One Past Midnight (6 page)

“Come on, Sabs, what's the deal? You holding out for Mr. Sweep-you-off-your-feet or something? Or are you holding out for me? Cause you know . . .”

I smacked her again, but I was laughing. “You wish.”

She was still looking at me, wanting an answer. I groaned. “I don't know, Cap, I just don't like anyone like that at the moment.” I gave her a stern look to emphasize my point,
since I was pretty sure Capri was happy to swing either way. “But when I
do
, it will be a guy.”

We stopped outside the music store and she shrugged, satisfied that I wasn't lurking in any kind of closet. “Just want you to get some. You know, before you're fifty.”

Part of me, a fairly big part, totally agreed. But I glared anyway. “You're a bitch, you know that?”

“I might've been told once or twice before,” she called out as I walked away.

I stopped by an office-supply store and bought a lined black notebook. I would need it as part of the plan. With shaking fingers I also dialed a number on my phone and made an appointment for later.

At the drugstore, I said hello to Mom and the pharmacist Denise, then I wriggled awkwardly—thanks to my cast—into one of the white jackets that were supposed to make us look more “medically informed.” When Mom and Denise weren't looking, I slid my notebook onto the counter. I kept a magazine resting on top of it, so when customers came in they wouldn't see the list.

1. Test blood theory—exterior physical reaction

2. Test hair—pigment and removal

3. Test laxatives—internal physical response

4. Test poison—loss of consciousness and organ failure. If points one through four achieve a successful outcome, proceed to next point

My hand trembled as I wrote number five.

5. Choose

I chewed on a fingernail, staring at what I'd just written. Could it really be that simple? I didn't know, but even so . . . I crossed out the last point. It was too early for that. Points one through four first. Then I'd worry about what would happen next.

Giddy from the rush of thinking such forbidden thoughts, I did what I'd really come here for: I stocked up on everything I was going to need, waiting until Denise went on her break to grab some items from behind her counter. By the time I returned to the register, someone was waiting and looked like he'd been there for a while.

“Sorry for the wait. What can I get you?” I was sure I was flushed from guilt. I hoped he hadn't seen me shoplifting from my own family's store.

The guy, who'd had his back to me, spun around and glared. I let out a little gasp before I could stop myself. He was probably in his early twenties—and his presence packed a punch. Trouble and attitude radiated from him. And there
was something . . . more. In his eyes. They were startling: dark blue and intense, with a depth you didn't normally see. Eyes that could too easily see through someone.

I set my shoulders and got ready to deny any accusations. But he just gave me an up-and-down look I couldn't read—other than to know it wasn't flattering—and shoved a handful of crumpled prescriptions toward me.

“How long?” he asked, his full lips set in a straight line.

I gave him a tight smile as I sifted through over a dozen prescriptions, more than a few for heavy-duty medications. That explained the aggressive, defensive attitude: drug dealer.

“These are going to take a while,” I told him. “Since there are so many and they're not all in one name.”
Hint: I know what you're doing.
“The pharmacist will need to see ID and get an authorization.”
After which we'll call the police.

I kept a firm hold of the prescriptions, expecting him to snatch them and make a run for it. But he simply shrugged, leaned against the counter, and folded his arms.

“Just call Roxbury Hospital and give them the prescription codes and my ID details. They'll verify.” He slipped a driver's license out of his wallet and tossed it on the counter before narrowing his eyes at me. “How long?”

This guy was an ass. And thankfully I wasn't in Wellesley today; I didn't have to behave. I sucked in a breath and was about to tell him to take a hike when Denise came back from her break.

“Ethan!” she said, looking delighted. “What are you doing here?”

Drug guy shrugged, sending me a sly look. “Being interrogated.”

Denise looked at me, the wad of scripts in one hand, phone barely balancing in my other, and smiled. “It's okay, Sabine. Ethan works at the hospital. They have weekly prescriptions, but usually not till Monday.” She turned to Ethan, closing the distance in a few steps. “I haven't seen you around in a while. How are you?” She squeezed his arm tenderly.

“Amazing.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Denise just nodded as if he wasn't being a total jerk and took the scripts from my hand. “I'll take care of them, Sabine.”

I shot a look at Ethan, who now seemed to be enjoying himself, just as Mom emerged from her pigeonhole office and called out, “Sabine, can you do the dry-cleaning and coffee run?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I can really carry all that,” I answered. But Mom had already closed the door, forgetting my broken wrist. End-of-month accounts can do that.

Denise looked up from typing prescription details into the computer. “Ethan, why don't you give Sabine a hand? You don't mind, do you? I'll get these processed while you're out.”

Ethan frowned, looking annoyed that I'd suddenly become his problem.

My jaw clicked to the side in anger. I picked up my note-book, intending to stuff it in my backpack, but instead I accidentally knocked the bag off the opposite side of the counter with my cast. The unzipped backpack and all its contents—including my notebook—landed right at Ethan's feet.

“Shit!” I exclaimed as Ethan bent down to pick up my things. I scrambled to get around the counter, but by the time I got to him he was already straightening up, my backback in one hand, my open notebook in the other.

He passed the bag over, face blank.

“Thanks,” I said, putting out my other hand for the notebook. I was sure he must have seen the list, and I wanted to kick myself for using a black marker.

He handed it over calmly. I shoved it back in my bag while he bent down again to pick up something from under the counter. My heart pounded in my ears. It was a box of pills.

He looked at me curiously. “Yours?”

