Chasing Crazy - Kelly Siskind Page 0,21

his arm around my chair. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” Spin hair around finger. I read the chalkboard behind the bar, a self-serve setup that suits the relaxed vibe of weathered wooden tables, plastic white chairs, and Bob Marley melodies. I zero in on my single favorite food group: soup. I love soup. All soup. If it can be boiled, blended, and sucked through a straw, I freaking love it.

Bruno slaps the table. “Drinks first, food to follow. The usual?” He points at each of us.

Everyone nods except for me. I bite my lip. “Um, iced tea?”

Reese dismisses me with a wave. She likes to wave a lot. “Ignore her, Bruno. Make it a Long Island.”

He winks at her and heads to the bar.

Callum’s fingers glide over my shoulder, tracing slow circles. “Not much of a drinker, yeah?”

Giggle. Don’t giggle. Pout lips like Reese. “No. I’m just not used to drinking so much. Like every day.”

Excessive drinking appears to be another intrinsic part of any travel experience.

Lunch—drinks. Afternoon—drinks. Dinner—you guessed it, drinks.

I’m not sure if it’s the thrill of suddenly being legal, as eighteen is the drinking age in New Zealand, or if these people are early-stage mutants who need alcohol the way vampires need blood, but they’re all bright and chipper each morning, while I rock a headache. Each time I try to order iced tea, Reese does her waving thing and forces another cocktail down my throat. Definitely alcohol-fueled mutants.

Callum’s arm falls from my chair, and the next thing I know, his hand is resting on my thigh. He gives it a gentle squeeze. “You’ll get used to the drinking soon enough. We just need to train your liver. Back home, there’s a pub on every corner. We practically nurse on pints.”

Although his lips are moving and sounds are coming out, not a word registers. Not while his thumb glides back and forth along the thin fabric of my skirt. My body tenses. My mind blanks. I try to recall the flirty moves I practiced today, but this is like the big exam. All answers slip from my mind. Instead of leaning into him or touching him back, my knee jumps, and his hand slams into the rough-bottomed table.

“Fuck.” He cradles his knuckles and massages the chafed skin.

I just flunked Flirting 101.

Thankfully, Reese shoves back her chair, sashays over, and grabs my wrist. “Come to the bathroom. We’ll order food on the way.”

“Sorry,” I call to Callum as Reese, my savior, drags me to the counter.

* * *

Before we leave the bathroom, Reese takes her time in front of the mirror, pushing up her boobs and glossing her lips. When she says, “I almost hooked up with Sam last night,” my shoulder smacks into the hand dryer.

“Sam? What? Really?” I stammer as I rub my skin to dull the pain.

“Yeah, I mean, the guy’s gorgeous, right?”

“Mm, yeah, gorgeous.” I sigh. “Well, hot enough,” I add when she pauses, her lip gloss hovering above her bottom lip.

“So anyway,” she continues as she smacks her lips together, “he was seconds from kissing me.” She gestures to her face with the lip gloss wand. “His eyes got that sex look, you know? Hooded. Stupid hot. Anyway, he leans down, and I grab him by his belt loops.” She screws the pink lip gloss back together and deposits it in her clutch purse.

The way Sam watches Reese constantly, I’m not surprised he put the moves on her. I just don’t know why he sexed up my ear only to walk off. Still, it’s for the best. An actual kiss might have resulted in me punching him in the gut. “And?” I ask, breathless, wanting to live vicariously through her.

Safer for everyone involved.

She shrugs. “And the loser took off. Left me high and dry. I think there’s something wrong with him. Fucked-up maybe. Like he’s got a tiny dick, or, I don’t know, it doesn’t work? Anyway, Bruno’s been dropping mega-hints. Like constantly. I’m thinking I’ll let him seal the deal. Sam might be hot, but there’s something seriously off. Don’t you think?”

“For sure,” I say, strangely relieved they didn’t kiss.

She reties the end of her braid. “And Bruno has these great full lips.”

My mind is still on Sam, his tall frame leaning over me.

She stamps her foot. “Nina? Are you listening? Doesn’t Bruno have amazing lips?”

“Sorry.” Look pensive. “Yeah, totally. Good lips.” This is pretty much my tactic during any and all conversations with Reese. Agree with whatever she says, or ask questions to keep her