Page 67 of Eye of the Beholder

“It did,” I say. “I was…eleven? Twelve, maybe? I—wait a minute.” My eyes widen as I look at him. “You’re flirting with me. The compliment, the touch—you’re flirting!”

He laughs. “I knew you’d get there at some point. You’re overthinking it. Don’t make a list in your head. I know you; that will just stress you out. Just be nice, be sincere, and don’t hold back. If you’re thinking something nice about him, say it. Don’t worry about the rest.” His smile is kind but not patronizing, and his eyes are warm. For once he’s not teasing. “He’ll think you’re great when he gets to know you. You just have to be bold enough to let him.”

And suddenly I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from his. “Your eyes,” I find myself saying. “I like your eyes.”

He raises one eyebrow. “Yeah?”

I nod. “They’re dark, but up close they have sort of amber flecks in them. And your jaw.” And my hand, completely without my permission, is suddenly outstretched. I touch his jaw, and he stills. His eyes flit to my lips so briefly I can almost believe I’m imagining it. Then they dart back to my own, and they’re guarded now.

My hand is still moving of its own accord. My fingers drift to the scar that runs through his lips, to the little pull that disrupts the shape of his mouth. The scar is raised and white. I can’t take my eyes away, and I can feel his breath on my hand. “Does it ever hurt?” I ask softly.

Cohen doesn’t speak; he just shakes his head slowly. When my eyes go back to his, all I see is pure intensity.

I pull my hand away quickly and stand up, embarrassed. I look around for Lydia to save the day, but she’s mysteriously disappeared.

21

Cohen

Ihaven’t decided yet if I’m going to kill Lydia or if I’m going to thank her profusely.

As soon as Mina leaves, I barge into Lydia’s room without knocking. She looks up at me from her bed and puts down the book she’s holding. Before I can speak, she jabs one finger at me.

“You like her,” she says, looking triumphant.

“What? No, I don’t,” I say, folding my arms.

“Yes, you do,” she says, smiling. “You do.”

“I don’t,” I say again.

Lydia scoffs, looking completely unconvinced. “Well, there’ssomethinggoing on with you two. You’d better figure it out if you’re planning on shooing her in Jack’s direction. Because he’s taking notice of her.”

I sit on the edge of her bed. “When did you leave the kitchen?” I say.

She smirks. “Right when she started complimenting your eyes. I figured it was time to make my exit. I knew this would happen, you know,” she says, picking her book back up.

“Nothing’s happening,” I say, but I doubt the words before they’ve even left my mouth.

Because nothinghashappened. But…I am attracted to her in a way I can’t even explain to myself. It’s not only physical anymore—although the tank top and shorts in my car the other night just about killed me.

I flush at the memory of her hand skimming the line of my jaw, of the sudden impulse that jumped within me at her touch—the impulse to grab her and pull her close, to kiss her thoroughly.

Yeah, fine. I’ve thought about kissing her—a lot. But I’ve also thought about things like how to make her laugh or how to get her to apply for the school she was talking about so that she can do what she really wants to do. And I don’t usually think a lot about things like that.

I’ve specifically triednotto think about her thing for Jack, because I’ve discovered it makes me irritable.

I look up to see Lydia looking at me contemplatively. “If you did like her,” she says, “and I’m not saying you do. But if you did, I think you have a fighting chance.”

I try not to look too interested in this topic of conversation, because it would be embarrassing for her to know that I’m suddenly hanging on to her every word. “Yeah?” I say, keeping my voice nonchalant.

“I promised her I wouldn’t repeat what she said earlier. But she thinks you’re cute. She says you get along great. And when I asked her what she liked about you, she smiled.”

I scoff. “She doesn’t think I’m cute.”

Lydia eyes me. “I think she does,” she says. She’s wearing her observant face. That one is always terrifying. I never know what she’s going to somehow intuit.

“So?” she says. “What are you going to do? You’re supposed to be helping her get Jack to like her.”

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