Blind Kiss(28)

I smiled. “That’s exciting.” Damn it, is he going to talk about science-y stuff now? Maybe I should’ve stuck with Ling.

“So I created this really unstable environment and introduced these microorganisms, just to see if I could sustain them for any length of time. I mean, of course I had to provide energy sources. . . .”

I quietly chugged the beer as he went on. “I was shocked when I discovered an organism I hadn’t introduced myself, and I . . .”

During Lance’s lengthy explanation of his project, I got my hands on something stronger: a bottle of tequila. Thirty minutes, and several shots later, I was fully drunk. My eyes roamed around the party, looking for a way out.

Oh yes! Here comes Ling to save me!

“Ling! This is my friend, Lance! Have you two met?”

She gave me a weird look. “Why are you shouting?”

“I’m just excited to seeeee you! Meet Lance!”

She cocked her head to the side and appraised him, then fully turned to me. “So this is your type?”

“What?” I said.

She leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Are you into this guy? I didn’t think he was your type.”

I jerked my head back and scowled. I leaned forward and whisper-shouted, “No way! I’m not into annnnnyone. I’m shingle.” I realized I was slurring and so did Ling.

She whipped her head around, looked at Lance, and then back at me. “Let’s go, Penny. You need to call it. You’ve had a long day.”

“Call who? Why? No I jusss fine. Ima goood.”

Ling was glaring at Lance. “Did you roofie her?”

He held his hand to his chest. “Are you kidding? No! I would never. I’m not even sure how she’s so drunk—she’s had, like, one beer and a couple shots.”

Ling glared at him even harder. “She’s a dancer, genius. She’s probably a total lightweight.”

I could see Lance blushing through my double vision. “She can come to my apartment on the third floor and sleep it off. I live in this building.”

“Um . . . noooo,” Ling said. “I’m calling her dad.”

“I’m standing riiiight here!” I yelled. “Ima big girl. I can take care of myself.”

Everything about the next hour was a blur. I remember being back in Ling’s apartment, and her trying to comfort me as I cried. She fed me a Hot Pocket and I threw it up in her bathtub. She gave me water and I threw that up, too. She threatened to call my dad and I begged her not to. She tried to lead me to the couch but her cat had pooped on it.

Finally, I felt warm arms around me. “P, I’m gonna take you to my place, okay? You’re safe.”

“No, Gavin. I can’t go with you. We’re jusss friends.” He was holding me up near Ling’s front door.

“Maybe I should take you home then. Your parents will probably be worried if you don’t come home, right?”

“Nooo, they don’t care. They only care about Kikiiii.” I pinched his arm.

“Ow!”

“No funny business!” I said.

He laughed. “No offense, but you have puke on your shirt and you’re about to pass out. That’s not really my thing.”

It was weird that his admission hurt my feelings, but it also made me like him even more. I passed out in the car. I don’t know how I got into his second-story apartment, or into his bed. All I know is that when I woke up the next morning, I was in one of his T-shirts and nothing else . . . and my hair was damp. Did he give me a bath? Did he see me naked? The sun was blasting me through the window, cooking my already injured brain with its Vita radiation.

Oh my God.

As I looked around, the only male in sight was Mike’s dog, Jackie Chan, at the foot of the bed, staring back at me.

“Hello, Jackie Chan.”

He cocked his head to the side.

“Did you strip me down and give me a shower?”

He cocked his head to the other side.

“Gavin!” I yelled.

A moment later, he was in the doorway, shirtless, wearing flannel pants. He grabbed the molding above the door and leaned into the room, showing off his ridiculous body. I could tell he had nothing on under his pajama bottoms.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said.

I sat up and leaned against the headboard, crossing my arms over my flat chest. “I’m completely naked under this T-shirt . . . your T-shirt.”

“I’m painfully aware of that.” He glanced down at his crotch and back up to me, smirking.

“Please wipe that smirk off your face. I said no funny business. What happened last night?”

“Well, little firecracker, here’s the whole story. I carried you into my apartment; you finally woke up and punched me in the chest about twelve times. Then you proceeded to strip off all of your clothes and throw them at me—at which point I tried to cover you with a blanket, but you tore that off, too. I did see every inch of your magnificent body, but that was all your doing—not that I minded. I begged you to take a shower, which you begrudgingly did, while I sat outside the door. Afterward, I went in with my eyes shut and toweled off your ungrateful but perky ass, and then put a T-shirt on you. You tried to kiss me about six times, so I threw you over my shoulder, gave your bare butt a little swat, and then threw you into my bed. You begged me to make love to you—your words, not mine—but I told you ‘no way.’ I covered you with a blanket and then ten seconds later you were asleep.” He smirked.