Page 45 of Kiss Collector
“Tell me if he comes this way so I can run,” I beg.
They both nod, sipping their drinks and taking surreptitious glances in his direction.
“He’s totally watching you, waiting for you to look his way,” Lin says. “Man, he’s super sexy when he’s intense like that.”
“Let’s go to the other side of the bonfire,” I suggest, not caring how sexy he looks.
I breathe easier when I’m out of his line of sight, and I realize we’re standing right next to redheaded Flynn Rogers and two other guys from his band.
“Hey, Flynn!” I say.
He turns and blinks with surprise before smiling. “Oh, hey. Good to see you.”
“Did you have the auditions yet?” I ask.
His face falls a little. “Yeah. There were hundreds of bands, and only ten made the cut. I don’t think they were fans of Celtic folk rock.” He gives a low chuckle.
“Aw, that sucks,” Monica says.
Flynn shoves unruly red curls behind his ears. “There was a man there who runs a local pub, though, and he asked if we’d come perform some Irish music.”
“That’s awesome!” I tell him. “You’ll have to tell us when so we can come.”
“I think you have to be twenty-one,” he says. “I don’t guess you have fake IDs?”
“Nope.” My mouth pulls to the side and I scrunch my nose to show I’m disappointed.
A girl from the marching band named Emi walks toward us and tilts her head at Flynn.
“Hey,” she says to him. She flashes a look toward me and my girls, and just as I’m about to say hello, I spot Kenzie at the keg and I nearly scream.
“What is she doing?”
Two football players have lifted her tiny form in the air, upside down, her dainty toes pointed, and she’s drinking straight from the tap as the guys cheer her on.
“A keg stand,” Monica says. “This is going to be a long night.”
“Or a really short one,” Lin grumbles, moving straight toward Kenzie with Monica behind her.
“Bye, guys,” I say to Flynn and Emi. He nods and she ignores me, keeping her eyes on him.
I don’t have time to worry about the snub as I make our way over to the keg. When the guys put Kenzie down, we try to drag her away, but she clings to the stupid thing.
“Wait! I need to fill my cup!” She’s not falling over yet or anything, so we let her have one more. “I have to pee.” She bounces up and down on her toes.
“I’ll go with you,” I say. She takes my hand, and we march through the people and grass to the trees. I hold her drink while she disappears into the darkness. I hear her murmuring“Drip dry, drip dry” in a singsong voice, and I stifle a giggle. Fifteen feet away, a plume of smoke drifts out of the woods. I walk down and see two dark figures, the tips of their cigarettes glowing.
“Wussup, Zae Monroe?” asks a smooth, somewhat familiar voice.
I move closer to see Joel. Kwami Russell, another guy from school, gives me a nod.
“Hey,” I say.
“You brought me a beer?” Joel asks. His short blond hair is messy, like he wore a cap all day, then ran his hands through it a hundred times. His T-shirt is fitted, but his jeans hang baggy and low.
“It’s my friend’s, sorry.”
“No worries. I don’t drink anyhow.”
