Firstlife by Gena Showalter Page B

being a major creeper? “You’re a legal adult.”
    â€œAnd you’re not. I know. Opposites attract.”
    â€œI mean , no one can force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Why are you here?” I asked before, but he only fed me a bunch of bull. “If you want to survive the evening with all your parts intact, answer honestly.”
    His smile returns as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and hikes his shoulders in a shrug.
    Irritating! “Be a big boy and use your words.”
    â€œMaybe Vans is paying me to beguile you. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
    Yes! And what if James was paid to do the same?
    Argh! Bow! She’s in my head.
    Killian offers me his tattooed hand. “By the way, you should always wear pink, lass.”
    My stupid heart stutters and my stupid hand trembles as I link our fingers. His skin is as cold as Bow’s and James’s. That’s weird, right? Or am I the weird one?
    â€œI shouldn’t have to mention this, but hey, why leave anything to chance? This isn’t a real date.”
    â€œDon’t like the label? Fine. We’ll give it a new one. How about pants party for two?”
    I almost laugh . Almost. “I’m not wearing pants.”
    â€œUnderpants?”
    â€œI think I prefer the term death match .”
    â€œDeath match, it is. And look at me, willing to compromise. I really am the perfect guy.”
    I do laugh this time. He’s shameless.
    He leads me down the hall, into the commons, just not the commons I’m used to seeing.
    One corner of the room has been transformed. There’s a small candlelit table with two cushioned chairs placed side by side. Platters of food occupy every inch of the tabletop. There’s even a bottle of wine and a chocolate cake.
    Cake! Is this heaven?
    Killian doesn’t lead me to the table. No, he leads me to the left, where a virtual tour is playing over the wall. One I’ve never seen before. A moonlit beach so realistic I can almost smell the salt and sand.
    â€œYou’re going all out, right from the start,” I mutter. Waves dance over the shore, leaving lacy foam behind. Pinpricks of light crawl toward the water—glow-in-the-dark turtles! I coo with delight. “They’re so beautiful.”
    â€œWouldn’t you love to hold one?”
    An-n-nd my delight fades. “Do you really think I’ll be so easily manipulated?”
    â€œYou say manipulated . I say rewarded . You love the water. Don’t try to deny it.”
    I go rigid. Either he eavesdropped, which isn’t likely—I would have noticed him nearby—or Vans’s cameras and mics picked up what I said to Bow, and the information was given to Killian.
    The leash on my temper begins to unravel. Needing distance, I walk to the next wall. People have set up camp around a crackling fire pit—people who are talking and laughing, enjoying Everlife.
    At the next wall, a different group is playing a game that looks like a cross between volleyball and football. Tackle folleyball?
    â€œThis,” Killian says, tapping the fire pit, “is what awaits you in Myriad.”
    â€œUnless Troika is right, and this ,” I say, tapping the net, “is just an illusion.”
    When he offers no reply, I turn to him. His gaze is locked on the pit. No, not the pit, I realize, but the people around it. Is that longing I detect from him? Maybe even a hint of envy?
    â€œEarlier, you mentioned surfing,” I say. “Who taught you?”
    A muscle tics beneath his eye. “I taught myself.”
    I’ve most definitely stumbled onto a sensitive subject. “What about friends? Your parents?”
    â€œWhat about your friends and family?”
    Oh, no. We’re not playing that game. “I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.”
    Several seconds pass in silence. Finally he says, “My father never wanted me, and my