Page 69 of Guy's Girl
That was fifteen minutes ago. So, under the pretense of needing the bathroom as well, Adrian leaves to search for her.
It doesn’t take long. He finds her just outside Karaván, wandering back and forth on the sidewalk, a paper cup in one hand. Every couple of seconds, she lifts the cup up to her mouth and takes a sip. Her wrist trembles slightly.
“Ginny?”
She flinches so violently you would think Adrian yelled her name, not speaking it as gently as he could. Her wrist jolts, sending the liquid inside the paper cup splashing over the edge. To his surprise, it isn’t water; it’s an oddly thick, yellow-orange substance that spatters the pavement like paint.
For a tense moment, she just stares at the spill, mouth ajar.
“What is—” He steps forward, squinting at the ground. “What are you drinking?”
“Nothing.” She steps sideways, blocking it.
“Ginny—”
“It’snothing, Adrian. Okay? Just some weird Hungarian drink I didn’t even want.” She paces over to the garbage and tosses the cup inside. “See?”
“That didn’t look like any—”
“God, Adrian,stop.Just stop.” She covers her eyes with one hand. “Go back to not speaking. Go back to not caring about me. Okay? I don’t want your help. I don’t even want to be in this stupid country, with its stupid tourist bars and disgusting drinks. Just mind your own fucking business and leave me alone.”
Adrian watches Ginny, whose tiny face is still buried in her palm. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again.
“Haver!” Jozsef’s voice cuts through the tense silence. Ginny’s palm falls away from her face. She straightens, pastes a tight smileon her face. Jozsef sidles up behind Adrian and throws an arm over his shoulder. “You ready to head to the next bar?”
Adrian stares at Ginny, who won’t meet his gaze. She looks at the ground, the garbage, the entrance to Karaván. Anywhere but at him.
“Yeah,” Adrian says. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
***
The third stop is a nightclub. It’s called Instant-Fogas, and it consists of not one club but seven, all stacked together inside a single warehouse. Jozsef drags them to one of the smaller clubs, a dark, boxy room called Robot, featuring live rock ’n’ roll groups. He orders tequila shots for the group.
“Not tequila.” Tristan puts his hand on his stomach. “I’ll hurl.”
Ginny laughs in a way Adrian can’t decipher.
“Tequila for all!” Clay passes the shots around. Each one has a sliver of lime balanced on top. Clay raises his glass. “To our intrepid host, Jozsef.”
“I have no idea whatintrepidmeans”—Jozsef knocks his glass against Clay’s—“but I’m going to assume it has to do with how unspeakably handsome I am. Let’s get fucked up, brother.”
All six glasses come together over the bar, stinging liquid sloshing over the rims. They toss them back. Adrian swallows, thinking it tastes like stomach acid. He mashes the lime against his teeth.
Ginny grabs Clay and Tristan. “Let’s dance, boys.” She tugs them out into the crowd. After a brief hesitation, Finch slips in after them.
“So.” Jozsef sets his glass on the bar and signals for two more. He looks directly at Adrian and switches into Hungarian, saying, “You and Ginny.”
“What about us?”
“You’re together, right?”
Two more shots appear before them. “No. Not even close.”
“Ah.” Jozsef pinches his glass and lifts it from the bar. “But you like each other, right?”
Adrian shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
Jozsef snorts. “Haver. Are you dense? Do you see the way she looks at you?”
