Chapter 18 #2
Annemarie feigns outrage. “Of course not! She hasn’t let you, has she?”
Her voice is doing that raising in octave thing that I fear.
Flint smiles and winks at her.
She whirls to me, smacking my arm with the back of her hand. “You bitch!”
Flint’s deep laugh cuts her tirade off at the knees and I can feel a wave of heat wash through my body. Christ, this man…
She stops and studies his face with narrow eyes. “That was just fucking mean…” she starts, but whatever she was going to say is interrupted by Betsy. Not only has she returned , she’s balancing all four drinks on a server’s tray. Where the hell did she find a serving tray?
Actually, forget it. I’m more interested to learn how she became covered in glitter and where she found a feather boa.
Before I can ask any questions, she hands out the drinks – something fruity and girly to Annemarie, an IPA for Flint and a standard vodka and cranberry for me – before turning around and heading back to the bar.
I assume she’s returning the serving tray she’s borrowed.
Flint excuses himself to the restroom. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Annemarie turns to me.
“Are you making a move on him or what?” she demands.
I choke on the first sip of vodka. That bodes well.
“We’re… just…”
She scoffs and takes a regal sip from her pink drink. “You think I don’t see how he looks at you when he thinks you aren’t looking? Or how you’ve been looking at him when he isn’t looking? I’ve got two working eyes in my head, ma’am. Do. Not. Insult. My. Intelligence.”
To buy myself time, I take another, longer sip of my drink. I try to focus on the way the vodka burns its way down to my belly, but I get distracted. “Wait – he looks at me?”
If she rolls her eyes any harder, she’s going to see her brain. Maybe she can tell it hi from me.
“Yes, woman. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. A blind man could see the sparks you two are letting off a mile away.”
I don’t know what to do with that information, so I say nothing and poke at the ice in my drink with the straw.
“You know, he asked me what he should wear tonight.”
Surprised, I looked up. “He did what now?”
She nods, a satisfied smile gracing her face.
“Yep. He cornered me before I left for the day, after we told him we were coming out tonight. He wanted to know what was appropriate wear for Beat. I’m getting the definite vibe that he wanted to a) not embarrass you, and b) impress you.
” She waits a beat before raising an eyebrow. “So, how’d we do?”
Before my brain can tell my mouth to stop and consider my next words carefully, my mouth takes off on its own to say “The man would look good wrapped in trash.”
I guess that explains his slightly dressed up appearance tonight.
At home, he’s been mainly wearing sweats or basketball shorts with t-shirts.
Occasionally, I’ll catch him in a hoodie if it’s after one of his early morning runs.
To the shop, he’s been wearing jeans, mostly matched with t-shirts.
Tonight, however, he is wearing what appears to be a sleeveless shirt under an open collared button-up.
The sleeves are rolled up, highlighting those delectable forearms, showing off hard lines, sinew and ink.
He’s wearing a pair of heavy black boots, which makes more sense to me than Anne’s choice of open-toed sandals.
Toes are bound to be stepped on tonight, I reflect, wiggling my own in my old trusty sneakers.
“I KNEW IT!” she crows, lifting her glass in what I can only assume is a toast to herself.
“Knew what?” I can feel the blood heating my face and wonder if there’s a medical procedure that can make that stop.
“Bitch — please. You wanna eat that man up like a sundae.”
“I do not, “ I protest. Then, I flash back to his inadvertent nakedness a few days ago. What the hell, I think. It’s Annemarie. “I could, however, eat one off his naked abs. Also, did you know that ink on his arm goes much, much farther?”
It’s her turn to stare.
And stare.
And stare.
She’s staring like I’ve never gotten lucky in my life. I’m reasonably attractive. I’ve got some curves. Oh — maybe my boobs are hanging out. I glance down, somewhat insulted on behalf of my girls. They are classily on display tonight. No one has gone astray.
“I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me.”
“And then there was that kiss.”
“The WHAT–”
She is cut off by Flint’s abrupt return to the table. I smirk and take another sip of my drink. Let her stew for a minute.
It’s not like I’m not going to tell her everything anyway.
I volunteer to hold the table when Casie and Annemarie decide it’s time to get up and dance.
Despite being a smaller town, the pub — no, bar — is filling up quickly.
