"Jen wait," but she blew past him, avoiding yet another attempt by him to take hold of her.
"Five minutes," she called back over her shoulder before pulling open the station door and entering. She looked briefly left then right, probably unnecessary but it was habit that she catalogue the exits as well as the number of bodies inside. She quickly located Manson back by the refrigerated drinks before making her way a little ways down in that direction and stopping by the counter for the vile coffee dispensers. She tried to focus on the task instead of the fact that she was doing nothing at all of consequence, should be but wasn’t. At the rate of disappearance the one they were after was managing her broken ribs would be healed before they found him, if they found him. She was just now mixing in Malcolm’s milk and three sugars when she felt Manson’s approach toward the counter. She paused in her task and took note of Manson’s drink of choice, she didn’t try to hide her smile. "Brave choice," she commented quickly before he could pass, trying to hide the laugh that was threatening to escape at the sight of his large hand holding a bottle of pink milk. "Very manful," she teased as he passed her.
"Good for my bones," he commented on his way to the register, he didn’t look back and she could never help but wonder how it was the big man always seemed to be capable of making her feel better, just for a second making her forget why it was they were out this late. She was never sure if it was something he did intentionally or it was just natural for him to be so capable of making people laugh or lighten the mood when it needed it. A surprising quality to be found in someone who was as deadly as he was. When he finished paying he looked back to her, "see you outside," he offered her a quick toast with his pink milk.
"You can count on it," she gave him a quick two fingered salute, smiling now when she went back to concocting her own torture devise. She was stirring her drink when a bell rang at the back of the store, it took her brain a moment to register that she hadn’t bothered to check the hall for a another entrance. In the field it would have been a tactical error that would likely kill her, in a gas station it was her hope that it was not. Instinctively she reached for where her gun would be, it of course was not there, she was armed only at the moment with a knife, the guns were rarely on her unless she was working and this was not work. Even though her fingers itched for the familiar weight of a firearm in her grip she forced her fingers to relax and move away from her hip. As there was nothing currently strapped to her hip the habit almost felt ridiculous when surrounded by a place so normal. She distracted herself by trying to remember if she could recall an occurrence where she’d ever had to draw on someone or something in a well lit room. She was sure there had to be at least one instance but all she could recall at the moment were distorted happenings in fading or no light at all. She had become accustomed to the dark, had started feeling more at home there than she felt now under the bright flourescent lights that most places employed to keep the dark at bay.
It was knowledge about herself that she was not entirely comfortable with, it was a small thing when she considered the things that she’d discovered about herself that she had no problems acknowledging. For instance she knew that she was capable of killing, it was something required of her and probably knowledge that she should find at least in some way disturbing. Instead it was something she found comforting in her character, knowing that she could protect the people she cared about and not blink. But her comfort level with the dark was something she was all around nervous could lead somewhere she would rather not go. While it was true it served its purpose in her line of work, it probably wouldn’t be so off putting if she felt half as comfortable in the light.
Forcing the thought aside Jennifer tilted her head doing her best to make it seem as though her focus were still completely engrossed in the task of putting lids on the drinks she’d finished when in fact that focus was trained on the newcomer. She wasn’t sure what it was but just a glance from the corner of her eye, which was all that she really intended to allow, was not enough. Just that one glance should have been enough, but it was like her eyes made contact and something inside of her shifted in an uncomfortable way. She wouldn’t say bad, the shift she felt in herself in that moment felt so out of character for herself that she couldn’t describe it as anything other than uncomfortable. She should have felt embarrassed by how quickly her intended simple glance became full blown starring but she could not seem to control what she was doing or where her focus wandered. One minute she was attempting to put a lid on a cup and the next she found herself turned toward the hall that led to an apparent back entrance she hadn’t known about; and was now starring at the newcomer who had just frozen in the frame at the entrance of the hall like maybe he was trapped in the same stupor she was.
For an entire moment she was sure she stood there with her mouth hanging open, trying to figure out what it was exactly that had her heart racing and her stomach feeling like it had plummeted to the floor. It was like the shift was an instant shot of g-force and adrenaline that was there and suddenly gone and she was left completely unsure how to react, her heart was racing, her breathing erratic, and she was pretty sure her knees were shaking. She tried to shake it off, tried to force herself to look away from him but couldn’t manage it. Under normal circumstances she would have probably panicked because she knew there were monsters out there that could control your mind, make you do things, want things. She had experienced those compulsions in fact so intently in the past that it had nearly killed her, and it was that experience alone that convinced her this couldn’t be that. She could look away any time she liked, she simply didn’t want to. There was something about this person that simply would not let her go, she couldn’t think of a single instance in her life where she had simply seen someone and found herself wishing that she was close enough to touch them, but she could not deny that she wanted to touch him. She wouldn’t under any circumstance call herself a vain person although certainly her last boyfriend hadn’t been unattractive, it wasn’t what she looked for immediately in another person, or at least she hadn’t thought that it was. She had always found Malcolm attractive, stunning green eyes fringed in dark lashes, golden hair, strong features, she’d always been fond of the cleft in his chin. On the other hand, she had never really put much thought into how she physically perceived herself. She would say that as far as looks went she looked all right, blue eyes that she had always thought were just this side of dull enough to nearly be gray, straight brown hair that contained so little in the way of color variation that brown was really the only word that described it. There was nothing particularly special looking about her features that she made note of, although in context when she’d been in a relationship with Malcolm she had never thought he was so attractive that he was out of her league. She took one glance at the new comer and she was dumbfounded, stupefied even by his good looks, and the first thought that came to mind was that he was too attractive for her, way too high on the level to fit her pay grade.
