Speak (Witches & Warlocks Book 1) (7 page)

We order our drinks and once they’re in our hands, Becca turns her back and leans on the bar while she scans the crowd. “We should claim a booth before they get here if we can.”

Perfect, now I have an excuse to look around the room for any sign of Noah. If I have any kind of luck at all, he won’t be here. He’ll have found a better place to hang out and I won’t have to deal with the double awkward of dealing with both a double date and the guy I kissed last week in the same room at the same time. Luck holds up and not only do I not see Noah, but I also find a booth in what appears to be the only quiet corner of the bar.

“Good eyes!” Becca nods in appreciation as we work our way through the crowd to claim our table.

With the sound and commotion kind of calmed down around us, I’m able to concentrate a little bit, at least enough to ask a question. Enough to start to really worry about what’s about to happen. “So, what’s this guy’s name? Both guys actually, since I somehow don’t know either one even though, as your best friend, I should at least know the guy you’re meeting.” That’s right. I actually managed to say exactly what I was thinking. That’s what she gets for dressing me up and making me feel confident.

I’m not sure if I imagined it or not, but I think I just saw her flinch. “Luke and Carter.” She takes a long drink and watches the door over my shoulder. Or she could be avoiding meeting my eyes. I’m not sure which.

“Which one is mine?”

Becca smiles and bites her bottom lip. “Luke.”

“And where did you meet this Carter?”

Becca’s face gets all dodgy again and then lights up. With a flick of her hair and a wiggle of her finger, she beckons to someone behind me. Two someones I bet. “Oh, they’re here and you’re going to love Luke. He looks amazing!” She leans in and whispers: “He’s super hot!” She straightens and a smile darts across her face just as the guys show up at our table.

She’s busy greeting them, flipping her flirt mode into high gear, all hair tossing and neck touching, smiles, and twinkling eyes. Me? I’ve got my beer in a vice grip and my legs crossed so tight you’d think my feet would go numb.

“Zoe?” Becca catches my eyes and raises her eyes, clearly sending me a ‘don’t be weird’ message. “This is Luke. Luke, this my best friend, Zoe.”

The guy she indicates is a beast. A big, sexy beast. All biceps and black shirt and dark eyes that flash with intelligence.

“Zoe,” he says, his voice every bit as beastly as his body. In a good way. I think. He extends his hand out to me. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Chapter 8

I offer Luke my hand, totally aware of the mixture of condensation and sweat on my palm. Thankfully, instead of taking my hand and shaking it as if I were a man, Luke grasps my fingers between his and gives me a slight dip of his head in greeting. My eyes drop to the table. Apparently, I do have a thing with being touched because there’s this rush of something. It’s deep and rich, and worms its way from my fingers to my chest and I don’t feel afraid. I lift my eyes to meet Luke’s and can’t help but compare him to Noah.

If Noah was warm, then Luke is … cold is the wrong word, because sultry has heat to it. And if Noah’s touch was golden, then Luke’s is … dark is also wrong because electricity has sparks. But despite all that, Luke is somehow the polar opposite of Noah and everything I loved about Noah all wrapped into one mouthwatering package.

“Mind if I sit down?” asks Luke.

I smile, shake my head, and scoot over, making as much room for Luke as I can — which isn’t much because the booth is small and Luke fills the space. Becca’s made room for Carter, but not all that much room because they’re practically touching, shoulders and elbows making little whispering moments of contact as they speak. I listen for the roar of the tiger, wait for her to start pacing, thumping her tail in consternation. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Strange. As much as I’d like to think it’s because of the time I spent practicing my people skills this afternoon, I’m fully aware that practice amounted to me buying a cup of coffee and sitting alone under a tree. Not much happening on the whole practice front. Maybe even the tiger has given up on me?

Becca’s been tossing the conversational ball back and forth between the two guys, flirting enough for the both of us. I listen and smile and take small sips of my drink, laughing when it’s appropriate. This I can do. This isn’t so bad at all. I’m surrounded by people and energy and we’re laughing and joking … well, they’re joking and I’m just laughing with them, but whatever, it’s still nice. With all the people crammed into Flannigan’s tonight, I’m tucked all nice and safe into the corner protected by a brick wall on one side and a brick wall of a man on the other.

