06 | hurricane emira

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"SO, WHO'S THE UNLUCKY GUY?"

Mira expects the question, jaw ticking as she holds my stare, steely grey eyes threatening to devour me whole, an untamed hurricane of a stare, ready to tear the roof off my little house, rip the trees from the little swatch of coastal earth and drown the holes she leaves behind in a flood.

Hurricane Emira, I think to myself, as I watch her tighten her high ponytail with a sharp tug, dark hair swishing within the red hair tie as she drops her hands to the cup she had rested between her thighs. The cup is in her hands within seconds and she's downed the contents no sooner, head tipping back, a light gold column of throat marred by tell-tale purple.

The rest of the group is glancing between us, a few of them confused because they haven't quite put two and two together yet. Zahed and I aren't too bad at Maths, dancing around our own little equation here.

Kenna, though, she's picking up. Her eyes trace us and I roll my eyes as she smirks. I wish she would go back to ogling the girl sitting next to Parker.

Mira drops her empty cup with a thump back onto the inside of the SUV's boot, between her bare legs. She doesn't sit very lady-like, I note. When she lifts her arms too, her small top rises and I can't help but catch the flash of pale lace creeping above her tan, bared midriff, the pattern skirting pretty and low about her ribs. And despite myself, my mind wanders too fucking far, right into uncharted flood waters.

She looks at me, liquor on her scowling lips. "You don't know him."

I lean back on my palms. "I don't know about that. I know lots of people, Zahed."

A roll of her eyes. It's expected. So is her quickly hissed, "Fuck off, Shankar."

I merely laugh under my breath as the game passes to Parker.

He clears his throat. "Mira."

She looks bored as her eyes slide to him. At the rate this game is going, she's bound to be wasted by her next class and I think she's starting to realise that. I know for a fact that Kenna will be wasted by her next class. I feel a surge of pity for whoever was their professor.

"Yes?" She lifts a single dark brow.

"Do— do you have a boyfriend?"

Her bored expression flashes into amusement.

The question is so elementary that the entire group collectively laughs. I certainly laugh, loud enough that Zahed is looking at me again, rolling her eyes as if the sight of me smiling was a personal affront to her, and then she's looking away again. Parker laughs with us but his shoulders are stiff as he does.

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