The Golden Lily (Bloodlines #2)(67)

"I took the bus," he said, almost proudly. "A lot easier getting here than to Carlton." Carlton College was where he took art classes, and without his own transportation, he'd come to rely heavily on mass transit - something he'd never done before in his life.

I'd been hoping Sonya or Dimitri had dropped him off - meaning they'd pick him up again.

But of course that wouldn't happen. Neither one of them would have brought a drunken Adrian here. "So I guess I have to take you home then," I said.

"Hey, I got myself here. I'll get myself home." He started to take out a cigarette, and I gave him a stern headshake.

"Don't," I said sharply. With a shrug, he put the pack away. "And I have to take you home.

It's going to storm soon. I'm not going to make you walk in the rain." Another flash of lightning emphasized my words, and a faint breeze stirred the fabric of my dress.

"Hey," he said, "I don't want to be an incon - "

"Sydney?" Brayden came striding across the parking lot. "Everything okay?" No, not really. "I'm going to have to leave for a little bit," I said. "I have to give my brother a ride home. Will you be okay waiting? It shouldn't be that long." I felt bad even suggesting it.

Brayden didn't really know anyone at my school. "Maybe you could find Trey?"

"Sure," said Brayden uncertainly. "Or I can come with you."

"No," I said quickly, not wanting him and drunken Adrian in the car. "Just go back and have fun."

"Nice toga," Adrian told Brayden.

"It's a chiton," said Brayden. "It's Greek."

"Right. I forgot that was tonight's theme." Adrian gave Brayden an appraising look, glanced over at me, and then turned back to Brayden. "So. What do you think of our girl's ensemble tonight? Pretty amazing, huh? Like Cinderella. Or maybe a Greek Cinderella."

"There's really not much about it that's truly Greek," said Brayden. I winced. I knew he didn't mean to be insensitive, but his words stung a little. "The dress is historically inaccurate.

I mean it's a very nice dress, but the jewelry's anachronistic, and the fabric's nothing that ancient Greek women would have had. Certainly not that color either."

"What about those other Greek women?" asked Adrian. "The flashy smart ones." His forehead wrinkled, as though it were taking every ounce of his brain to come up with the word he wanted. And, to my astonishment, he did. "The hetaerae." I honestly hadn't believed he'd retained anything from our conversation in San Diego. I tried not to smile.

"The hetaerae?" Brayden was even more astonished than I was. He gave me a scrutinizing look. "Yes... yes. I suppose - if such materials were hypothetically possible in that era - that this is something you'd expect to see find on a hetaera instead of the average Greek matron."

"And they were prostitutes, right?" asked Adrian. "These hetaerae?"

"Some were," agreed Brayden. "Not all. I think the usual term is courtesan." Adrian was completely deadpan. "So. You're saying my sister's dressed like a prostitute." Brayden eyed my dress. "Well, yes, if we're still speaking in hypothetical - "

"You know what?" I interrupted. "We need to go. It's going to rain any minute now. I'll take Adrian home and meet you back here, okay?" I refused to let Adrian continue to play whatever game he had going to torment Brayden - and, by extension, me. "I'll text you when I'm on my way back."

"Sure," said Brayden, not looking very sure at all.

He left, and I started to get into the car until I noticed Adrian trying - and failing - to open the passenger side door. With a sigh, I walked over and opened it for him. "You're drunker than I thought," I said. "And I thought you were pretty drunk." He managed to get his body into the seat, and I returned to my own side just as raindrops splashed on my windshield. "Too drunk for Jailbait to feel," he said. "The bond's numb. She can have an Adrian-free night."

"That was very thoughtful of you," I said. "Though I'm guessing that's not the real reason you were hitting the bottle. Or why you came here. As far as I can tell, all you've accomplished is to mess with Brayden."

"He called you a prostitute."

"He did not! You baited him into that."

Adrian ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the window, watching the rapidly unfolding storm outside. "Doesn't matter. I've decided I don't like him."

"Because he's too smart?" I said. I remembered Jill and Eddie's earlier comments. "And unmemorable?"

"Nah. I just think you can do better."

"How?"

Adrian had no answer, and I had to ignore him for a bit as my attention shifted to the road.

Storms, while infrequent, could come up fast and furious in Palm Springs. Flash floods weren't uncommon, and the rain was now pouring down in sheets, making visibility difficult. Fortunately, Adrian didn't live that far away. That was a double blessing because, when we were a couple blocks from his apartment, he said: "I don't feel so well."

"No," I moaned. "Please, please do not get sick in my car. We're almost there." A minute or so later, I pulled up at the curb outside his building. "Out. Now." He obeyed, and I followed with an umbrella for myself. Glancing over at me as we walked to the building, he asked, "We live in a desert, and you keep an umbrella in your car?"