At least I'd had enough foresight to put the pills in a generic white box. He couldn't know what they were—if he asked, I'd shut him down by saying they were for period pain. But the fact that there was no label or prescription sticker had him looking over the box suspiciously.

I snatched it from his hand and quickly shoved it in my bag. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

Now
who looked like the drug dealer?

“Not a problem.” He raised an eyebrow, and I was again
struck by how dark his eyes were. A deep ocean blue. My gaze traveled down to his mouth and somehow became stuck there. I stared at the arc of his full bottom lip just as his teeth slid smoothly over it as if he were contemplating some-thing important. He cleared his throat and I blushed, caught mid-gawk. “We should get going then.” He gestured toward the door.

“Oh no. You don't have to . . . I'll make two trips. It's fine.” Then, finding some backbone, I narrowed my eyes and added firmly, “Really.”

He shrugged and half-smiled, enjoying my discomfort. “I've got nothing better to do.”

Oh, the flattery.

“Whatever,” I said. If he wanted to play help-the-invalid, that was his issue. And I did
not
stare at his ass after I took off my white coat and followed him out of the store. It was more of a fleeting glance.

If Ethan had been frosty to me in the drugstore, he was positively arctic after we left. I let him suffer the awkward silence I had no intention of fixing. It was clear he didn't want to be doing this any more than I did.

“You in college?” he asked finally.

“Graduating high school,” I answered, avoiding eye contact. I didn't want to encourage small talk with this guy.

“Graduation, huh? Big plans for the future?”

I rolled my eyes. Like he cared. “I suppose. I'm looking forward to finishing school and some new possibilities.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows. “And what are those?”

I shrugged, confused by his interest. “I'm not exactly sure yet, but I like the idea of a future I can take one day at a time and, I don't know, live each day to the fullest, I guess.”

He nodded, his gaze moving down to my cast. “So what'd you do?”

I cringed, shaking my head at myself. “Tripped on the subway steps.”

“It happens.”

“Not to me it doesn't,” I said without thinking.

He gave me an odd look.

“I mean, I just . . . I've never broken anything before.”

He was still staring at me curiously, but thank God we hit the dry cleaner's and he stopped asking questions. He didn't speak again until we were back out of the shop, when he insisted on carrying the white coats wrapped in plastic.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to stop my gaze from travel-ing below his rolled-up shirt sleeves, where his forearms flexed as he gripped the hangers. He wasn't super built or anything—if anything he was lean—but everything was just . . . annoyingly nice to look at.

I cleared my throat. “So you work at the hospital then? You a doctor or something?”

He didn't look like the doctor type—dark jeans, black shirt, and overgrown dark hair curling at the ends—but you never knew.

“Or something,” he said wryly, shooting me a look as if he knew exactly where I'd pegged him. “Your mom owns the drugstore?”

We went into Starbucks—thankfully no line—and I ordered Mom and Denise their usual caramel lattes. “Nope. She just manages it.”

“Surprised I've never seen you before. I used to go there every week.”

I remembered what Denise had said about the Monday prescriptions. “I'm at school on Mondays. For one more week anyway.”

Ethan nodded. After I'd paid for the coffees I turned and caught him staring at me with the same odd look on his face before he quickly glanced away.

“Here, I'll carry one,” he offered.

I loaded one on top of the other and lifted them easily in my good hand. “I've got it,” I said, heading for the door.

As we neared the drugstore I tried not to pick up the pace. I knew that if he was going to say something it would be now. But we made it all the way inside without so much as a: “I read your notebook. That's some messed-up stuff in there.” And once the coffees had been handed out and dry cleaning hung on the rack, Ethan collected his pile of drugs, loaded them in his bag, and left with barely a nod in my direction.

I busied myself restocking shelves and made a point of
not
thinking about Ethan—every single time his curvy lips and muscly forearms crept their way into my mind.

Mom let me go just before two, which was perfect timing to make my appointment. I headed straight for the hairdressers, forbidden excitement bubbling up inside almost as much as the fear that I was about to make a very big mistake. And pay for it . . . in another world.

“What do you want to do?” the hairdresser asked, chewing on gum and holding out my long dreary hair.

I swallowed, watching in the mirror as her fingers combed through my hair. “Can you just make it look good? You can cut off as much as you want, and color it too. Darker.”

She looked at me like I was an unwrapped Christmas present. “I can do anything?”

I hesitated. “As long as you didn't know me and hate me in a past life, yeah. I . . . I've never colored my hair and it's always been really long. I want a change and I figure you know what you're doing, right? Just . . .” I looked at myself in the mirror, taking in my miniskirt, fraying tank top, and boots. “Make me look good.”

She smiled. “I've got you covered, hon. Sit back and relax.”

So I did.

Mrs. Jefferies delivered Maddie home right at 6:00 p.m. When I opened the front door, Maddie's eyes lit up and she started jumping up and down on the spot.

I couldn't help the goofy grin on my face.

“Binie, you look so cool!” she wailed, hugging me tight.

“Thanks, Mads,” I said, wriggling out of her hold. I was usually happy to have her attached to me, but today, with all
the thoughts I'd been pretending
not
to think, her affection left me feeling ashamed.

I waved to Mrs. Jefferies, who was still in her car, and took Maddie inside. She continued to ooh and ahh over my shaggy, almost-black styled cut, which gave me more edge than I'd ever dreamed possible.

I'd stopped by Thrifty Tunes on the way home and Capri almost fell over herself before teasing that Davis would now never leave me alone. I'd just laughed and soaked it in. I'd never had a makeover before, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was loving it.