said, tilting his chin toward the drink shaker. Grayson pressed his lips together as if he didn’t want to laugh, but he chuckled anyway. He freshened up the batch of Absolut and acai while Luke and I watched him.

He poured three shots and pushed two toward us. I reached for mine. I didn’t even want it, but I had the feeling not taking it would mean something.

Luke held out his glass. “In vino veritas.”

We clinked our glasses together. Luke downed his before I even had the shot to my lips. I could feel his eyes on me as the Absolut and acai slipped down my throat. The same warmth filled my chest, but the mood was different. I placed the glass back on the bar and met his penetrating gaze, feeling self-conscious but not wanting to show it.

“So do you always get so close to your friends?” he asked.

“What?”

“You and Grayson seemed pretty chummy a moment ago. I was just wondering if that’s how you are with all of your friends?”

“Luke, get out of her face,” Grayson said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

He looked at Gray’s hand, then at me. “Dude, just talking. Maybe I want to be Wren’s friend too,” he said, eyes moving from my mouth back to my eyes.

“Ava’s trying to get your attention,” Grayson said, pointing. My eyes swept across the room to my favorite Sacred Heart schoolmate, Ava. She wore an oversize, metallic flower in her hair, which she pulled off as chic. Her face lit up when she spotted Grayson and Luke, but the moment she saw me between them, she frowned. The expression on her face read, OMG, WTF are you with them? If it weren’t for the weird encounter that had just taken place, I might have enjoyed her reaction more. She gestured for Luke to come over.

“Ah, she can’t let me out of her sight for long,” Luke said to me. “Dude. I need to talk to you later.” He pushed off the bar and pointed at Grayson, then snaked his way through the crowd. The whole scene left me feeling confused. Grayson put a hand on my shoulder.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“That,” he answered, “was about Luke.”

I wanted to ask him to elaborate when Jazz sidled up to me. Grayson offered her a shot, but she shook her head vigorously.

“We need to get out of here. Now,” she whispered in my ear.

“Why? Did something happen with Logan?” I asked.

“No. I just . . . can’t do this . . . I have to leave,” she stated again.

Arguments filled my brain. We just got here! Grayson and I came this close to kissing again! One more set! But what did it matter? Truth was, I didn’t feel comfortable at all. Not with Luke. Or Ava. Or even Grayson. The way he’d thrown out the “friend” remark so quickly. And as I recognized others from school—girls who might ask for notes in class but would snub you in the hallway—I wanted to leave too.

“If you want to stay with Grayson, I understand, but I’m outie,” Jazz said. “I can pick up my stuff from your house tomorrow. I just had to sit through Darby Greene describing what she did to a guy in the bathroom. And by the way, if you stay, don’t use the bathroom.”

“No, let me just say good-bye to Grayson. We’ll go.”

“I’ll wait for you by the coats,” she said, heading toward the side door as quickly as the crowd allowed her.

Grayson was just finishing up a conversation with the guitar player. Unlike Luke, the guitar guy was an open book, loose and relaxed and holding out his knuckles to give me a fist bump.

“I’m Andy, little Caswell. Mi casa es su casa,” he said. A moment ago this would have been charming; now it felt forced. I knocked my knuckles against his before he walked away.

“Grayson, I have to go,” I said.

“What? Why? You just got here.”

“Jazz feels sick. I want to make sure she gets home okay.”

“Can you come back?” he asked, leaning on the counter like before.

“No,” I said, ignoring the tingle of regret I felt as his eyes darkened.

“Let me walk you out.” And before I could protest, he was behind me, his hand on the small of my back as he guided us toward the door. Jazz was in the laundry room, my coat in her hand, chatting with Logan. Grayson acknowledged him with a tilt of his chin. The lie I’d told about Jazz feeling sick was obvious. Grayson’s eyes told me he knew it too.

“Feel okay?” he asked her.

Jazz handed me my coat. “Oh . . . no, I feel a migraine coming on. If I don’t get out of here now, I’m going to be doubled over in pain.” Score one for friend telepathy.

“I keep telling her a beer will fix that right up,” Logan said, raising his bottle. His remark was met with tense silence. Logan nodded to Jazz, then skulked back to the party.

I put on my coat, and we climbed up the stairs.

“Grayson, the band was great,” Jazz said, leading the way down the dark alley.

“Glad you could enjoy it before the migraine hit.”

We emptied out onto the street. A light dusting of snow was already on the ground, and flakes seemed to be falling sideways on us.

“Jazz, would you mind if I talked to Wren for a moment? Alone?” he asked. She prodded me toward him.

“No problem. I’ll wait by the corner,” she said to me. “Bye, Grayson.”

We watched her walk toward the street lamp. Finally Grayson spoke.

“If Jazz has a migraine, then I have dengue fever,” he said, shrugging his shoulders against the cold. “Did I do something?”

“No, Grayson.”

“Then what is it? I thought we were having a good time,” he said.

“We were, I guess, then . . .” I trailed off, not knowing what to say. The truth made me sound pathetic.

“Come on, come back.”

“Gray, I suck at parties, okay? I thought I could deal, but it’s just not me.”

“Wren, it’s a party, not a pop quiz. What’s to deal with?”

How could he understand? He was the party.

“I don’t know half the people in there, and the people I do know I can’t stand.”

“And what half do I fit into?”

I toed the snow collecting at our feet. “Jazz wants to leave, and you’ll be playing another set soon, and then what would I do? Call me later if you want. Or I’ll just see you next week, at work,” I said, backing away from him.

“You’re sure we’re okay? You can get home all right?” he asked, stepping from one foot to the other.

“Yep. No worries.” I gave him an awkward wave and caught up to Jazz. What was I doing? Why was I walking away from him?

“Are you sure you want to leave? I’m fine leaving solo,” Jazz said, linking her arm through mine as we braced against the cold.

She’s not my girl. Just a friend.

“Yeah, totally.”

WAS I DESTINED TO WATCH WREN WALK AWAY?

Why couldn’t it always be like earlier tonight, when I saw her in the crowd? That smile. Pow, like an electric jolt from across the room. I’d had to concentrate on not losing my sticks, focus on the song, play for her. That smile made me feel like Keith fucking Moon.

The snow fell faster. I closed my eyes and let the flakes it my face. Part of me held out hope she’d change her mind and come back.

The other part of me was cold.

I walked back to Andy’s, trying to shake the feeling that I’d done some douche-bag thing to screw this up.

Things had been good . . . hadn’t they? Why didn’t I kiss her again? She was right there, in front of me. I could taste the sweetness of her breath, would have licked the acai from her bottom lip.

Until Luke and his besties with testes and in-your-face sociopathic stare conveniently got in the way. What was he up to?