Jannah's POV
"Jannah," Maria taps my shoulder gently, snapping me out of my thoughts.
My eyes trail back to Ethan, who's now staring at Miss Dainty. They're speaking to each other and smiling. A cold shudder moves through my body like electric current.
I clear my throat and take a step forward. "I'm Jannah Cole," I state, my voice more shrill than I'd like, with no intention of saying more.
Maria nods encouragingly, and I flash her my signature sweet, fake-ass smile.
"That's all." I curtsy, and an applause fills the air.
As I walk back to my seat, I make sure I don't look Ethan's way. I don't want to see him and his Barbie-no, Barbie is blonde. His fucking Raquel...
"Ouch!" I wince, rubbing the sore spot on my elbow after bumping into the wall.
I blame it on Ethan. It's his fault.
Instructions start to flood in as I move to my counter, glad to be alone.
We're making chicken enchiladas, and Maria's voice trails in the distance: "Warm the enchiladas for a minute in the oven. Don't forget to flip them over."
I manage to follow her orders without creating a mess or chopping off my finger, even though I'm stealing glances at Mr. Mission Impossible and Miss Dainty.
Surprisingly, the enchilada tastes quite good.
As soon as I'm done, I pack my creation in foil wrap and head out of the class ASAP.
While others are getting to know each other, conversing, and tasting each other's meals, I can't pretend I'd rather be here than anywhere else.
*****
"What do you mean you saw him with his girlfriend?" Kaitlyn rolls her eyes, stuffing about four Pringles in her mouth.
"What else could it mean? You tell me," I hiss, reaching for my bag of nachos, only to hear the rustling sound of an empty wrap.
Sigh.
"What if she's his sister? Besides, who even cares? You met him once, and now he owes you some kind of explanation?"
Her big eyes are half-closed, signaling she's tired of all this "Mission Impossible talk."
Kaitlyn's tone annoys me slightly, and I wish I hadn't followed my impulsive thoughts and FaceTimed her.
"I'm not saying he owes me an explanation. All I'm saying is my ego is hurt, that's all," I say sulkily, slapping my forehead dramatically and groaning aloud just so she can see how exasperated I am.
"Or maybe you've developed a silly crush."
Kaitlyn wiggles her well-arched eyebrows like the fool she is, and I find myself giggling despite my sworn straight face.
"See! I knew you liked him," she claps excitedly, her head of blond wavy hair bobbing as a few Pringles tumble out of the can.
"Please don't start," I cover my face.
"Why not? You've been acting so sus."
Is it really that obvious?
I mean, I like Ethan. I'm attracted to him because he's sizzling hot, like barbecue with Tabasco sauce.
Nothing more.
But with Kaitlyn around, trust her to add a series of conspiracy theories to the plot.
I somehow steer the conversation away from Ethan and toward Kaitlyn's love life-the hottest topic you'd ever lay your hands on.
Kaitlyn's looks do the job for her with guys, and as if that's not enough, her aura and personality are incredible.
She excitedly fills me in on her summer adventures-aka the hot guys she's bagged this season and is totally using, aka her summer cash cows.
At least one of us has an atom of excitement in our lives.
******
The next day, I'm reminded for what feels like the hundredth time why I shouldn't have called Kaitlyn.
Don't get me wrong-my bestie is all fun and good vibes, but she makes me dare myself.
So, that's why I'm here, in a red strapless sundress, sampling Mexico's finest tequilas even though I'm not a fan of alcohol.
Truth be told, I would like alcohol, but I'm a lightweight.
Our guide, a sommelier of average height in his mid-forties who speaks expressively like a mariachi singer, is narrating the origin of a tequila whose name I've forgotten.
While everyone raises snifters of tequila and takes real sips, I fool around, making little sounds of "mhmm," then saying, "Good stuff," without tasting the drink.
Talk about fake life.
I place my hand on the next shot of tequila, about to fake drink it, when I sense someone standing behind me.
My hand freezes at an awkward angle, my fingers trembling slightly.
I don't need to turn to know who it is.
My back stiffens, and goosebumps begin to line my bare shoulders.
"How long do you plan on doing this?"
His words catch me off guard, and I nearly lose my grip on the sifter.
I'm grateful, though, that he can't see my red face.
"Doing what?"
I tuck a loose lock of hair behind my ear and pretend to be absorbed in what others are doing.
"Being a lousy actor. You know what I mean."
"And how would you know if you haven't been spying on me?"
I pause, then add for dramatic effect, "Again."
He clears his throat, whistling a low note.
"I wish I were trailing you, but I'm not. Still, I couldn't help but notice your phobia for alcohol. If this were a movie, it'd be a C-rate film simply because you're in it."
Ouch.
I can tell there's a smirk on his face.
"Well, I didn't ask, did I?"
I shrug casually.
I can't bring myself to drop my drink now-his taunts have struck a chord.
"So I'm assuming you're going to take a shot after all?"
He moves closer until he's beside me.
"I got my luggage," I reply dismissively.
"I see."
Ethan picks up one of the sifters and downs it in a quick gulp.
We're so close that I can hear the sound of his swallow-so manly and sexy.
I wrap my left hand around my right arm.
This guy somehow makes me self-conscious.
"Do you know what you're about to drink?" he asks offhandedly.
I don't look at his face, but from the corner of my eye, I can see his gaze fixed on me.
"Tequila, duh," I roll my eyes, even though I'm sure that's not what he means.
My grip tightens on my glass.
I swear to my creator I'm going to take this shot just to prove myself.
He chuckles dryly.
"I wouldn't drink it if I were you. What you have in your hands is Avion espresso, very high in..."
Without a second thought, I pour the contents of my glass into my mouth-every single drop.
As soon as the hot liquid hits my tongue, I clamp my lips shut and blink hard.
Shit, this stuff is strong.
My fingers press against my temples as my eyes widen.
It doesn't deter me even though I'm beginning to feel funny...
A second shot follows immediately and that's when the impact hits me for real.
My legs give out, and my body sways as I take unsteady steps.
My eyelids flutter, and the burning sensation in my throat lingers when I feel a pair of hands grip my shoulders.
My body goes limp.