“What do you think, Zoe?”

Oh, shit. I have no idea what they’ve been talking about.

“Oh, you’ll have to excuse her.” Becca sighs and giggles. “She tends to zone out.”

Luke hits me with a smile that glitters in his eyes like diamonds in coal or sequins on a black dress or something like that. He runs his thumb over the top of my hand and there it is again. This warm, purple, oozing wash of … comfort isn’t the right word, but it’s close. Comfort is a fire and a glass of wine and warm place to lay your head. This feels way more exotic than that. Dangerous. Can you be dangerously comfortable?

“It’s ok, Zoe,” Luke says, and his voice and his words command my attention. They stretch out in front of me like a big neon sign. They’re all I can hear. All I can see. “You’re safe with me. You can relax.”

There’s a woompf and a pop and gold mixing with purple and I take a big breath. It’s like a weight has been lifted off my chest and I take the first full breath I’ve taken in all twenty-three years of my life. I have to figure out what’s going on with me, why I’m freaking out like that when people touch me, but I’ll do that later, because right now, I feel comfortable in my skin for the first time in my life.

Safe.

Relaxed.

We chat, all four of us. That’s right. I’m a participant, not a spectator. Carter isn’t really Becca’s type — more punk rock than gym rat with odd hair that stands out from his head in little tufts and a swirling tattoo working its way down his arm to his wrist. It’s like he’s determined to rough up his delicate features, to hide his soft good looks under anything spikey he can get his hands on.

Luke isn’t satisfied when I fall silent. He isn’t gonna just let me be me and fill in the blanks for me when I run out of things to say. He asks me questions and plays with me until I answer.

What do you like?

Favorite color?

Favorite band?

Favorite place to vacation?

I realize that I don’t have many answers to his questions. I’ve spent my whole life going with the flow, worrying so much about what everyone else likes that I haven’t taken the time to form opinions at all.

What color do I like? I like them all.

Favorite place to vacation? Gosh, take me anywhere.

Luke won’t settle for those answers. He digs and he presses until we discover that I like blue best of all and can’t wait to get to the beach for the first time. Becca loves gold and wants to go skiing. Carter likes black and wants to go to New York City.

“And what about you?” I ask Luke. “What’s your favorite color?”

He looks into my eyes and smiles. “Typically I’d say red, but tonight I think it’s blue upon blue upon blue.” I realize he’s talking about the color of my eyes and blush ferociously. “Ahhh,” he laughs, “there’s the red I love so much.”

We laugh and drink. I drink way more than I normally would but somehow that doesn’t freak me out. This is the first time in my life that I’ve been comfortable in a group of people and the first time in my life that losing just a little bit of control over myself doesn’t make me extra nervous. I can’t help but study Luke. He’s huge, yet manages this almost serpentine grace, each movement calculated and controlled and muscular. It’s, I don’t know, thick like syrup if that makes any sense at all. I’m just one step passed drunk and I’m laughing just a little too loud. It makes me cringe. I should slow down on the booze.

“I’ve never seen you like this, Zoe!” Becca’s talking even louder than I’ve been laughing and her cheeks are flushed. Like way flushed. She’s looking like maybe she’s a few more steps passed drunk than I am. “I’ll tell you, Luke, whatever magic you’re using on her is working.” There’s something funny in the way she emphasizes her words and Carter’s eyes go as hard as rocks. Becca covers her mouth and giggles.

With a roll of his eyes and swig of his beer, Carter drags attention off Becca. “I’ll tell ya,” he says in his strange nasally drawl, “I went into the bathroom today, thinking I only had to piss, but it turned out I needed to, uhhh … do more.” He waves his hands and makes a face that says ‘you know what I’m saying.’ “The first thing that pops into my head is ‘shit, I have to shit and I don’t have my phone with me.’” He bursts into laughter and Becca follows suit. He is
so
not her type. Is she having some weird nervous breakdown rebellion thing ‘cause her parents are in the middle of a divorce? I almost hope so because that would explain Carter.

