Suck it up. One drink and you’re outta there. It’s not like I have much of a choice.
I hug my brand new fit-and-flare coat closer when I realize how empty the streets are. Odd. NYC never sleeps. It’s always crowded and busy, which is why I fell in love with it in the first place. Tonight, though, it almost seems as if the fog-covered streets are part of a ghost town.
The theme song of Once Upon a Time in the West comes to mind, and I hurry on with a creepy feeling in my stomach. I should take a cab. Problem is there are none. I continue down the silent street, my skin crawling. Something ain’t right.
I stop dead in my tracks and scan my surroundings. No one in sight, yet I can’t shake the sneaking suspicion someone’s watching me. I blame the fucking nightmares for messing with my head, but when the streetlight next to me flickers, I wonder if there’s more to it than paranoia. Quickening my pace, I hurry past dim buildings.
A blood-curling howl echoes through the hazy streets. The smell of sulfur crawls up my nose. A fraction of a second later, I see a weird shadow from the corner of my eye. It kinda looks like a dog. Except dogs don’t have fiery red eyes.
I stop again and slowly face the thing.
It’s gone. Or, maybe, it was never there.
Jesus, I think I need a shrink.
****
The queue leading to The Bitter End is endless. I can already tell half the crowd will have to spend their evening elsewhere. The small club with the wooden façade is famous for its live acts and packed most nights. Bob Dylan, Taylor Swift, and Lady Gaga—they’ve all performed here.
Tiptoeing, I’m trying to get a glimpse of the door when Billy the Bouncer, one of Bonnie’s one-night stands, waves me over. Screwing a security guy certainly has its perks.
Most of the dressed-to-kill chicks give me the evil-eye as I pass them on my way to the door. I couldn’t care less. It’s their fault they don’t have an awesome best friend.Billy plants a kiss on my numb cheek. “Looking good, Amanda.”
I point at his Men in Black outfit. “You too, Billy.”
He smiles at me. “Who’s the lucky bastard that gets to date my favorite customer?” I wave airily. “Blind date with a moron.”
He throws his head back and breaks into a lusty laugh. “Blind date sorta implies you haven’t met the guy before, so why are you calling the poor bastard a moron?”
I draw a sharp breath. “Long story.”
He tilts his chin at the queue. “I’ve got nothing but time, honey.”
Spending the rest of the night with Billy sounds better than meeting up with DeLuca, but I promised Bonnie I’d show. “Tempting. But B will raise hell if I don’t get in there soon.” She’d already sent me a couple of furious texts.
Billy sighs. “You’d better hurry then.” He nods at the entrance. “Bonnie and a boy toy named Troy are already inside.” Jealousy thickens his voice.
I can’t hide a smile. “So, you’re still secretly in love with my best friend, huh?”
The heavily muscled beast of a man averts his gaze and blushes like a little kid. “The one that got away,” he mutters. I’ve heard that line from several ex-lovers of Bonnie, and I don’t blame them—she is one of a kind. Unfortunately, she’s also the female version of Jesse, Alex’s little brother, and sometimes I wonder if breaking hearts is some kind of sport for her. I point to the mostly female audience. “Who’s playing?” I’d bet my money on some teen star, but I doubt The Bitter End’s standard has dropped so low.
“The Neighbourhood,” Billy replies. “Club’s packed already.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. At least the music will be good. “All right.” I give him a genuine smile. “I better get going.”
Billy nods. “See you later, honey.”
“Rather sooner,” I assure him before I stagger into the club.
In and out in a heartbeat is what I keep telling myself as I push through the horde. The band isn’t on stage yet, but the crowd is already going crazy.
I find Bonnie, Cappuccino Guy, and DeLuca at the front-row table with the best stage view. Didn’t expect less from my best friend.
“Hey,” I mutter as I reach them.
DeLuca jumps up to get the chair for me. I deliberately pick another one. I hate gentlemen.
He drinks me in. “Wow, you look great, sugar.”
“Thanks.” The tight red mini-dress I bought last week fits me perfectly. Paired with a hint of red lipstick and my blonde curls, I look like a modern-day Marilyn Monroe.
Bonnie’s hand is dangerously close to Cappuccino Guy’s crotch. “Thought you’d stand us up.”
