lies and lust 2

''you should talk to him," Jay said.

"No way."

"Why not?"

He's... high," I whispered.

"You don't know that."

But I did. The colors of someone's emotions blurred when their bodies were under the influence. That guy's were fuzzy at best.

Seeing emotions as colors was an extension of my ability to sense others' feelings, their auras. I'd had the gift since infancy. The color spectrum was complicated, as were emotions, with shades of a color meaning different things. To simplify, positive feelings were always colors, ranging from bright to pastel. Negative feelings were shades of black, with a few exceptions. Envy was green. Pride was purple. And lust was red. That was a popular one.

The colors mesmerized me, the way they shifted and changed, sometimes slow, and sometimes in rapid succession. I tried not to read people constantly or to stare; it seemed like an invasion of privacy. Nobody knew what I could do, not even Jay or my adoptive mother, Patti.

The line for the club moved slowly. I adjusted my skirt again and looked down to evaluate the decency of its length. It's fine, Anna. At least my legs had a little muscle these days, instead of looking like a pair of toothpicks. Although I'd been pegged with nicknames like "Twiggy" and "Sticks" growing up, I didn't obsess about my figure, or lack of one. Padded bras were a helpful invention, and I was satisfied with the two small indentations in my sides that passed for a waist. Running had become my new pastime five weeks ago, after I'd read how my body is the "temple of my soul."

Healthy temple: check.

As we moved up a few more steps, Jay rubbed his palms together.

"You know," he said, "I could probably get us drinks when we get inside."

"No drinks," I immediately answered, my heart quickening its pace.

"Fine, I know. 'No drinks, no drugs.' No nothin'." He imitated me, fluttering his eyes, then nudged me with his elbow to show he was only kidding, as if he could be mean anyway. But he knew I had an abnormal aversion to substances. Even now, his comment about drugs and alcohol caused an uncomfortable, almost physical reaction within me; it felt like an urgent, greedy pushing and pulling. I took a deep breath to calm down.

We finally made our way to the front of the line, where a young bouncer snapped an underage wristband on me and gave me an appraising look, eyes scanning my waist-length hair before raising the velvet rope. I rushed under it with Jay on my heels.

"For real, Anna, don't let me stand in the way of all these dudes tonight." Jay laughed behind me, raising his voice as we entered the already packed room, music thumping. I knew I should have put my hair up before we came, but Jay's sister, Jana, had insisted on my keeping it down. I pulled my hair over my shoulder and wound it into a rope with my finger, looking around at the tightly packed crowd and wincing slightly at the noise and blasts of emotion.

"They only think they like me because they don't know me," I said.

Jay shook his head. "I hate when you say things like that."

''Like what? That I'm especially special?"

I was trying to make a joke, using the term us Southerners fondly called people who "weren't right," but anger burst gray from Jay's chest, surprising me, then fizzled away.

"Don't talk about yourself that way. You're just... shy."

I was weird and we both knew it. But I didn't like to upset him, and it felt ridiculous having a serious conversation at the top of our lungs.

Jay pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen as it vibrated in his hand. He grinned and handed it to me. Patti.

"Hello?" I stuck a finger in my other ear so I could hear.

"I'm just checking to see if you made it safely, honey. Wow, it's really loud there!"

"Yeah, it is!" I had to shout. "Everything is fine. I'll be home by eleven."

It was my first time going to something like this. Ever. Jay had begged Patti for permission himself, and by some miracle got her to agree. But she was not happy about it. All day she'd been as nervous as a cat at the vet.

"You stay right next to Jay, and if any strangers try to talk to you—"

"I know, Patti. Don't worry, okay? Nobody's trying to talk to me." It was hard to reassure her while I was shouting and being jostled.

The deejay was announcing that Lascivious would hit the stage in five.

"I gotta go," I told her. "The band's about to come on. I'll be safe. I promise!"

"All right, honey. Maybe you can call me on your way home?" It was not a suggestion.

"Okay. Love you, bye!" I hung up before she started talking about self-defense moves or some other crazy thing. I'd barely made it out of our apartment earlier that night because of her list of warnings. Part of me thought she might be paranoid enough to follow us to the club.

"Come on." I grabbed Jay's hand and pulled him into the crowd. It was an eclectic mix—everything from punks to goths to preps. I worked us all the way to the front corner of the stage, annoying a few people with my slight pushiness, but I was careful to apologize. I figured I owed Jay a front-row seat after upsetting him.

The wooden stage was battered, like every other surface in the building. The club was small and boxy, but the ceilings were high. Cramming people inside and breaking every fire code in Georgia added to the atmosphere.

We squeezed in just as the deejay told everyone to "give it up" for Lascivious. The band was greeted by a roar of cheers, and I recognized the first song as one Jay played for us on our way to school sometimes. Despite my usual tendency to be ultrareserved, I found myself caught up in the music, jumping up and down and singing along at the top of my lungs. Jay was right there with me, doing the same. I couldn't believe it. This was fun. I bounced with the crowd, allowing myself to be caught up in the surrounding exhilaration.

"Dude," Jay shouted in my direction as the first song ended. "They. Are. Awesome!"

The second song started, and it was slower. I calmed down a little and looked at the band. The lead singer oozed with pride. His dark purple aura all but drowned out his tight shirt and snug jeans. His spiked hair was styled in a stiff lean to one side. He held the microphone like a lover. The tempo sped up into a frenzy of drumbeats as they hit the chorus, bringing my eyes to the drums as the wild crowd began jumping again.

I noticed several things about the drummer all at once. He was focused on the task at hand, keeping perfect rhythm. Instead of a swirl of transparent colors around his torso, there was a small, concentrated starburst of bright red at his sternum. But otherwise his aura was blank. Huh. That was strange. But before I could contemplate it too much, my eyes landed on his face.

Wowza.

He was smokin' hot. As in H-O-T-T hott. I'd never understood until that moment why girls insisted on adding an extra T. This guy was extra-T worthy.

I examined the drummer, determined to find a flaw.

Brown hair. An interesting haircut: short around the sides and back, but longer on top, hanging loose and angling across his forehead. His eyes were narrow and his eyebrows were a bit thick and... Oh, who was I kidding? I could pick him apart, but even the shifty slant of his eyes made him more alluring to me.

There was an intensity in the way he played, like he was unleashing his passion into the music and nothing else mattered. He was feeling it, lost in it, and he was good. A light sheen of sweat shone on his arms and face, dampening and darkening the hair at his temples.

Never before had I felt such instant physical attraction. The power of it was jarring. I'd noticed when guys had nice features, sure, but I was usually distracted by their emotions.