The Third Kiss (Love's Mortal Coil #1)

Chapter 6: Cora

           

Cora

Beth was already waiting beside the Beetle when I came out. One look at my uninspired Kung Fu Panda T-shirt and denim skirt, and she shook her head. "Nice to see you made an effort."

I shrugged. "I'm not out to impress." And tonight, next to her, I stood no chance. Her knee-length sundress floated about her slender frame while long blonde hair feathered bare shoulders. In the dimming evening light, she could have passed for one of those organic shampoo commercial girls, all lithe and ethereal. That was Beth; she could wear a garbage bag and still draw all eyes her way.

"How am I supposed to find you a boyfriend when you give me this to work with?" She waved her hand over me and screwed her face up in mock disgust.

"I didn't ask you to find me a boyfriend." I threw her the car keys over the hood of the Beetle. I could drive here on my New York license, but after a year of driving on the right, I didn't want the first time I tackled the left side of the road again to be in the dark. "And if I was looking for a boyfriend, tonight would be the last place I'd start."

I'd never been to one, but Jess Tanner's pool parties were known for two things. One: the Tanners' mammoth, oasis-like swimming pool, complete with a cascading three-meter-high waterfall courtesy of her landscape designer father. And two: an obscene number of alcohol-fueled, guaranteed-to-be-regretted hookups, courtesy of, I don't know, the Blue Lagoon-like atmosphere. Apparently that was all it took: a cup of lukewarm beer, some moonlight, a fake waterfall, and teenagers swapped common sense with marshmallows for brains. Ah...no, thank you.

Beth grinned at me as she pulled out of the driveway. "Come on, you might meet some nice and respectable accounting student." She made "nice and respectable" sound like something you needed a course of anti-fungal cream for. But I had no problem with "nice and respectable." A guy like that might not start slow-burning bonfires in the pit of your stomach, but he was also less likely to run off to Manhattan to shack up with an old high school sweetheart.

I'll never forget the look on Dad's face when Mom finally confessed to the affair. Not shock. Not pain. Not even anger. Only a helpless, glassy-eyed resignation that their marriage had come to an end.

That look had killed me. It was then I decided if ever I got serious with a guy, it would be with someone least likely to put that look on my face. Someone steady, safe, and— unlike my mother—committed to sticking around.

Not that it mattered. I wasn't looking for a boyfriend.

"Beth, if I meet anyone remotely respectable tonight, like a guy who asks for nothing more than my phone number, I'll let you dress me for the first date."

Her smile was pure Cheshire cat. "I'll hold you to that."

"You do that." Because the Barrier Reef had more chance of repairing itself than me meeting a "nice" guy at this party.

When we arrived, a long string of cars already lined the road outside the Tanner house. The place pulsed with an R&B beat. Laughter, hoots, and bodies splashing about in water rounded off the soundtrack.

We weaved our way through the front room, and I smothered an oncoming eye roll when some halfway-to-hammered guy in designer board shorts shoved the requisite lukewarm cups of beer under our noses. I told board shorts guy no thanks and hurried Beth along into the hallway.

"Remind me again why we're here?" Especially when we could be at my place watching the latest Bond and working our way through the tub of hazelnut gelato waiting for us in my freezer. Beth took her time to answer, making me wonder if she herself was grasping at reasons as to why we were at this party.