Oliver glances at me, the corners of his mouth forming a momentary smile before looking away again. “I will try to refrain. But you should know your absence has caused…much turmoil. Strife. Emotionally and physically. No one is themselves.”
“Carl already took me on a guilt trip, okay. I’m sorry you’ve had to do all the violent heavy lifting in the field. But you have two new werewolf team mates to back you up now.”
“They are not you. They do not possess your instincts. Your keen mind. Creativity. They could not have accomplished what you did today in less than twenty-four hours. I doubt even our new dictator could either.”
“Has Chandler really gotten that bad?”
“A by the book, rigid, control freak with no sense of humor or creative bone in his body leading a traumatized, grieving, understaffed squad of monster hunters? No, it has been a dream. At least Wi—” He stops himself. I know what he was about to say. I’m just glad he didn’t.
“Well, if he’s so terrible then take over. You have seniority.”
“I am no leader, Trixie. I have neither the tools nor the drive to be one either. Unlike Agent Chandler, I recognize that and am man enough to admit it.”
“Then Wolfe? One of the rookies?”
“You?” he posits.
My stomach clenches hard enough I grimace. We are not going here tonight. “Okay, topic two off the conversation menu tonight. That. No Connor, no more me returning to Kansas. Got it?”
“Assertive. An excellent trait in a leader,” he says with grin #2, tips of his fangs showing.
I don’t smile back. “I mean it.”
“Why? What else do friends converse about besides work and love? The weather?”
“Yes, and isn’t it lovely tonight? We’re expecting fog tomorrow morning though.” This time he doesn’t smile. I sigh. “I just don’t want a lecture tonight about everything I’m doing wrong in my life. Let’s make a deal: I won’t lecture you, you won’t lecture me.”
“Fine. No lectures for either one of us. I can agree to that.” He pauses. “So. It is lovely tonight. Too bad I will miss the fog though.”
“Ha ha.” We ride in silence for a minute. “We’re out of practice, aren’t we?”
“I do not know. We have already had a chiding, a small argument, and made up all within five minutes. We are right on schedule,” he says with grin #1.
“Really? Then what comes next?”
“Rampant flirting, more chiding, followed by flirting, flirting, and more flirting.”
“Best get on with it then,” I say with a smirk. He returns the gesture. With mine still affixed, I look out the window at the valleys going by. “How did this tradition start? I don’t remember.”
“You wound me, Trixie,” he says mock seriously. “It was on the case right after the Dallas fiasco, with the teenage witch accidentally casting love spells. You were stomping about because of Will’s…ill attitude towards you.”
“Oh, right. One of our easier cases. A few threats and the girl was scared straight. Would that they were all that simple.”
“Was Mr. Lipmann’s?”
“A couple hours work, no violence against me. Yeah. Thank goodness,” I say.
“I am surprised Connor blessed the endeavor. Six humans murdered by one of his subjects under his nose, perhaps over decades. That will be hard to spin politically, especially in light of his recent Cuban Missile Crisis with Antonia.”
“Yeah, he…wasn’t exactly thrilled with me when he found out. He more or less ordered I wasn’t allowed to take the matter further until he gave me the go ahead.”
“So of course you began your investigation the moment he used the word, ‘ordered,’” Oliver says with grin #1, full fang.
“It had to be done. Lipmann already had a new girl living with him. Some things can’t wait for politics.” I pause. “It shouldn’t be too bad for him, right? I didn’t just hand Antonia cause to break the cease fire, did I?”
“No. Cuba and America can continue plotting behind each other’s backs as always. Although it was foolish of Connor to assault her men as he did.”
“They attacked us first.”
“Only after he uttered every gay slur before going into graphic detail how he intended to violate them,” Oliver informs me.
I stare at Oliver. “He did?”
“According to Antonia, yes. And he used the same tactic with me the other night. Five minutes of conversation, pushing my every button, describing your…sex life in pornographic detail, and even I lost my composure. He knew precisely what he was doing. It would not surprise me if he planned both attacks. Antonia is right to worry, even without you in the equation.”