Boy toy named Troy never once takes his eyes off my best friend. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We were about to come and get you.”
I pull a face. “Sure you were.” Right after you screwed Bonnie in the car.
Ignoring my comment, he grabs Bonnie’s hair, pulls her closer, and shoves his freaking tongue down her throat. Gross. Cappuccino Guy is handsome and all, but there’s something about him I just can’t stand. Since I can’t read auras, anymore, I don’t even know what it is.
DeLuca might be an idiot, but he senses I’m about to puke my guts out if I have to bear witness to these obnoxious tongue-acrobatics any longer. “Can I get you a drink?” he asks, drawing my attention away from the kiss.
“Bourbon,” I choke out. Lots of bourbon.
He jumps to his feet. “Coming right up.”
Sitting there like the fifth wheel, I wonder why the fuck I didn’t stay home. I’m tired, grumpy, and not in the mood to watch live porn. My so-called best friend obviously doesn’t care. She’s too busy sucking the life out of her date.
A middle-aged woman appears on the stage. “Are you ready to rock?” she yells into the mic. The crowd answers with loud whistling and frantic clapping. “Then give it up for…” She pauses for dramatic effect. “The Neighbourhood.”
The second Jesse Rutherford sets foot on the stage, the crowd screams and shouts like fucking lunatics. Guys clap. Girls fan themselves as they drink in the hotness of the rock star.
I scowl. Why the fuck are people so crazy about rock stars? Granted, the dude is sexy, but I’ll never get the whole fan-girl hype that turns ordinary chicks into mad sirens.
Just when Brandon Fried sets the rhythm for “Sweater Weather” on his drums, DeLuca slams a bottle of bourbon on the table and grins. “You looked like you could use more than just a glass.”
I gawk at Bonnie and Cappuccino Guy. “If he keeps that freak show going, I’ll need another bottle just to sanitize my eyes.”
DeLuca laughs. “Can you blame him?”
“I blame her,” I say.
The first song is almost over when the dude finally pulls his tongue out of Bonnie’s mouth. “You guys having fun?” She’s completely out of breath.
I give her a look. “Hell, yeah. I mean, what could be more fun than watching you guys make out to the tunes of The Neighbourhood, right?”
Bonnie furrows her brow. “Drop the bitch act, Amanda.”
Elbows on the table, I smirk. “It’s either the bitch act or vomiting on the table. Your choice.”
Bonnie’s lips part, but before a single word leaves her mouth, Cappuccino Guy leans over the table and whispers something in her ear. Whatever he says lights up her face, and a second later she’s on her feet. “Jason left his phone in the car,” she says, cheeks flushed.
I love Bonnie. God knows I do, but if looks could kill, she’d drop dead right about now. “Couldn’t you at least have the decency to come up with a better excuse, B?”
She shrugs. “Leave some bourbon for us?”
I can’t even say “fuck you,” because Cappuccino Guy pulls her toward the exit.
I’m going to kill her for this.
I let out a long, pained breath as my favorite Neighbourhood song, “West Coast,” starts.
DeLuca’s gaze is glued to the lead singer. “Damn, I love this song.”
“Me too,” I admit.
His soft amber eyes lock on mine. “We do have something in common, huh?”
I manage a weak smile. “Stranger things have happened.”
DeLuca hands me a squat glass of bourbon and lifts his in a toast. “Here’s to music.”
I down the shot. Leaning back in my chair, I relax a bit.
“The dude’s voice is dope,” DeLuca says, drooling.
I laugh. “You from the 80s or something?” Seriously, who uses the word dope to mean good anymore? Last time I heard it was in Straight Outta Compton.
He beams at me. “What’s wrong with the 80s?”
I raise a brow. “Other than scrunchies, shoulder pads, and leggings?”
“C’mon, leggings are luscious.”
I give him a look. “Yeah, no. No, they’re not.”
We listen to a few songs in silence before DeLuca opens his mouth again. “Ms. Bishop,” he says as the audience applauds. “Do you live by that rule?”
“What rule?”
He brushes his angled fringe out of his face and grins. “The best always comes last?”
I trace the edge of my glass and nod. “What about you? Any rules you live by?”
