Love Blind (4 page)

Her eyes drooped farther. This was a drug-induced droop. Probably for the best.

She'd be asleep before I got home, which maybe meant I
had a few extra minutes tonight, or hours. With her car. A car she barely ever lent me.

After the day I'd had, and the headache that had only begun to fade, I figured I deserved something different. I could do different. Maybe. And maybe my bruised face would mean I'd be left alone for a while.

I slipped into Mom's car, her list in one pocket and her keys in the other. From this point, I could go anywhere. Just drive. Leave. I wouldn't, of course. Too afraid of too many things. But the
possibility
of a world being so open?

I might want something different.

Problem was there were no sure ways to get anything different without fucking it up along the way.

E
ven though the Irish bar where the concert was said the age limit was going to be enforced at the door, I figured eventually I'd be able to sneak under their stupid rope and past the few randomly placed bouncers.

Mira was home, unsuccessful in her efforts to get out of being grounded, which was fine with me. Tess tended to glom on to her when we were all together, both feeding off each other in their cute-guy quest, and I ended up playing the third wheel. Pissed me off.

Besides, hanging with one emo girl all in black was enough for me.

The room was dark enough that Tess would disappear if she moved more than a few feet away, but I could see the stage, I knew the direction of the door, and that was enough.

I'd gotten used to not having the specifics of my surroundings, but new places were still tricky. I could find a wall when I needed to get reoriented. All part of the “coping skills” that came from the few group sessions the moms had dragged me to for kids with “optical issues.” The bullshit language really didn't do anything for me. I'd rather them say,
Let us tell you how to organize your life before you go blind and it gets a lot harder
.

The opening band was a group of locals I'd never heard before. Delayed. I didn't know if they realized their name immediately put them on the small bus, or if it was supposed to have some double meaning about getting laid that I didn't understand.

Regardless, they were good. Really good. Like killer-lead-guitarist good. I adjusted my glasses a million times but still couldn't make out much more than a few tattoos, crazy blond hair, and forms with guitars on the stage. That was the beautiful part about music, though—you didn't have to see to enjoy it. All you had to do was be smart enough to really let it in.

Bodies jostled. People cussed as they cheered. Tess got lost under the arm of some loser she was making googly eyes at, and I ran a hand through my hair, fluffing it up a bit to get some air. Maybe I should have let Rox braid it up—I mean, I'd been braiding my own hair forever, but she did designs with braids, and it gave her a bit of a mom thrill at the same
time. A bead of sweat had already formed on my brow, but no one would even notice if I started to stink in here. Too many bodies. Too much buzzing energy. Too much drinking, sweating, and screaming.

Portugal. The Man took the stage, and nothing but stomping started their first song. I jumped up and down with half the crowd to stomp as loud as I could in Rox's old Frye boots, glad I'd thought to ask her for them. I might even start trading my Converse out for the knee-high kicks once in a while.

“You like?” A male voice made my heart jump a beat.

I turned to see one of the black-T-shirted bouncers. Talking. To me.

“Love.” I laughed.

He wasn't one of the huge guys. If you weren't a huge guy and got hired as a bouncer, you could kick some serious ass. A lesson learned from Rox, who grew up in rock 'n' roll bars. The veins stood out on his arms, and I'd bet you couldn't find a pinch of fat on him—which I sorta wanted to try. His hair was almost military short, which added to his tough-guy image and made me want to run my palms over his head to feel the hairs pricking into my skin. So, yeah. Hot.

“Cool glasses. Green. Festive.” His bright blue eyes shined in the dim light.

“To match my bra.” I pulled the strap from under my tee, glad Tess had helped me dress.

“No. I already noticed that.” He smiled a row of perfectly imperfect teeth. White but not totally even.

Flutters in my stomach. For the guy. The one who had to be at least five years older. Maybe more.

“So I'm supposed to be on that side of the room.” The side that would show I was twenty-one. Older. Legal. Not in high school. I leaned close to see if he'd let me through.

His arm immediately went up with the rope so I could slide under, and maybe accidentally on purpose touch my back to his stomach. Which I did.