She had no idea which was more irritating, the fact that she instantly thought she was too ugly to be caught in his company or the fact that in the next second his surprise at finding her gawking seemed to pass and he smiled in a way that only the male species seemed to manage. It was a crooked smile that managed to be both boyish and full of sex appeal, while of course giving a view of his pearly white teeth. Maybe it was the smile that finally allowed her to turn back to the table, more likely it was the fact that he’d caught her staring, found it amusing and now she was blushing, probably a fine tomato red shade. It could also have been the fact that his smile felt contagious, made one want to smile back while simultaneously turning ones usually dependable knees into melted butter. She knew exactly what it was that made her want to smile back, he surpassed handsome by more than she could think to describe and he managed to smile when he caught a girl who looked like her gawking, she liked to call it Peter Pan syndrome. She had no idea if there was already a syndrome using the title, perhaps applied to people
who over did their plastic surgery because they wanted to be young forever but in her terms it was applied to attractive men like him finding themselves in the company of girls like her. His offering his attention at all to someone that he wouldn’t regularly look twice at was like waking up to find a boy that could fly in your room, promising you impossible adventures, of course he wasn’t doing that, he was probably being polite. But it didn’t make much difference, Peter Pan syndrome, him being the Pan, her being the poor schmuck Wendy who fell in love with a boy that was so out of her reach she might as well have fallen for a star in the sky it was just as likely that she’d reach it. So Jennifer forced herself to face back to the counter and try to forget that he was there. Impossible of course because she knew he was there and she wanted to look at him so badly it almost hurt, that wasn’t normal was it? She’d met people before who were just that side of too good looking, she’d never wanted to stare before, had simply acknowledged the fact and moved on.
So what was it about this one that had her turning beat red and dreading the idea of having to move in his presence because suddenly she was afraid she was going to fall on her face for no reason at all. She was not a clumsy person, her profession required precision and lightening reflexes, it was part of what would keep a person alive when they were fighting something that was potentially faster than a speeding bullet. So the fact that she was suddenly terrified of taking one step and face planting made absolutely no sense. And even if she did manage to get herself hopelessly tangled in her shoe laces and fall over what should she care if he saw? Jennifer was getting ready to answer this question to herself when she realized once again she was wasting time thinking on something that made no difference one way or another. Her life as it was had to be closed off to the public, she’d dated Malcolm because he was in on the secret and so there hadn’t been anything to hide. So she could contemplate this ones looks all she liked , on her way out the door because that was where she aught to be headed. She had work to do and no time to entertain even the idea of anything further. Resolved to forget about him she pressed the lids down more solidly on the drinks she had come in here for in the first place and turned to leave.
The odds of him being right behind her should have been in the zero range but she turned and there he was not a foot away, so she couldn’t have been expected to react the way that she should have. To her own horror she actually gave a terrified little squeak and lost her grip on at least one of the beverages she’d wasted her time making. She just managed to keep hold of the other drink, flinching as she waited for the other to explode on the floor, which of course didn’t happen because mister perfect had somehow managed to catch it. She was happy at least for the distraction of being irritated, with him first for being so damn close to begin with and at herself for acting like such a girl. She was proficient in three kinds of hand to hand combat and happened to be an extremely accurate marksmen when she had a gun in her hand but put one excessively pretty face a few inches from her and she turned into a ridiculous female who dropped beverages. She was now sure if she managed to actually take a step to move she would probably fall on her face. She was still trying to formulate words, something her brain usually managed to do just fine, when he spared her from having to stumble over what to say and spoke first. "You dropped this," he was smiling again and Jennifer thanked her lucky stars she was still too stunned by his proximity to smile back. She purposefully ignored the cadence of his voice, trying hard not to focus on how well whatever accent he was sporting suited his perfect face.
Swallowing Jennifer nodded like an idiot, "yea," she managed to agree verbally and hated herself for not being able to say more. She had no real idea what was wrong with her when it came to this guy but she simply couldn’t seem to get mad enough to work past her lack of articulation.
"I didn’t mean to frighten you," he offered her the coffee and she tried to do the smart thing, which was take the drink and run away.
