“I’m in,” she decided, grabbing one of the gift cards from his hand. “Just let me freshen up.”
An hour later, Aria climbed up a spiral staircase to Galileo’s, a little restaurant on a small landing atop the main deck. Twinkling fairy lights were strung around the railing and threaded through potted ficus trees. Kids were sitting at tables, a jazz band was tuning up in the corner, and the walls were plastered with posters advertising the talent show. FIRST PRIZE: VESPA! they all proclaimed.
“Aria?”
Graham appeared behind her, dressed in a blue button-down and a clean pair of jeans. His hair was neatly combed, he’d shaved, and she could smell his woodsy cologne from here. When he saw her, his face twitched nervously. “You look nice.”
“Oh, I wear this old thing all the time,” Aria said, waving her hand at her blue maxi-dress and espadrilles.
Graham walked to the bar and ordered them two ginger ales, then led her to a high table by the railing. Once they sat down, a sly look came over his face, and he produced a flask from his back pocket and shook it. Liquid sloshed inside.
“What is that?” Aria whispered.
“Something to help us celebrate,” Graham said, then paused. “Is that okay?”
Aria must have had a strange look on her face; she was surprised Graham drank. He’d been so adamant about The Cliffs serving alcohol to minors on the Tabitha Clark Memorial website, after all.
“I guess I could have a little,” she said after a moment, and allowed Graham to pour the pungent liquid into her glass. When she took a sip, she nearly coughed. “Yikes.” It had to be about 150 proof.
Graham downed his drink quickly. “I need this right now.”
“Why?” Aria pushed her glass away. “I thought you’d feel pretty relaxed now that we’ve won.” Then she raised an eyebrow. “Is it because you’re nervous about your talent show performance? Playing a Death Cab song on the lute sounds awesome to me.”
“It’s not that,” Graham mumbled.
“Tori’s going to be so into it,” Aria gushed. “Speaking of which, spill it. How did the date really go?”
Graham shrugged one shoulder. “I told you. It was fine. We hit the restaurant on the main deck. She got sushi, I had a turkey burger.”
Aria blinked. Listing the food one had eaten on a date wasn’t a particularly good sign. “Did you have a lot to talk about?”
“I guess.” Graham tore the napkin that had come with his ginger ale to shreds. “To be honest, I’m not really sure I’m into Tori, after all.”
“Why not?” Aria cried. “She seemed perfect for you! And I’m positive she was interested.” She sat back in her chair. “Are you scared to let yourself like someone else because of Tabitha?”
“I’m definitely not scared. She just wasn’t for me.” Graham picked up his glass and drained the rest of the drink. Ice cubes rattled at the bottom of the empty glass. When he set it back down, he gave her a long, piercing look that Aria didn’t understand. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve been trying to muster up the courage to say all day.”
Aria cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
Graham continued to stare. And then, suddenly, puzzle pieces snapped together in Aria’s head. He likes you, Noel had said. A dude can tell. You might be leading him on and not even know it.
She swung her hands to the right, almost knocking over her glass. “Um, you don’t need to tell me anything,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.
“No, I really need to—”
“We should just have fun tonight,” Aria interrupted, reaching for her drink—all of a sudden, alcohol sounded like a great idea. “Celebrate our win.”
“But …” Graham trailed off abruptly, his eyes widening as he stared at something on Aria’s chest.
She looked down, wishing she’d chosen a dress that didn’t show so much cleavage. “Isn’t the sea rocky tonight?” she asked loudly, gesturing over the rail.
But Graham didn’t take the bait. He pointed at the locket around her neck. “Where did you get that?”
Aria touched it self-consciously. “My boyfriend gave it to me.”
Graham’s hand shot forward. He grabbed the necklace and yanked it closer. The chain pressed against the back of Aria’s neck, forcing her forward. His lips were inches from hers. Aria cried out, turned her head so that he couldn’t kiss her, then wrenched away from him so forcefully that she nearly toppled her barstool.
When she righted herself, Graham was just staring at her again, not apologizing for what he’d done. Aria grabbed her purse, avoiding eye contact. “I have to go.”
Graham stood too. “Aria, wait.”
“Don’t.” Her head started to pound. Suddenly, everything felt so sour and sullied. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
She tried to wheel around, but Graham caught her arm. She cried out again. When she looked at his face, it was grave, almost angry. “But I have something to tell you,” he demanded.