On His Face - Tabatha Kiss Page 0,26

finished?”

Jenna drops the act and laughs. “By tomorrow morning, you’ll have him eating out of your palm like a loyal puppy. I’m not judging. In fact, I respect you more for it.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” I say. “I’m only going to this party because Seth and I want to start fresh. I probably won’t even say a word to Drew.”

“Heidi, a woman can look at a man, ask him upstairs, and have his pants off without ever muttering a single word. At that point, it’s recommended to provide some instruction. A clit doesn’t find itself, unfortunately.”

I snort. “Do you believe everything you say?”

“Does water believe it’s wet? Facts are facts, honey.”

“Well, facts are facts and Drew and I are friends linked only by our mutual relationships with Seth and friends is all we shall ever be.”

Jenna stares at me for an extra long moment. “Sorry,” she says with a twitch. “I immediately tune out bullshit. What were you saying?”

A car honks outside. Then, again. And again.

I make note of the time. Sundown. “That’s probably them,” I say.

Jenna slides off the bed. “Just don’t be surprised when I’m right,” she says, poking me one last time in the doorway before exiting the room.

I don’t say a word. The last thing I need is to give her more opportunities to dispense her advice.

I step into my sandals and I pause by the mirror, taking one last look, but that quickly becomes three or four last looks.

“I’m not charmingly coy,” I mutter to myself.

With a sigh, I grab my sketchbook off the desk and make my way into the living room. Jenna has sheathed herself in her cover-up, one made of sheer black fabric that leaves everything visible anyway, but I’m not about to argue with something that was clearly done on purpose.

We step out together onto the porch where another round of honks greets us. Seth revs the engine on his orange truck, the carriage filled with coolers that I must assume are stocked with as much booze as possible. Drew sticks his head out the passenger window and slaps the outside of the door.

“Beach party!” they both shout. “Beach party!”

“Let’s go!” Drew shouts.

Seth honks some more. “Come on!”

I laugh as the shouts and honks intensify. Jenna and I approach the truck and Drew hangs out the open passenger door to give us room to squeeze into the back seat.

“Watch your step,” he says, offering his hand to Jenna.

“Thank you,” she says as she hoists herself up and slides in.

Drew turns to me and extends his hand. I reach up, desperately trying not to make eye contact with him as I try to pull myself in.

My sandal slips on the edge of the truck. I gasp as I fall backward, my mind flashing with all the various outcomes of this — all of which include me eating shit on the concrete.

Drew’s arm wraps around my back. “Whoa!” he says. He keeps his footing, somehow holding both of us up with one hand clinging to the roof. “You okay?”

Dammit. Of course.

Of course, this happened.

I look up at him, our faces only a few inches apart. “Yeah, I’m okay,” I say.

Those deep green eyes. That dimpled chin. That wicked smile.

Help.

Seth honks again. “Beach party!”

I snap out of it, quickly shuffling into the back seat. “You know, we have neighbors,” I scold Seth as I sit down with Jenna.

“And I’m sure they’re all very sad they can’t come.” Seth waits for Drew to hop back in and close the door. “Everybody buckled in?” he asks.

“Yes,” we all say as we strap in.

“Excellent.”

The wheels squeal loudly as he floors it down Shanty Row.

Jenna nudges my ribs, but I fight the urge to look at her and give her the satisfaction.

Facts are facts.

Water is wet.

And Drew and I aren’t friends.

We travel along the coast for at least thirty minutes. My gut rumbles the entire time. Sure, it’s more than a little awkward being confined to a vehicle with a guy you’ve made out with before, especially when your older brother (his best friend) is there picking fights with his self-appointed arch nemesis (your best friend).

“You are by far the worst driver I’ve ever seen,” Jenna says.

“Complaint acknowledged,” Seth says, obviously not caring.

“And this song sucks. Is there anything you can do correctly?”

“Okay.” Seth raises a hand, but keeps his eyes forward. “You can insult my driving, but you cannot insult this tune.”

“I can, I did, and I will again. Change it.”

“No.”

“It’s awful. How can you stand