“She’s worried?”
“Of course. To Antonia, having you firmly on Connor’s side is the equivalent of Castro possessing the Death Star.”
“Why? I don’t have anything against her. I want no part of their little squabble. I’m just his…friend.”
“A friend who helped remove the Lord of Dallas from power. Who slew over a dozen vampires in the course of a day. Who can kill any lifeform on this planet with a mere thought, vampires included. And you are sharing the bed and physically defending her sworn enemy. Anyone in her position would be concerned. I am concerned.”
“Why? Do you think she’d hurt me?”
“It is not Antonia I am weary of, Trixie,” he chuckles wryly. “Forget me and Antonia. The man almost goaded you into committing cold blooded murder tonight.”
“Someone had to carry out the sentence. Connor thought I should be the one to see the job through,” I say.
“Yes, it was for your benefit. It had nothing to do with the fact you would literally have blood on your hands, under his authority. That you would have literally killed for him. With him claiming to have authorized the investigation, for all intents and purposes you would be part of his organization. Officially.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“This is why I am concerned, Trixie. You are playing chess with Bobby bloody Fischer and Spasky at the same time thinking the whole time you are playing Checkers. Worse, Fischer had asked you to bet your body, your soul, your friends’ lives on the game all the while toying with you, letting you believe you are winning.”
I don’t want to hear this. “I thought I made it clear Connor was off limits.”
He glances at me, takes in the slight scowl and tilted head, and knows me well enough to discontinue this conversation. He turns back to the road. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” Great, now the warm fuzzies have blown away leaving a slight, uncomfortable chill between us. It’s as if a thousand tiny icicles prickle my skin. Judging from his set mouth and slightly hung head, he senses it too. I’ve hurt him. I know him as well as he knows me. We ride in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds before I can’t take it anymore. “What? Say it. Just say it already!” I snap.
“You…used to trust me. That is all.”
Shit. That’s not all, that’s…everything. I want to tell him I do, because I think I still do, but go with the truth instead. “Don’t take it personally. It’s not…you. I don’t think I can trust anything or anyone anymore. Myself included.”
More silence, then, “Truly? Because in five centuries I do not believe I have ever trusted or respected anyone more,” he states as plain fact. “I suppose I will simply have to show you what I see.”
“Which is?”
“Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are,
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
-Tennyson.”
“You think that’s me?” I ask.
“Oh, yes,” he says without a shred of doubt. “And I shall make you believe it as well.” He looks me square in the eye, gorgeous pur
e smile just for me on his perfect face. “Until my dying day and beyond.”
For the second time in less than a day the butterflies, the flames spread through me in a moment of exquisite, pure, radiant joy. “I’ve missed you,” I whisper, voice cracking a little. “I’ve missed you so freaking much.”
“I am positive it is nowhere near as much as I have missed you, my darling,” he whispers back. Oliver takes my hand and presses it to his lips. “Nowhere near.”
Impossible.
*
“Still got it.”
I slip the plastic gun back in its holster and step away from the arcade game. I so prefer killing zombies this way, just for the lack of the stench alone.
“You cheated,” Oliver says.
“The heck I did. And you’re one to talk Mr. ‘No I’m not using my supernatural vampire reflexes’ during air hockey.”
“I am wounded you think so little of me. Cheating? Me? Never,” he says dramatically.
I chuckle. “Knew it, you dirty, dirty cheater man.”
“Well, you are more than welcome to take me somewhere private, pull down my trousers, and spank me for my transgressions,” he says with grin #1. “Repeatedly. For hours. And hours.”
I keep chuckling but know my cheeks turn red and warm. “Or we can get me something to drink. Killing zombies always makes me parched.”
“I like my suggestion better.”
Me too. “Come on.” My stomach gurgles. “Actually, can you order me a Sprite? I have to use the bathroom,” I say to Oliver.
“Of course.”
“Be right back.”