"It’s fine," taking the cup from his hand was an effort because she in no way wanted to accidentally touch him. It was bad enough that just looking at him seemed to have turned her into an idiot, she had no interest in seeing what contact with him might cause. The only good thing she could see coming out of her inability to form sentences was that it could be seen as a general lack of interest. "Thanks," she mumbled as soon as she had the cup in her hand without a single brushing of fingers. She quickly edged her way around him and made her way to the counter praying she would manage to get there without falling and getting burned by not one but two cups of the scalding hot tar they tried to pass off as a beverage.
She wasn’t entirely sure what it was she was expecting but his following her was not at all what she had in mind. "So this seems like as good an opportunity as any to exchange numbers," the words sent shivers of excitement up and down her spine and she suspected it wasn’t just because he’d said them in a very attractive accent she couldn’t identify.
"I don’t think so," she managed to refuse by keeping her head down and trying to pretend she was talking to Malcolm. Mostly because even before she was monstrously estranged and pissed at him for being a jerk she had never had a single problem saying no to him. She got the sense that looking right at this particular man would not lead to that same result.
"It seems like a perfectly reasonable out come to me, two strangers randomly meet from across the room, attraction happens, phone numbers are exchanged. That’s normal now-a-days isn’t it?" He seemed to be genuinely asking like he didn’t know, ‘yea right.’ She was aware that everyone had their own preferences on what was attractive but she was pretty certain that he was one of those generally universal handsome people that probably had women writing their numbers on napkins and otherwise throwing themselves in his path. The thought had her looking up at him even though she was fully aware that she was probably just another one of those women, he probably got any number of women’s phone numbers in a day. But she blinked up at him briefly anyway, dark hair neatly cut short, though it did look like he’d rolled out of bed, the style now she was pretty certain.
She knew that she shouldn’t have looked up to meet his eyes because all of his nicely contoured aristocratic features only seemed to be magnified when she really looked at his eyes, a beautiful if not completely odd shade of brown. She could not explain what it was about his eyes that caught and held her, but the color was strangely magnetic in its oddity and the longer she stared the stranger they seemed. They were brown to be sure but in the few seconds she was trapped in his stare she would have sworn that they seemed to swirl from a light to darker shade as if they couldn’t decide what color they wanted to be. She watched as his eyes slid from a brown that was nearly black to a color closer to topaz before he looked away from her. For a moment she was sure again she was dealing with something a little more than a man. But when he looked away and she was looking at his profile, her brain went on complete autopilot trying to figure out what it was that made him so attractive.
He was too perfect, she hated that he was that sickening combination of so attractive he could easily be described as beautiful without sacrificing any masculinity in the process. In most cases men were one or the other, Malcolm for instance was more of a pretty boy, he didn’t quite reach beautiful but his facial features were more rounded with fewer hard angles. This man was all hard angles, his cheek bones, jaw, and brow ridge were all chiseled seemingly from stone and he was all the sexier for the features. Jennifer could have smacked herself in the head for even thinking the word sexy in context with the man next to her.
The walk to the counter felt longer in her efforts to avoid a further confrontation. She was clearly off her game in every aspect of her life these last few days, first she did poorly enough in her work to cost people not just their health but their lives and now she was gawking over some handsome stranger flirting with her when usually she couldn’t be bothered to notice much outside of the condition and cleanliness of her arsenal, or the next job to care
much for the rest. Trying to figure out what it was that had him distracting her so completely she gave his profile another quick once over. Clearly his face was perfect so that was no mystery and a glance down revealed that he was clearly all lean muscle and height. He probably measured in at six feet if not a little over to her average five-five stature. Of course he would have a lithe physique and predatory gate to perfectly fit his perfect face, so it took her a moment to take in the very regular cloths he wore. A quick glance down revealed a pair of worn in converse, jeans and to finish the ensemble a black shirt sporting a rock band logo she had seen a thousand times over. The outfit was so completely ordinary that for a moment she found herself wondering how for a moment she’d managed to convince herself that he might be a monster. Shaking her head and looking away after what had felt like an eternal trek to the counter Jennifer simply stated the facts. "I have to go," straight forward words, she did not add that she would not be giving him her number because he was a distraction she could not afford right now. If he’d popped into her life a few days earlier giving him her number might not have seemed wrong, but he was here now when she could least afford to be distracted.
"Technically," she was doing her best to try and ignore him while the poor clerk at the register rang up the drinks but he somehow managed to insert himself, admittedly at an angle, between the counter and herself. "The exchanging of a number would allow for a later date and time to meet up, possibly when it was more convenient." He gave another one of those crooked smiles that she was sure got most women to strip their cloths off for him, a thought which only helped her further in her goal to keep her own mouth from mirroring his.
"Trust me, I’m not your type," she was so proud of herself for sounding so sure of that while also managing to sound so blasé about the whole thing.
Revenant's Kiss (Chronicles of the Afterlife) Page 2
