Grey (The Spectrum Series: #1) (PUBLISHED)

Chapter Seven

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"Where's the kitchen? I want some water," I ask Jaimie, but I'm not really thirsty. I just need some fresh air I definitely will tire myself out with thinking too much because this is too much. I shouldn't have even cared about Grey's opinion of me in the first place. But, like a foolish gazelle, I feel for his trap and right into his mouth.

"Through there and across the hall," she tells me, pointing to the crowded doorway. "Just look for a couple making out above ground. These assholes always, and I mean always, make out on the counter."

Standing, I ask, "Why?"

She shrugs. "Maybe the counter under their bare ass makes them even hornier?"

"If so, we're so next." Julia wraps an arm around her girlfriend, and I leave before I'm forced to endure watching them make-out. They're a sweet couple (minus Julia), but it's uncomfortable having to see that every five minutes.

I'm almost inside the kitchen, when I'm bump into another person. I quickly apologize and smile as I recognize the boy in front of me.

"Mason," I say, quite relieved someone I know is at this wretched. I can already feel a migraine setting itself up inside my brain. The music is so loud I have to wonder if they're trying to signal aliens, because I'm pretty sure they'd be able to hear it. Not that I believe in aliens, of course; I need factual evidence for something as conservational and thrown up in the air.

"You remember me," he says, smiling. He runs a hand through his chestnut hair as a smile appears on his face. His smile is contagious, and pretty soon I'm beaming up at him. "What are you doing here? I thought parties weren't your thing."

I let a rude boy I don't know cloud my judgement.

"I changed my mind," I say instead. My other answer makes me sound weak, and I'm not weak. If anything, I'm headstrong, like

"Understandable," he says, "who wants to spend their first night at College cooped up in their room?"

"Not me." Yes, me; Until Grey came along.

"Why are we just standing here? Let me get you something to drink," he offers.

"Sure," I say, following him into the kitchen. And like Jaimie predicted, there's a couple kissing like the world's about to end. "Just anything but -" he places a bottle filled with clear liquid on the counter with a sly smirk on his face. I sit on one of the kitchen stools. He's joking. Great. I shake my head and finish what I was saying, "Alcohol. Anything but . . . that." I point at the bottle.

"Fine," he says, laughing. He holds his hands up in defense and walks over to a cooler and asks, "Would you like Diet Coke or Holy Water?"

"Diet Coke, please." I rotate my eyes at his clear poke at me. He laughs like he heard the funniest joke ever made, and waltzes back over to the counter with a can of beer for himself. "Just because I don't want to damage my still-forming brain doesn't mean that I'm a nun."

"But it does make you cute," he says, and I clam up. He laughs and waggles his eyebrows playfully as he leans on the counter. "Sorry, I get bold when I drink. I'm sure if you take even a sip you'd be bold enough to tell me a little more about yourself."

"I don't need alcohol for that." I smile and tap my fingers around the cold can. "I'm originally from Queens, New York; I left High School with a 4.0 GPA, and I am majoring in Psychology."