I hustle to the toilet. That room service food I had earlier has not been kind. As I’m washing my hands, my phone buzzes. Again. I check it and of course it’s Connor. One voice mail and two texts in an hour. I haven’t listened or read them. Fudge it. I shut the phone off completely. Hopefully he’ll just think I went to bed.
I return to the bar where Oliver sits on a stool oblivious to the fact ninety percent of the patrons surrounding him steal covert glances or downright stare to get the hunk’s attention. Par for the course when I’m out with him. I sit on the stool beside him as couples enjoy their dinners and a teenage girl butchers “Material Girl” with her friends clapping for her in a nearby booth. The food may not be gourmet, but I have never left Dave & Buster’s without a smile. Just lots of people having fun being silly. Better than Prozac.
“Is all well?” Oliver asks, sliding the Sprite my way.
“Fine. I know better than to mix fries and caffeine. I should be okay now.” I sip my soda. “So. What now? More skeeball? We might have enough tickets to claim a mustache comb with one more game.”
The bartender walks over to Oliver with a mug of beer. “Compliments of the lovely ladies down the bar.”
I glance over at the pretty blondes giggling to one another as they wait for Oliver’s reaction, which is none. If the man actually drank he would have died of cirrhosis years ago from all the drinks people in bars send his way.
“Please thank them for me,” Oliver says.
I glare at the women, raise an eyebrow, and throw my arm over Oliver’s shoulders, claiming him. The women share a familiar look—what the hell is he doing with her—then begin whispering about me. To his considerable credit when we’re out alone together he keeps the flirting with other women to a minimum. I guess he saves that for when he’s out alone.
Oliver chuckles and I lower my arm. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Simply…I do adore it when your jealously comes out to play.”
“I’ve told you before. It’s not jealousy. It’s…the rude don’t get to win. And at least I didn’t put the vampire whammy on them like you did that guy in Oklahoma who flirted with me.”
“He was insufferable. Even you thought so.” Grin #2, some fang, forms on his lips. “And if you need to tell yourself jealousy plays no part in your proprietary actions, by all means do. Just do not cease such actions. It will lead me to believe you do not care.” The grin falters a little. “I have experienced those doubts enough for several lifetimes, thank you very much.”
I don’t know what to say. My stomach clenches as I stare at his slightly crumbling face. He’s trying to keep the evening light, but I can read his face like a book. “Oliver, I never—”
“Oliver M, come on up!” someone says over the loudspeaker.
We both peer around for the source, both landing on the man by the karaoke machine waving my friend over. I glance back to Oliver. His happy mask is back. “Oh, I forgot to mention. I signed us both up for a song each.” He slides off his stool. “And I hereby invoke my right to throw down the gauntlet.”
My eyes narrow. “No.”
“Yes,” he says with grin #1, full fang, before backing toward the stage.
“Not here! I live here!”
“The gauntlet is down. We must abide by the edict!”
“Oliver…” I hiss before groaning.
He climbs onto the small stage and takes the microphone. “This tune is for the only person in this world I would make a total fool of myself for simply to put a smile on her beautiful face. Enjoy the show my dearest darling. Do not forget to smile. Maestro, if you please?”
It hasn’t even begun, and I already have a darn smile.
Oh, God. This is my own fault. On one of my drunker nights out I dared Oliver to get onstage and not only sing Katy Perry’s “California Girls” but perform the dance moves from the Just Dance video game too. He agreed, only if I did the same to “Hey Ya.” I was practically rolling on the floor watching him act as if he were on Celebrity Lip Sync Battle but as I did the same with my song, shaking everything like a polaroid picture. It became a thing when Carl, Wolfe, and Nancy came out with us and Oliver “threw down the gauntlet” to us all. I got a stitch in my side laughing as Carl discoed out to “Dancing Queen.”
“Never Gonne Give You Up” by Rick Astley begins playing and there he goes. Oliver has many, many talents but singing is not one of them. He’s a better dancer, but this song doesn’t give him much to work with. In the game there’s just lots of pointing, spinning, blowing kisses, and posing like a superhero, all of which he performs with a serious expression and gusto. Yet there isn’t a person in the room without a grin or laugh escaping them, me included even when I’m shaking my head and hiding my face in embarrassment. He is such a dork, at least around me. I’ve infected him with my silliness. As the song ends, he blows me one last kiss and leaps off the stage like Superman, all to uproarious applause and hooting. He bows to his adoring fans and swans toward me, smug smile affixed.
