10 want

                                    

                                          
Jem
                          
I’M STILL WALKING OUT OF the frat, Indigo slung over my shoulder, as we both draw a few eyes. The smoke clears and the flashing lights fade, and I realize that her friend, Mae, is following not far behind. I didn’t think this through, not really, but that’s the thing about impulse. You never really anticipate it.
                          
“Put me down!”
                          
I sigh, and my hand slides across her light wash denim as I set her down in front of me. Turns out that shot from earlier has kicked in properly now, because as soon as Indigo’s sneakers touch the pavement, her knees buckle. I resist the urge to reach out and help, because she steadies herself a few seconds later.
                          
I’m trying to concentrate, but her hair smells sweet—citrusy sweet. She draws her brows together, a now familiar anger slipping into her gaze as she looks up at me. “Why did you do that?”
                          
“I­—”
                          
“Because you wanted to?” Disbelief washes over her features. “So what? You murder someone, and then when they ask you why you did it, you say—”
                          
I grin. “Because I wanted to.”
                          
Obviously, it’s a joke. Violence is always my last resort. But my sarcasm must fly over her head, because she pauses, mouth slightly ajar. “You’re insane.”
                          
“A little,” I say, then, “Did you really want to kiss Moreno that bad? Because if you did, we can go back in there and you can finish the game.”
                          
No reply.
                          
“Did you?” I press.
                          
She tilts her head. “Did I what?”
                          
“Want to kiss him.”
                          
“No.” Then, she frowns, as if realizing something, and sways a little as she turns to me. “But what’s it to you?”
                          
The question catches me off guard, but I play it off with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
                          
Technically, it is the truth—I make a mental note to sort through what exactly I want from this—but something in her eyes tells me she doesn’t buy it completely. Fortunately for me, Indie’s little friend is pushing past the crowd at the front to get to us, tearing her attention away from me.
                          
“Mae?” she says, “Mae?” And then she’s walking over, but she has clearly no sense of balance, and she all but trips on her friend, who shakes her head as she tries to steady her.
                          
Indie’s leaning almost all of her uncoordinated weight on Mae, and to be honest? It’s pretty fucking funny. Mae has a smaller frame, so Indigo has a good few inches on her. And when Indigo loops her arms around Mae’s neck and tries to practically jump her, I have to make the conscious decision to not laugh.
                          
“Indigo—” Mae almost loses her balance trying to support both of them, making a brief strangled sound. “Stay still, you stupid—” She doesn’t. “Ugh, Indigo, quit it!”
                          
Eventually, Mae gives up on trying to keep Indie upright. She pries Indigo’s arms off her shoulder, nudging her down to the ground. Then, Mae leans over and angles her index finger in warning. “Stay.”
                          
Indie, whose body probably feels weightless to her, slumps over, a few curls sliding over her face as she tilts her head with an innocent smile. “Fine.”
                          
Then, Mae’s dark eyes slide up to me. “Thanks,” she says, “Sorry about her. She doesn’t usually drink past her limit.”
                          
At this, we both look over at Indigo, who hasn’t been able to sit upright in the thirty seconds Mae left her. The girl’s straight up sleeping on the grass. Like it’s a queen bed or some shit. I’m grinning before I can help it.