And it was all just as boring as she’d expected, until the night she ran into Cord at Lightning Lounge. One thing led to another, and soon they were taking atomic shots, and walking out onto the enclosed balcony. It was there, pressed up against the enforced flexiglass, that they had kissed for the first time.
Now Eris could only wonder why it hadn’t happened sooner. God knows she’d been around Cord for years, ever since her family moved back to New York when she was eight. They’d spent several years in Switzerland so her dad could study all the latest European surge techniques. Eris had attended first and second grades at the American School of Lausanne, but when she came back—speaking a strange polyglot of French and English, with no understanding of a multiplication table—Berkeley Academy had gently suggested she repeat second grade.
She would never forget that first day back, when she’d walked into the lunchroom not knowing anyone in her new class. It was Cord who had slid into the seat beside her at her empty table. “Wanna see a cool zombie game?” he’d asked, and showed her how to set her contacts so the cafeteria food looked like brains. Eris had laughed so hard she’d almost snorted into her spaghetti.
That was two years before his parents died.
She found Cord in the game room, seated around the massive antique table with Drew Lawton and Joaquin Suarez, all of them holding real paper playing cards in their hands. It was one of Cord’s weird quirks, how he insisted on playing Idleness with that old card set. He claimed that everyone looked too vacant when they played on contacts, sitting around a table but staring away from one another, into space.
Eris stood there a moment, admiring him. He was so insanely gorgeous. Not in the smoothly perfect way that Avery was, but in a swarthy, rugged sort of way; his features a perfect mix of his mom’s Brazilian sensuality and the classic Anderton jaw and nose. Eris took a step forward, and Cord glanced up. She was gratified by the flash of appreciation in his ice-blue eyes.
“Hey there,” he said as she pulled up an empty chair. She leaned on her elbows so that the neckline of her top skimmed lower over her breasts, and studied him across the table. There was something shockingly intimate in his gaze. It felt like he could reach over and touch her with nothing but his eyes.
“Want to play?” Cord swept a pile of cards toward her.
“I don’t know. I might go dance.” It was so quiet in here. She wanted to go back to the loud chaos of the party.
“Come on, one hand. Right now it’s just me against these two. And it hasn’t been that fun, playing with myself,” Cord quipped.
“Fine. But I’m with Joaquin,” Eris said, for no real reason except that she wanted to push him a little. “And you know I always win.”
“Maybe not this time.” Cord laughed.
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, the pile of chips in front of her and Joaquin had tripled in size. Eris stretched her arms overhead and pushed her chair back from the table. “I’m getting a drink,” she said meaningfully. “Anyone want one?”
“Why not?” Cord met her eyes. “I’ll come with you.”
They stumbled into the coatroom, their bodies pressed close together. “You look fantastic tonight,” Cord whispered.
“No more talking.” Eris yanked his head down and kissed him, hard.
Cord leaned forward in response, his mouth hot on hers. He snaked his hand around her waist, playing with the hem of her shirt. Eris could feel his pulse quickening where his wrist touched her bare skin. The kiss deepened, became more insistent.
She pulled away and stepped back, leaving Cord to stumble forward. “What?” he gasped.
“I’m going to dance,” she said simply, reaching up to straighten her bra and smooth her hair; her motions brisk, neat, practiced. This was her favorite part, reminding Cord that he wanted her. Making him just a little bit desperate. “See you later.”
As she started down the hallway, Eris could feel the weight of Cord’s gaze tracing the long lines of her body. She didn’t let herself look back. But the corner of her mouth, her red paintstick just a little bit smudged, turned up in a triumphant smirk.
WATT
“REMIND ME WHY we’re here again?” Watzahn Bakradi—Watt to everyone but his teachers—comm-linked his best friend, Derrick Rawls.
“I told you, this place makes girls go crazy,” Derrick said. His voice filtered through Watt’s eartennas, which were playing a drowsy jazz beat, blocking out all the other noise of the club. “Some of us need all the help we can get,” he added, without resentment.
Watt didn’t argue. In the past hour alone he’d received seven flick-link requests, while Derrick was yet to get a single one. “Fine,” he conceded. “I’m getting a drink.”
“Grab me a beer while you’re there?” Derrick asked, unable to look away from a brunette who was swaying near them, her eyes closed, arms moving in no apparent rhythm.
“I would, except I’m not buying.” Watt laughed. At the bar, he switched off his music and turned to stare out over the club, listening as the shuffling feet and chorus of whispers echoed eerily in the quiet.
They’d come to Pulse, the midTower silent disco, where music was blasted directly into each person’s eartennas instead of coming from external speakers. But the strange thing about Pulse was that each eartenna feed differed: no two guests were hearing the same song at the same time. Watt supposed it was fun for most people, trying to guess what others were listening to, laughing at the fact that they were streaming a slow song while their date had EDM. But to him it just meant everyone awkwardly stumbled over one another on the dance floor.
He leaned back carelessly on his elbows and met the gaze of a girl across the bar. She was gorgeous, tall and willowy with wide-set eyes, definitely out of Watt’s league. But he had a secret weapon, and knew exactly how long to make eye contact before looking away. According to Nadia’s estimates the girl would come over in three, two—
His eartennas sounded with the double beep that indicated a ping request. He nodded his acceptance and the girl’s voice sounded in his ear, the wireless link allowing them to speak directly to each other over their individual music, though of course Watt’s was already off. “Buy me a drink,” she said, sidling up next to him at the bar. It was a command, not a question. This girl knew how much hotter she was than him.
“What are you drinking?” Watt tapped the bar’s surface, and it lit up into a touch screen menu.
The girl shrugged and began drawing circles on the menu pad, scrolling through brightly colored bubbles representing the drink categories. There was a small inktat on the inside of her wrist, a rosebud that kept opening into a blossom and then furling back. “Guess.”
Watt put his hand over hers to still it. She glanced up at him, an eyebrow raised. “If I guess right, you’re buying,” he challenged.
“Sure. But you’ll never guess.”
“I think …” He flipped through the categories for a moment as if weighing the various options. But he already knew what she really wanted, and it wasn’t on the menu. “Something special,” he concluded, pushing OTHER, and pulling up a keypad to type squid ink martini.
The girl tossed her head back in laughter. “You cheated somehow,” she accused, her eyes roving over Watt with new interest. She leaned forward to order their drinks from the bot-tender.
Watt grinned. He felt attention shifting toward them, everyone clearly wondering what he’d said to attract a girl like that. Watt couldn’t help it; he loved this part, loved feeling like he’d won some unspoken contest.
“Thanks,” he said as the girl slid him a dark beer.
“How did you know what I wanted?” she asked.
“I figured, an unusual drink for an unusually beautiful girl.” Thank you, Nadia, he added silently.