Although Carter came hand in hand with Luke, so maybe I shouldn’t wish him away too hard.

Speaking of Luke, he leans in close, close enough for me to smell his delicious manliness, and whispers in my ear. “Carter’s an ass. Grab your drink. Come play pool with me.”

I’ve had plenty to drink, but I don’t say so. I swoop up my beer with one hand while Luke takes my other hand. Maybe Becca was right. Maybe Luke is working some kind of magic on me. That’d explain the rush of whatever it is that I feel rolling its way up my arm from his hand. Like if you imagined fog rolling in, you know, like in all those horror movies? Where the fog is thick and full of foreboding, and it billows onto the scene in huge undulating waves? It’s like that, only without all the ominous music.

God, I’m weird.

First tigers, now magic fog? Why can’t I just be like everyone else? I know that sounds self-deprecating, and it is, but it also kind of makes me laugh. Like being weird is just some silly little personality quirk and not a full on disability. It’s kind of a nice change of pace.

We arrive at an open pool table and I find a place to put my drink. “I’m way not good at pool,” I warn.

“That’s ok. I just wanted to get you alone.”

When I say I’m no good at pool, I totally mean it. I’ve played, like, once, and actually managed to pop the cue ball off the table more than I managed to hit any of the other balls. I explain as much to Luke and he sets about teaching me how to play, wrapping his warm body around mine as I take aim, adjusting my grip, helping me line up the shot. There’s so many points of contact between us, and his voice sounds so strong and meaningful as he whispers instructions in my ear. As much as it’s a tacky cliché from every movie
ever
, that doesn’t change the fact that I like the way it feels when it’s happening to me.

After a while, I get the hang of pool. It’s kind of like darts in that I have to see the lines and angles of my shot, plan where I want things to go and set the course in motion, but it’s so much more complex. With darts, it’s just one projectile, sent in one direction. With pool, I’m bouncing balls off walls and each other and even the slightest change in the angle of my cue changes the reaction of the balls. I think I could grow to love this game.

Luke is full of compliments and information and he has no qualms at all about teasing me when I mess up. Normally, the teasing would tie me up in nervous knots, totally paralyze me with self-doubt. For some reason, coming from Luke, the silly little jabs are just that. Silly. I smile. He makes me laugh. I’m actually laughing at myself. This whole night is wonderfully weird. It’s like there’s a whole new Zoe.

I wonder if Becca’s watching. I peek at our booth as I line up a shot with Luke’s help. (He’s leaning over me, his body pressing into mine, his hands on my arm and shoulder, whispering instructions into my ear.) Conversation seems to have turned rather intense over there. Becca’s wearing her angry face and Carter’s hands are jabbing the air as he bites off words in her direction. Maybe she’s busy figuring out he’s really not her kind of guy.

I take my shot and barely notice if I manage to get any balls into any of the pockets. I kind of feel like I should go rescue Becca because Lord knows she’s done enough rescuing of me over the years. If our positions were swapped, I’d be begging for her to show up and get me the hell outta there. As if she could feel me looking at her, she glances my way and catches me staring. I smile big and wave her over, making sure Carter has a chance to see the invitation as well.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I say as I turn to face Luke, “but it looks like things weren’t going so well over there.”

I think he said he didn’t mind. I’m really not sure. I couldn’t hear what he was saying over all the shock. And the fear. And the total rush of ‘oh shit now what’ nerves flooding my system. And maybe the tiger stands and roars and something crazy like that. But I’m not really sure because all I can see is Noah.

Chapter 9

He’s standing just a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, this awful look of, oh I don’t know. Betrayal. Sadness. Anger. Hurt. All this awfulness brought on by looking at me. All this awfulness
because
of me. He shakes his head and turns away as Luke comes up and wraps his arm around my shoulders.

What in the world am I going to do? How am I going to handle this? Does it matter how I handle this? I mean, Noah’s supposed to be bad news bears and it’s not like we’re dating exclusively or anything like that. Hell, he didn’t even ask me for my phone number the one time we accidentally ended up hanging out. We’re doing this at my speed, right? So, maybe my speed means that I get to play the field. Maybe it means that I can hang out with anyone I want to hang out with.