“Can I get you a drink?” he yelled in my ear. “We're allowed two drinks, as long as we drink them at the line.”

I didn't even pause because while I wasn't looking for it, I also wasn't stupid. Hot older guy. That's major image cred in high school. Smoke and mirrors, just like being in a band, but whatever.

“Yeah. A beer?” I asked.

“Don't move. I'll be right back.” He leaned in way closer than he needed to for his answer. He smelled musky. Like man. Not like boy. Man.

Score one for Hailey Bosler.

Portugal. The Man was three songs in by the time he made it back. Tess was now at the base of the stage with her new lackey, and I screamed when the band told me to scream, and stomped when they told me to stomp.

After three shots and two beers, I was also dancing with
Chaz. Yes. Chaz. My back to his chest, and his hand occasionally resting low on my stomach. Though he was supposed to be working, so I stepped away a few times to not make our closeness too obvious.

The night was turning out pretty damn perfect.

Except my phone buzzed in a text. And I had to pee. And I had no idea where the bathrooms were. And I definitely wasn't going to admit to this hot bouncer guy that I couldn't see far enough to catch a glimpse of the restroom sign.

I leaned back, pressing us together again. “I gotta take off pretty soon.”

“Hey,” Chaz yelled in my ear, pulling me even closer.

I turned, and he slid his arm low on my back until our stomachs touched. The room floated. I floated. His lips were so close.

What if he kissed me and I screwed it up?

No. No way. How hard could it be? Millions of dumbasses kissed every day.

“My boss is giving me the evil eye, and you're taking off, so how do I call you?”

I pulled out my phone, even though there was less space between us. “Give me your number.”

He dialed in his number, and I hit send, then saved a blindly thumbed-in approximation of his name to my list.

“That's how you get me.” I let my lips brush against his ear.
My boobs pressed into his chest, his hips pushed up against mine. Damn, I was brave.

“ ‘Get you.' I like that.”

I was close enough to see the corner of his mouth pull up in a smirk.

Without meaning to, I leaned in, and he closed the distance. His mouth crushed against mine, tasting like beer and a hint of barbecue, and feeling like something sexy, forbidden, and perfect with my night—really frickin' perfect. Wow. Kiss. Chaz. Tongues. Hands. Stomachs, chests, hips together. He pulled away too fast.

“See you soon, Hailey. Can't wait to see what glasses you wear next time.” Only his eyes were on my chest. Not my face. I laughed, buzzing from the booze, the kiss, and another item to cross off my list.

Tongue-kissing.

As I pushed through the crowd, my stomach rolled, and I still had to pee, and I didn't see Tess, and my phone buzzed again.

Chaz was chatting with an enormous guy also in a black bouncer shirt, and I scanned the crowd for Tess, but there was no way I was going to find her and her stupid black hair in the dark. I needed air.
Out.
I could call her from the sidewalk. Or the bathroom.

I stumbled toward where I was pretty sure the door was, but it was even darker moving away from the stage than toward it. People were still yelling the songs with the band, and standing,
jumping, shoving. I used my arms to guard my chest, but all the moving bodies made it even harder to get around. I hated my eyes. Hated that I was going blind. Hated that something as simple as finding a bathroom was a process. The whole night might make it onto my list.

I bumped into a familiar chest on the underage side of the room, standing against the wall.
Holy unexpected shit.

“Acquaintance Kyle?” What the hell was he doing here?

“Uh . . .”

“Where's the bathroom? No. The door? No. The bathroom?” My body swam, only it was more wobbly swimming than the floaty, happy kind.

“Bathrooms are closer.” His voice was barely loud enough for me to hear over the music.

“Which way?”

He pointed.

“Okay.” I grabbed his arm. “Is the first door the ladies', or the second door?” In the dark, I'd probably have to stand there and squint for a moment. I wasn't into looking like an idiot in front of the bathrooms.

I expected a smart remark. Or a smile. Or a tease.

Nothing.

Relief.

“The first one.”

