Page 25 of Through You
“Fine. But just for one drink.”
The wide smile plastered on her small features is contagious.
“Let’s go!”
We board the bus headed downtown, and during our ride, sitting side by side, Gin tells me that she scored these passes when she ran into a very handsome man at a coffee shop, who spilled his drink on her by accident. He gifted her the passes as an apology.
“He’s really hot.” She lets out a deep sigh. “He seems educated, very confident. And his smile . . .”
I can’t help but laugh a little. “Last week it was the pizza delivery guy. And today this man. How do you manage to fall in love so quickly?”
“It’s my specialty.” She winks at me. “But seriously, this coffee shop guy is on another level. Very much an Artemis-type.”
I stop smiling. Gin, who never misses a beat, notices right away. “Anything I should know?”
I shake my head.
She gives me an eye roll. “What is the enigma with this man?
At this point, I may very well end up writing a novel à la Harry Potter titledClaudia and the Mystery of the Hidalgos.”
“You’re crazy. Also, the Hidalgos? I thought you were only interested in knowing more about Artemis.”
She holds up one finger and starts to explain. “No. And it’s simply because lately I’ve noticed that each time I mention Apolo you react like there’s something going on that you’d rather not talk about. Possibly because you think that it’ll go away if you don’t talk about it.”
“Apolo is only sixteen. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, so? He’s cute.”
I slap her in the back of her head. “Gin!”
She bursts out laughing. “Anyway, in this state, the age of consent is sixteen.”
She winks again, and I slap her one more time.
“I’m just kidding. You know how much I love teasing you.
Okay, now let me do your makeup. Right now you look too much like a university student who just finished class.”
“Oh really?”
I let her put on makeup, and don’t put up a fight when she decides to apply a bright, fiery-red lipstick, which she claims matches the color of my hair.
At last, we get off the bus.
“I don’t think we’re dressed to go clubbing.” I’m in jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved sweater, which is totally appropriate attire for school in the fall, when the breeze is cold. Gin is dressed similarly.
She fixes my hair. “We look gorgeous.” She grabs me by the hand and pulls me along as we make our way down the street.
The Rose District, the nickname given to this street, where al the clubs and bars are lined up, is crowded with people. Some are smoking outside venues while others are strolling along the street.
The majority are very well dressed—the women clad in short dresses or jeans paired with beautiful tops and shoes. The men are also wearing fancy outfits.
“I really don’t think we’re dressed up enough,” I say.
“Ah, stop it,” Gin proclaims as she guides me to the end of the strip to one of the biggest clubs; it looks exclusive. There are no lines to get in, only a sign that reads guests with passes only.
I open my mouth in complete shock when I look up and read the name of the club.
