Free Do Over by Emily Evans

“Through there.”
    I followed him into a larger room, a painting gallery. “Cool.”
    He strode directly to the far wall, but I stopped midway, checking out the art there. The images were fascinating. The artist had used the same shade of blue, but different painting styles—cubes, geometric patterns, and dots.
    “Those aren’t very good,” the guy said.
    “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I like ‘em. There’s a--”
    An arm slung around my shoulders ending the rest of my sentence. “Hey. Where’d you run off to?” Blaine asked. “I thought I’d lost you.”
    My nose twitched. Blaine smelled like a cigar—or a pungent chicken coop after the rain scent.
    “Hey, Asher.” Blaine nodded to the dark-haired guy. “I see you met my date.”
    “She was giving me her opinion.”
    Blaine snickered. “Like a girl from Trallwyn could tell you anything about art.”
    I stiffened under his arm and wished I had the cocktail back in my hand, so I could douse him with it.
    “Kidding,” Blaine said in an insincere tone. He examined the painting. “It’s derivative, clearly a political message about pollution.”
    Asher stared at the painting and frowned, his arms over his chest.
    I shrugged free. I didn’t like Blaine well enough to put up with his insult. I didn’t even like him enough to bother arguing with him. So what if I’d only had one art class, and had no idea what he meant by derivative . I knew what I liked. “It’s the light—” I insisted.
    Blaine interrupted me. “Whatever. No one signed it. You can’t value something without knowing the artist.” He focused on the exit. “They’re doing Jell-O shots in the back. Let’s go.”
    His eyes already appeared suspiciously bright, and his pupils were dilated.
    “No thanks.”
    The girl who’d been talking to Asher earlier returned, teetering up to us in her too-cute, cheetah platforms. “Hey.”
    Blaine said, “Hey, Skye. Y’all’s bartender hooked us up.”
    Skye curtseyed and waved at Asher. “It’s our birthday. Of course, he did.”
    “Happy Birthday.” I included both Skye and Asher in my remark.
    Asher grinned.
    “Thank you.” Skye focused on my dress. “Pretty dress.”
    “Thanks. Love the new twist-back.” I gestured toward the tie on hers. “Great color.”
    “I love this shade of blue. Skye blue. The name feeds my ego,” she confessed.
    “Like it’s underfed,” Asher said.
    Siblings. That explained their similar dark hair and bickering.
    “Skye’s going to Sarah Lawrence in the fall,” Blaine said, sounding impressed.
    “Ah, so you want to be a baker?” I winked at her, and the siblings laughed at my stupid joke.
    Blaine’s mouth dropped open and he spoke slowly, “It’s a college. On the east coast. You’re thinking Sara Lee.”
    Skye rolled her eyes and tucked her hand around Asher’s elbow, “Come on, birthday boy. Cake time for us. Cherry cheesecake.” Asher allowed himself to be led from the room, leaving me alone with my date.
    Blaine put a hand on my shoulder turning me to follow them as if I was going to stay behind. The cold silver metal on his watch snagged my spaghetti strap.
    Pop.
     
     

 
    Chapter Seven
     
    Blaine jerked free, making the rip worse. “Sorry.”
    I slapped a hand to my chest to prevent a wardrobe malfunction and stiffened.
    “No problem.” I inched away from him. Had I known the type of party we were going to, I’d have worn a cocktail dress anyway. Now my dress was inappropriate and damaged. I sighed and tied the severed ends into a knot. The shortened strap pulled the neckline of my dress up higher on one side, ruining the lines.
    As we neared the end of the corridor, Blaine’s large hand took hold of my elbow.
    His face descended. His mouth mashed my lips into my teeth, and his tongue thrust into my mouth. The song in the background ground out a repetitive rhythm Blaine tried to duplicate with his tongue. I shoved at his shoulders and stepped back. “Don’t.”