It had been a mild day, but nights got cold fast in the high country, and I shivered as we went outside.
“It’ll be warmer in my truck,” Perry said, and I nodded. Sure, why not?
He had a big Ford F-250. I climbed up into the cab and shut the door behind me. The temperature in there was marginally warmer than outside, but I didn’t have much time to point out that fact. The second we were alone, Perry sort of launched himself at me, pulling me against him, pressing his mouth against mine. He tasted of beer, which I found I didn’t mind as much as I thought I would. And although I didn’t feel any of the roaring heat of a consort match in our touch of lip on lip, I still thought I liked him kissing me, his hands tangling in my hair.
I wondered if this was how my mother had managed it. Had she gotten herself numb with alcohol, gone out and met some halfway presentable guy and surrendered her V-card, as Sydney put it, so she wouldn’t have to be burdened with the weight of being the McAllisters’ prima? I had no way of knowing, of course, since she was gone before I could ask her a single question or even say my first word.
Maybe that was what I should do — let this Perry, whose last name I didn’t even know, push me down on the bench seat, pull down my jeans and take my virginity away, take the responsibility of being prima from me as well.
His eyes glittered in the lights along the side of the building that illuminated the parking lot. I saw that they were blue, pale blue, not deep green, and something in my stomach twisted then, telling me this was wrong, all wrong, and I pushed against him, trying to wriggle away from the hands that were gripping my arms. He was strong, fingers browned and callused. Maybe he worked in construction, or maybe at one of the ranches on the edge of town.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, voice coaxing. “You don’t want to do it here? That’s okay…my place isn’t far.”
“No — no, I can’t. I shouldn’t be here.” I struggled against him, and those rough hands only tightened on my biceps.
The pale eyes narrowed. “What kind of bullshit is this? You let me buy you drinks all night, and then you won’t even give me a little something in exchange?”
I wrenched an arm free. “You want me to pay you back? I’ve got money inside, in my purse.”
“That’s not what I want,” he growled, and began to haul me toward him by the one arm he still held.
Not thinking of anything except the need to get away from him, I cried, “Blessed Brigit, give me the strength to be free!”
White-hot light shot from my arm, striking Perry in the chest. He slumped backward against the driver-side door, eyes wide open, mouth slack. Half sobbing, half gasping, I hurled myself out of the truck and ran back inside, ignoring the curious stares of the small clumps of people who were standing out in the parking lot and smoking. The music had started up again, and the beat pounded against my eardrums as I pushed through the crowd and came back to the table, where Sydney and Anthony were busily sucking face.
“I have to go,” I gasped, and yanked my purse off the back of the chair where it had been hanging by its strap.
Sydney pushed herself away from Anthony and fixed a bleary gaze on me. “You what?” Her eyes tracked past me and seemed to notice I was alone. “Where’s Perry?”
“He’s, um, out in his truck.” Well, that was true enough.
That seemed to satisfy her. “Oh, okay.” Then she focused on me again. “You sure you’re all right to drive?”
I was pretty sure I wasn’t, but I also knew I couldn’t stay here. What if Perry was dead? No, I couldn’t believe that. I’d struck out in self-defense, but not with the sort of focused intent that actually killing someone would require. He was just unconscious. He’d wake up in a few hours and feel like crap. That’s all.
Or so I tried to convince myself, in my less than lucid state.
“Oh, sure, I can drive,” I told her. “Anyway, I know that road so well I could drive it asleep and blindfolded. I’m fine.”
“Okay,” she replied, sounding dubious, but since she was in even worse shape than I, obviously she wouldn’t offer up any more protests.
“Call you tomorrow,” I said. “’Bye, Anthony.”
“Mmm…’bye,” he replied absently, and returned to burying his face in Sydney’s neck as she giggled and reached for her wine.
That was my cue to leave. I went back outside and hurried over to the Jeep. Part of me wanted to stop at Perry’s truck and make sure he was okay, but I’d already attracted enough attention. I just wanted to go home and forget this evening ever happened.