He props his elbows on the table and leans in. “Only one.”
“Always annoy your date before the date?”
He grins sheepishly. “All right. Two.”
I shift the glass from one hand to the other, waiting, knowing he’ll tell me without me asking.
He downs his bourbon and slams the empty glass on the table. “The other is rules are meant to be broken,” he says, wiping moisture off his lips.
I knit my brows. “Is that so?”
“Why so surprised?”
I look him over—black button-up shirt, hipster hairstyle, and dimples. “You don’t exactly come across as a rule breaker.”
He circles my wrist. “And what’s dating the girl who humiliated me in front of a whole auditorium?”
I bat my lashes at him. “Playing hard to get?”
DeLuca runs a hand over his face and sighs. “I’m that transparent, huh?”
“Nope. I’m just that good.”
Despite my initial doubts, we spend the rest of the night listening to The Neighbourhood and discussing MacDougall’s experiment. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but DeLuca isn’t as bad as I thought. Sure, the guy is a total non-believer. Atheist. Scientist. Stubbornist. That’s not even a word. Who cares? It describes him perfectly. But beneath all the skepticism hides a decent human being who’s pretty funny.
DeLuca’s gaze locks with mine as the band bows for an enthusiastic audience. “Wanna check your calendar again?”
“Why?”
He cups my elbow. A spark of electricity jolts through me. “Because I have a feeling tonight has turned into the seventh of never and the eighteenth of ain’t gonna happen, sugar.”
I pull back. “I don’t do relationships,” I warn.
His gaze glides from my cleavage to my eyes. “But I’m pretty sure you want to do me, Amanda.”
Chapter 4
The smile turning up the corners of my mouth as I blink my eyes open feels unnatural. Not that I’ve never woken up with a grin plastered on my face, but it’s been so long, I can’t remember the last time.
Stretching my sore muscles, I listen to Bonnie singing in the kitchen. Any other day it would bug me, but after sleeping through the night without demonic interference, I kinda enjoy the sound of her voice.
Hugging my pillow, I grab my phone from the nightstand. Six missed calls from an unknown number. In the last two weeks, I’ve had several such calls. When I pick them up, no one says a word. Either someone constantly rings the wrong number, or I’m being stalked. I ignore them and open the text from DeLuca.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we made it to a room on the second date? he wrote.
My fingers fly over the keyboard. I sorta liked Washington Square Park. If I had a conscience, I’d feel bad about screwing him. Especially after I’d judged him so harshly. But, hey, I slept through the night. That’s all that matters.
Up for round two? he texts back.
More sleep and fewer nightmares? Eleven pm. My place. No sleepover!
Later, sugar. ;)
I put my phone on the nightstand, push the blankets away, and get on my wobbly feet. My muscles feel like Jimi Hendrix’s guitar strings: all worked up and still on fire. Having lived like the Virgin Mary for the last few months has taken its toll on me. I almost forgot sex is a lot like yoga—stop practicing and you lose flexibility.
“Amanda?” Bonnie knocks on my door as I gather my toiletries to hit the shower. “You up?”
“Yeah, come in.” I don’t usually sound so cheerful in the morning. I bet Bonnie will see right through me, but it’s not like I plan on keeping DeLuca a secret.
The door cracks open, and my crazy best friend sticks her head in. The girl is a miracle. I might be every guy’s wet dream, but she’s a flawless beauty, and even at seven in the morning, she looks like a cover model of Sports Illustrated. She covers her eyes with both hands. “You alone?”
I laugh. “Unlike you, I don’t spend the night with my one-night stands.”
Bonnie barges in. She flashes me a smug smile. “So, it’s true, huh? Amanda Bishop screwed Magic Bridge. And here I thought you’d joined Chelsea the Nun in celibacy.”
I throw my toiletries on my chair. “What’s with you and all those stupid nicknames? Cappuccino Guy, Billy Bouncer, Magic Bridge—you make ’em sound like villains in a DC comic.”
She throws herself onto my freshly-made bed. “I met Jason at a coffee shop when he ordered an extra hot cappuccino. Billy is a bouncer, and Bridge?” Her eyes widen. “Well, from what I’ve heard, his moves are like Channing Tatum’s.”