“O-kay, well, that’s a tough one to top,” the MC says. “Up next we have Trixie. Come on up and show us what you got.”
Oliver’s smug smile grows. “Your turn.”
“I hate you,” I whisper as I get off my stool.
“I think circumstances have proved that is an impossibility.”
I sneer at him before walking to the stage. If he chose some song like “Afternoon Delight” or “Like A Virgin” I may actually commit cold blooded murder tonight. I take the microphone and breathe a sigh of relief when Rhianna’s “Umbrella” cues up. This is the one song I get a higher score on when we’re playing the video game. I’ve never sung it outside of my car before, and I’ve never danced sober, but here goes.
I zero in on my challenger. He is the only person in this room. My beautiful, beaming best friend. I remember every dance move from our nights in front of the Wii. Within seconds I completely forget I should be embarrassed. I just give into the words and the ridiculous amount of fun I’m having making an ass out of myself for him. Rhianna couldn’t do it better. The reason he chose this song dawns on me during the first chorus. I put as much heart into the words as I can. When the song ends and I perform my last shimmy, Oliver’s the first one off his stool, giving me a standing ovation with such pride I’ve never seen in anyone’s eyes before. It makes me feel lighter than air.
E
veryone else liked the show too because even the rude blondes applaud. I take a bow before returning to my friend, who just scoops me up in his arms for a huge hug. “You are such a jerk,” I say, hugging him back.
“I adore you as well.” He kisses the top of my head. “My ungrateful umbrella girl.”
*
After three more rounds of skeeball—and me winning him a My Little Pony sticker set—the busy day finally catches up with me, and I begin to yawn. It’s well past midnight and has been a hell of a day. I worry I’ll fall asleep as Oliver drives me back to my hotel. God, the last thing I want is for the night to end though. I know the feeling’s mutual. We sit in the car in the hotel parking lot for several seconds. “Do you want to take a walk on the beach?” I ask.
“You read my mind,” Oliver says with grin #1.
We follow the path past the hotel to the beach and stroll in the moonlight side-by-side with only those lapping waves making a sound. Huh. Like a week ago I was in this very spot asking for him to help me. And here he is. By my side. Guess you can sometimes get what you need.
I didn’t realize there’s a full moon tonight. I barely used to notice the moon, and after Will I hated the damn thing. I don’t think it’ll ever be just the moon to me ever again. Especially a full moon. Right now there are hundreds of werewolves around the world running with their packs or locked up in cells to protect the people they love from themselves. I watched Will in a cell once. It was torture for him, and downright disgusting at times for me. That would have been my life once a month until the day I died, but I would have done it. I loved him enough to clean up his piss and shit and ectoplasm covered fur while he tried to maul me all night. That’s what I see when I stare at the moon.
“Beautiful night,” Oliver says.
For a moment I had forgotten he was here. I suddenly remember the last full moon we experienced together. He was furious Will and I were together. He lost his temper, forced me to kiss him, then tried to force me toward my enraged werewolf boyfriend. I never knew Oliver was capable of purposely hurting me. Of course not a week later I assaulted him and locked him in a freezer just for attempting to talk sense into me. And that same night he risked his life to save the man I loved…for me. Yet here we are, goofing off, talking, hugging as if nothing happened. We only get a few friendships like that in a lifetime, and that’s if we’re lucky. I have two and despite my best efforts, they’re still intact. I could call April up right now and with a simple “I’m sorry,” it’d be like old times. Everyone screws up but only the best of us can forgive and forget. Not just for our own sakes either. Forgiveness can be almost as powerful as love. Sometimes it is love.
The Sin Eater (A F.R.E.A.K.S. Squad Investigation Book 5) Page 16