The lights they’ve mounted up near where Calida hides are dancing across the walls and floor.
From my higher vantage point, I can see Annemarie tugging Casie into the throng of people on the dance floor.
I find it sad that both women were relieved to leave their drinks with me. In the time I’ve been here, that is one social norm I’ve noticed and been angered over. However, I recognize the badge of honor it is to be trusted with both drinks.
Betsy pulls my attention away from the dance floor as she flops herself into one of the chairs next to me. “It’s my break time.”
Since she brought me a fresh beer, I take a long sip. “I didn’t realize you worked here.,” I reply, mildly interested.
She side-eyes me, taking a pull from her own beer. “I don’t! But damn is it fun!”
I laugh and turn back to watching Casie.
She and Annemarie are in the center of the group, arms above their heads, spinning and swaying to the deafening beat provided by the music guy.
I’m sure he has an appropriate term, but I don’t know it and don’t much care.
With her arms up, more of that long, lean stomach is on display and I can feel my mouth watering.
Just one taste…
“Down boy,” Betsy mutters.
I jerk my gaze back to her. “What?”
“You think just because I’m old, I can’t tell exactly where your brain just went?” she demands.
Busted.
I smile, in what I hope is a charming way. “I have no idea what you could possibly mean.”
She scoffs. “I didn’t believe that when you two were eighteen, and I certainly don’t believe it now.” She gestures towards the dance floor below with her chin. “You should go claim a dance.”
With that, she bounces back to her feet and weaves her way out of sight, slipping through other patrons with ease.
I’d love to go down and dance with Casie but I promised to guard the drinks, so that’s what I do.
Settling back in my chair, I sip my beer and watch the two of them laugh and dance in the throbbing mass of bodies.
More than a few lingering hands touch one or both of them, but from what I can tell, that is par for the course, so I rein myself in and try to focus on how much fun they both seem to be having.
At one point, Casie is laughing so hard she has to double over, holding her ribs and gasping for breath.
One creepy party-goer catches my eye as he moves towards Casie with a predator’s intent.
One predator recognizes another, after all.
He’s wearing jeans so light they’re almost white and some shirt featuring an over-the-top skull with wings print that’s at least two sizes too small.
It looks like it’s eating him. Maybe he should focus that intent on his clothing rather than my female, as he takes her laughter as an invitation to run his hands over her ass, gripping her hips and pulling her flush against him.
Rage is instantly taking over my brain. I’m dimly aware of the beer bottle in my hand shattering, raining beer down my arm and glass onto the questionable floor.
Who. The fuck. Is this. Fuckstain.
As he turns and the light swirls, I recognize the asshole I’d previously chased off at the bookshop. Brent or Brad or something. I’ve seen him come in a couple of times since then, but never when Ash is working, so I’ve let it go.
I’m on my feet, hands gripping the ancient wooden railing before the thought ever enters my consciousness. Despite my growing need to feel his bones breaking under my fists, I try to remind myself that Casie can handle herself and has never needed me to fight her battles for her.
She does what she can to put space between them — dancing away, putting Annemarie between them, losing herself in the crowd of dancing bodies.
She whirls around and shoves the asshat who was well on his way to groping her chest. He holds his hands up in a gesture even I recognize as “male trying to placate angry female”. She shoves him again, Gods love her.
Is there any question about why I’m head over heels in love with this female?
I see, from my vantage point, Casie bunch one hand into a fist and get ready to take off to her rescue.
I’m stalled, however, by the sight of Annemarie pushing Ash behind her, getting in this guy’s face. She’s gesturing wildly towards the groups of women dancing together, making googly eyes at the painfully available men in the room, then drills her finger into Asshole’s chest.
Asshole looks over his shoulders, smugly, at both of the henchmen I now realize are with him and says something.
Even with Fae hearing, the distance combined with the music means I can’t hear him.
And apparently I don’t need to, as Annemarie makes a fist of her own and connects with the bastard’s jaw.
Annemarie says something outrageous and I lose myself to the laughter.
It was sweet of Flint to guard our drinks.
It seems strange that neither of us had a millisecond of a second thought about leaving our drinks with him.
Men, take note. This is how you win women and influence people — or something like that.