She’s not exaggerating. The boy could get a role in Magic Mike XXXL. I stumble to my closet, reach for my favorite black sweater, and shrug. “Can’t argue with that.”
“I’m happy you finally got laid. Really am.” She narrows her eyes at me. “But what happened to, ‘he’s a moron, and I’d rather date Lucifer’?”
DeLuca is a moron. He’s also funny and easy to be with. “Let’s just say, I reconsidered after sleeping through the night.” I’m not in the mood to admit I’ve been a prejudiced bitch.
“No nightmares?”
“Better. No dreams whatsoever. At least none I can remember.”
She breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s good, right?”
I thrust my fingers through my wild hair. “Good? It’s freakin’ awesome, B. Had I known sex would ease my nightmares, I would have slept with the whole football team by now.” Okay, maybe not the whole team, but I wouldn’t have lived like a virgin either.
Her cognac eyes sparkle. “So you’ll see him again?”
I pull ripped skinny jeans out of my closet. “Don’t get too excited. I’m not in it for the guy, only the unbroken sleep.” DeLuca is a nice distraction. The thing is, there are no butterflies or fireworks in my belly when I’m with him. Judging by the way she looks at me, she’s about to give me her no-one-will-ever-live-up-to-Alex-but-you-need-to-try sermon. My ringing phone saves me just in time. “Unknown,” Bonnie says, passing it to me.
Again? I push the accept button. “Hello?”
Silence.
Bonnie leans back on her elbows, watching me with eagle eyes. “Who is it?”
I shrug. “Helloooo?”
Someone’s breathing at the other end.
“All right, douchebag. Talk or I’ll hang up.”
Jerk cuts the line first.
“I’m guessing that wasn’t Bridge, huh?”
I glare at my phone, overcome by the same sick feeling I had last night when I saw the thing with the red eyes.
“Amanda?”
“Nope,” I say, throwing the phone on my bed. “Wrong number.”
She has that look on her face, a cross between worry and frustration. “There’s something I have to tell you,” she admits af
ter a long pause.
My mood barometer drops to happy with a hint of irritation. “Shoot.”
Bonnie taps her foot. She does that a lot when she’s nervous. “Do you promise not to go all bitch-witch on my ass?”
I’ve had some sleep. I assume I can keep my aggression under control. “I’ll do my best.”
Tapping her foot a little harder, she stares at my bookshelf. Bonnie struggles to find the right words, and if I could read her aura, it would most definitely be light gray, indicating fear.
I start to freak a bit. “What could be so bad that you, of all people, are rendered speechless?”
She plays with a loose curl. “Melinda?” she whispers, voice cracked.My stomach dips. “Melinda, as in my sister Melinda?” I haven’t heard from Perfect Housewitch since Alex told her I’d been shot.
Bonnie bites on her lower lip. “That’s the one.”
I stalk toward her, fear in my heart. “Something wrong with—”
“No. He’s fine.”
About two hundred pounds lift off my chest before irritation bleeds into my system. “Then what is it? Did her Women’s Committee cut the budget for the next garden party?”
Bonnie jumps up. “Damn, Amanda, why is it so difficult to talk to you about your sister?” Bonnie doesn’t get pissed off easily. Right now, she looks like she’s about to wrap her small hands around my neck to choke the life out of me.
“Because she’s a red flag?”
Bonnie crosses her arms and gives me a killer look. “It shouldn’t be like this. You guys are family. So why don’t you both get a fucking grip and act like it for a change?”
I saunter to the desk and unplug my MacBook. “Blood doesn’t make you family.” Just thinking of Melinda sharpens my tone and tenses every muscle DeLuca worked so hard to relax.
Bonnie wants to defend my sister. I see it in her eyes. Since she’s not suicidal, she doesn’t.
Swallowing the hatred for Melinda, I shove the laptop in my bag. “All right, I’ll bite. What does the Queen of Good Behavior want?” Not that I care, but for Bonnie, I play along.
Anger hardens her soft face. “Know what? I’ve been your messenger for ages, Amanda. But I’m done playing the peacemaker.” Like a fury on crack, she staggers to the door.
Soulmates Page 3
