How to Claim an Undead Soul (The Beginner's Guide to Necromancy Book 2)
Page 12
“Hi, Rachel.” He didn’t glance up from the menu. “Just here for the night.”
The muscles in my spine hardened into blocks of wood in my effort to remain unnoticed.
“I can make it a good one,” she purred. “You and me always have fun.”
This time he was the one transformed, his fingers becoming iron spikes where they dug into my shoulder. As though he sensed my wish to vanish under the table and refused to let me slip through his fingers.
“I’m here on a date,” he said, polite as you please. “You remember Grier?”
Rachel’s gaze flicked to me. “Oh. Yeah. Hi.” She made a vague gesture. “Sorry about...”
“No problem.” I always wore a bulletproof vest while in public with him.
“I’m so used to seeing you guys together—not together, together—I didn’t think.” She straightened and rearranged her expression along more professional lines. “You’ve never dated Grier, so I assumed this was a friend thing.”
Since Boaz was in no mood to toss her a life preserver, I cleared my throat. “I’m ready to order.”
Rachel wrote as fast as I talked, like her life depended on the cook leaving off the onion slivers. “Boaz?”
“I’d like the lady to order for me.” He smoldered at me. “She knows my tastes better than anyone.”
Heat scalded my cheeks, and Rachel wasn’t faring much better. I doubled my order, and both of us girls slumped with relief as she scurried toward the safety of the kitchen.
“That was rude.” Though I had secretly enjoyed him sticking up for my dateability.
“She was rude to make assumptions.” He rubbed his forehead with his right hand. “She was right to think you’d never date me, though. You’re a smart girl, a good girl.”
“I spent five years in prison, Boaz. Whatever I used to be, whoever that girl was, she’s not the woman I am now.” I was a phoenix thrashing in the ashes of my old life, aching to rise again, to soar one last time, but the cycle exhausted me. “You’ve got a lot of history in this town, but you were right when you said I know you better than anyone else. It’s all old news. I won’t hold it against you.”
“Then I’ll hold it against me for you.” Frustration ignited a spark in his eyes. “Hindsight is blinding me right now, Grier. I’ve been a damn fool.”
“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You were my hero.” Humiliating as that was to admit, it was nothing he didn’t already know. “My knight on shining motorcycle.”
A faint blossom of pink highlighted his cheekbones, making him adorable in his embarrassment.
“Hindsight is clearer for me too,” I admitted. “You were larger than life, you still are. Everyone loved you. Teachers. Students. Old ladies at the supermarket. All the girls wanted to have you, all the guys wanted to be you. Mix in a few other corny one-liners, and you’ve got how I saw you.”
Uncertainty had loosened his hold on me. “You never wanted to tame the bad boy?”
“Not hardly.” I laughed at the idea such a thing was possible. “I knew better.”
“Then what was the appeal?” Honest curiosity overshadowed any of his lingering hurt.
“I think…” I worried my bottom lip for a minute before admitting, “I wanted to be you.”
“Be me,” he mused. “Not with me.”
“A little of both?” There had never been a clear line. Boaz was want, want was Boaz. I hadn’t put much thought into untangling the mesh of our lives until after he kissed me, until after I grasped how much I stood to lose if a romance between us soured. “Is it wrong to want to be the hero of your own story and want to corrupt the boy next door?”
A slow smile overtook his face. “You wanted to corrupt me?”
I expected him to point out I was in no position to corrupt anyone, let alone him, especially not him, but he settled back in the booth with a happy smile, fragile in its hope.
“You can’t be debauched in all ways.” When he didn’t answer, I swung startled eyes toward him. “Can you?”
He was spared from answering me when our drinks arrived courtesy of a waitress who was not Rachel. She ignored us almost as hard as we ignored her. Almost, because she still had to serve us to earn a tip.
“Did you play hooky for me?” Boaz stabbed straws into our drinks. “This isn’t your usual night off.”
“Deflate your ego. It’s smooshing me against the wall, and it’s hard for me to breathe.”
A wicked grin curved his lips. “Consider me deflated.”
I doubt he’d ever been deflated a day in his life. And yeah, that sounded bad even in my head.
“There was an incident at work.” I guided us back on topic. “A human girl was hurt in an altercation with a poltergeist, so the job site was shut down for the night.”
His amusement faded around the edges. “Job site?”
Nodding, I sipped my sweet tea. “She was attacked aboard the Cora Ann.”
“That old steamer?” A peculiar stillness infused him, and his voice came out hollow. “What does it have to do with being a Haint?”
