“Makes me feel sort of mean,” Jeffrey says. “Because it’s not that it isn’t good.”
“No. It’s really good,” I say. I keep watching the doorway for Lawrence, unsure what to do. Jeffrey is looking at me, eyes on mine. His gaze never drops to my body, but his hands do reach out. He grazes my arm with his fingertips. It makes me jump, makes me warm, makes me almost disappear without meaning to.
I could change him. I could change him right now, make him not want me. Make him want Lawrence, even. Maybe I should. It would make Lawrence so happy. He should have someone like Jeffrey, if that’s what he wants.
But that doesn’t seem like a very nice thing to do to someone you’re interested in, even if you’re only interested in a kiss.
I can’t help myself. I lean forward a little.
Jeffrey smiles softly and gently, carefully. I squeeze my hands into fists. I shouldn’t do this. Lawrence loves him, or wants to love him or plans to love him. I shouldn’t do this.
Jeffrey kisses me.
His lips brush across mine so easily that I barely know we’ve kissed at all.
Until he pulls away. Until I understand exactly what has just happened.
LAWRENCE
“Hey,” I say to Jeffrey, who is standing in the center of the darkened painting room. He looks at me, eyes confused. “Have you seen Juliet?”
“Actually . . . yes and no,” Jeffrey says. “She was here, like . . . seconds ago. And now she’s gone. I have no idea how she did that. . . .”
Was she called back to Caliban? That’s how it happens— I’ve watched them disappear before. Here one minute, gone the next. Did I somehow get her in trouble? I lick my lips, unsure what to feel—I’m surprised to find I miss her. She’s the first ifrit I’ve ever missed.
“Did she say she had to leave or anything?” I ask, walking toward him—I suppose there’s a chance she just left the party, in which case, I should keep looking. Even though I’m worried, the dryer sheet smell coming off his clothes wraps around me; I take the scent in with a deep breath.
“No . . .” Jeffrey shuffles his feet. He sighs. “I’m sorry, Lawrence. But I think I upset her.”
“How?”
“Well, she’s just . . . she’s beautiful, and I guess . . . we were in here looking at art, and everyone says I need to stop being so shy all the time.”
“I like that you’re shy,” I break in with a smile.
Jeffrey gives me a strange look before continuing. “So I . . . well . . .”
I blink, waiting.
“I kissed her,” Jeffrey finishes, deflating. “Nothing serious, just really quick, and then she was . . . gone.”
I don’t move. I can’t move. He kissed her.
Her.
And I guess she got what she wanted, and now she’s gone. She’s no different from the other ifrit after all. Just as selfish. Just as cold. I grit my teeth and try not to look at Jeffrey, try not to think of his lips on hers instead of mine. Her; he wanted her, not me. I feel sick.
“I know, it was stupid. I’m sorry,” Jeffrey says, holding up his hands.
“No. It’s fine. She’s fine, I’m sure.”
Jeffrey doesn’t seem to know what to say. Neither do I, as I’m way too busy replaying every time h
e’s looked at me. Every time he’s invited me somewhere. Every time I clearly interpreted a friendly gesture as a romantic one. I want to smash my forehead against the nearest painting, crush the canvas and tear it to shreds with my fingers.
“Maybe we should look for her,” I suggest flatly. I lie to myself: I don’t actually care where she is. I don’t care where Jeffrey goes looking for her.
“Okay,” Jeffrey says, and it’s obvious he knows something is wrong. He steps away from me, stealing the scent of his clothes away with him. “I’ll take the upstairs?”