“Thank you. So much.” I put a hand on each of his narrow shoulders. “Can you stand here and wait for me for a sex? Sec?
Please?” When did words get so hard to form? When did my tongue get so sloppy? Tequila messed with my head a lot more than beer.

He nodded.

Perfect.

I stumbled toward the bathroom, glad he knew which was the ladies', and pulled out my phone as soon as I got inside. The lighting was no better in there. I couldn't see to get to the place in my phone that let me send texts.

Oh.
I clutched my stomach as it rolled over.

Eleven twenty. Shit and back, I was in deep trouble.

No time for pee. No time for Tess. I needed home. Now.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket as I followed the wall back to Acquiesce Kyle. No. Action Kyle. No. Hilarious. I was laughing so hard when I reached him that I almost forgot what I needed. My stomach knotted up with each shake. And then my gut flipped over.
Oh, no.

“Okay. I need out.” I clutched Kyle's shoulder again as my stomach whirled.

He said nothing. Did nothing.

“Never mind.” I didn't want to bother him, but the fear was that I needed someone just to find the door. Tears threatened my eyes, but no way was I going to cry on the awesomeness of this night. Just a door. Just a bar.

Kyle obviously didn't want to leave. Fine. Whatever.

I pushed past him, stumbled along the wall and then out
the door. Ah . . . night air. Cool air. The music still vibrated in my head. I ran my hands through my hair over and over, only it didn't feel right. Like my hands were tingly and my head was sort of floaty, and . . .

“Are you okay?” Kyle appeared next to me.

“Yeah. No worries. I'm totally fine,” I said the second before I threw up all over his shoes.

O
hmyGod, I'm so sorry,” she said for the thirty-fifth time. “I've never done that before. I'm so
sorry
.”

“It's okay,” I mumbled back for the thirty-fifth time. I was driving her home. Missing the rest of the set of the best band I'd heard in ages, in a place I'd never usually have had the courage to walk into, to drive a drunk girl home.

“I'll buy you new shoes. I swear. What size are you? I feel terrible. I'm such an asshole.” She sucked in a short breath. “But I'm done puking. I mean, I feel way better now, so your car is totally safe.”

Great.

My shoes were in the
GO GREEN
cloth bag I was supposed to use for groceries. Driving barefoot wasn't exactly the easiest, but it was better than dealing with the smell.

“Your eye?” She touched the small scrape left from the dickheads at our school.

I jerked away. “Slipped. No big.”

“I'm such an asshole. What's your shoe size?” she asked again.

She'd been talking endlessly since the minute she'd puked. It was like all the vomit had uncorked some sort of plug and now she wouldn't shut up. Which, in truth, was sort of cute.

“How come you didn't have that guy take you home?” I asked between breaks in her monologue. It was easier to talk knowing she wouldn't remember any of it.

“Chaz?”

“Whatever. The bouncer.”

For a second, a smile lit her face and a part of me felt incredibly jealous of a poseur named
Chaz.
I wanted to put a smile like that on her face. On anyone's face, really.

“Well, the obvious reason is he's still working, and of course, there're my moms,” she said, her voice definitely more sober than when she'd first bumped into me. “But also, we kinda ended the night perfectly, you know? And I didn't want to screw it up.”

“So he gets perfect and I get puke. Classic.”

She laughed in her raspy way. “You're funny, Acquaintance Kyle. It's nice to hear you talk. You should do that more often.”

No one had ever said that to me before. Even my own mom.

I grunted.

“Ack. Don't grunt. Don't be like all those guys. Either talk or don't, but for the love of cheese, don't grunt.”

“Kinda hard to get a word in edgewise with you tonight.”

She snorted. Slapped her hand against the dashboard of Mom's car. The car Mom told me to run her errands in.

“Your voice is nice,” Hailey said. “Low but not weird low. Smooth. It's kind of hot. How come you don't deejay?”

Kind of hot. Oh, God.
Too many synapses firing and misfiring. Too many fantasies clogging up the works. Which was fucking idiotic: she'd
just
been kissing another dude.