Fiddlesticks. Apparently my bestie and I had both kept Boaz in the dark on my new job. Probably for the same reason. The girl-ending-up-hospitalized one. The one that guaranteed he would pop his cork and demand I stay home.
“Well…” The truth about how I had spent the previous week elbows-deep in research, how it resulted in a desperation for fresh air that led me to the Cora Ann, came tumbling out in a jumble. “And that’s about it.”
Boaz drew designs onto my skin with his fingertips while he digested all I’d told him.
“You’re extra clingy tonight,” I added in summation. “I’m not complaining, but I am curious.”
He stopped doodling on my arm. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, but you don’t see me squeezing you in a death grip with my biceps of steel.”
“Squirt, you don’t have biceps of steel.” He howled when I twisted his nipple. “Okay, okay. You win. What is it with you and my nipples? What have they ever done to you?” When I kept staring, waiting for a response, he caved. “I hate leaving while you’re so vulnerable. I hate knowing you’re here without protection.” He laughed, seemingly at himself. “No, that’s not true. Without my protection.”
As a swoon preventative, I reminded myself, “Taz warned me you tell everyone my panty size.”
“I have never once told anyone your panty size.” His expression matched every kid who had ever dropped their lollipop. “I’ve never gotten you out of them, so it’s not like I’ve got firsthand knowledge.”
“Are you pouting?” I thumbed his lower lip, right over the indent from his scar. “Again?”
“Depends.” He pushed it out farther. “Is it working? Do you pity me enough to wiggle out of your panties and pass them to me under the table?”
A flush rode my cheeks. I couldn’t believe for a split second I considered the logistics of getting them off without sacrificing my stretchy shorts. “Has that line ever worked for you?”
“Yes.” A cocky grin lit up his features. “I don’t recycle ones that aren’t effective.”
I shouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want the answer. “You’re totally unrepentant, aren’t you?”
“I am who I am.” He delivered the line with a wink, but it sank to the bottom of my stomach. His eyes didn’t sparkle, his skin didn’t fold into deep creases. That wink was a lie. “If I started being sorry for everything I’ve ever done, I wouldn’t have time to stay current on my favorite shows or to chase after girls who really ought to know better than to come out alone at night with a boy like me.”
Since Boaz had kicked that conversational door wide open, I walked right through it. “How many girls are you chasing these days?”
“Just the one.” His other hand found my thigh and rested there, on top of my skirt, not pressing for more, just allowing me to get used to its weight. “She’s fast, though. I haven’t managed to catch her yet.”
“Nah. This is the best part.” He returned his hand to the table before I got my wriggling under control. As much as I wanted to play it cool, I had never let a man touch me that way, and it showed. “I like working for it. I want to earn it. A woman shouldn’t give herself away for free.”
“And what happens after you’ve had her?” Like I needed him to spell it out when I already knew.
He turned his head and locked gazes with me, his expression troubled. “I’ll want more.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I haven’t been with anyone since the night you assaulted me in Mom’s garden. I haven’t looked at another woman, I haven’t touched another woman, and I haven’t thought about another woman.” The furrow in his brow deepened. “This thing between us has already lasted longer than any relationship I’ve ever had. Whatever this is, I want more.”
Pleasure unfurled low in my stomach, and I allowed myself a moment to just be happy he wanted me at all. I still wasn’t convinced this was a line worth crossing between us, the idea of losing him as a friend terrified me, but I couldn’t stop myself from toeing the edge of dangerous possibility.
Eight
Dinner was nice, the kind of effortless good time that has a girl thinking second-date thoughts before the first one is even finished. Boaz proved he was my soul mate, at least in one regard, by ordering a square of Mississippi mud cake off the menu served with homemade vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. That wasn’t the proof, though. No, that came when the waitress asked if we needed two spoons, and he told her he valued his life too much to poach from me.
I appreciated guys who respected my capacity for chocolate intake without flinching.
Dessert was, of course, the best part of the meal. And not only because I played nice and shared my cake with him. Or because he let me feed him and made appreciative noises in the back of his throat I’d probably dream about come dawn. There was an undefinable quality in Boaz that made you feel like if he wanted you, if he wanted to be with you, then you must be special too. That his seal of approval, once stamped on you, made you glow so bright others couldn’t help but squint.
“I owe you a dance.” Boaz licked the spoon clean then stuck it to the end of his nose where it hung while he waggled his eyebrows at me. “There’s a new club on River Street. Interested?” He puckered up like an asphyxiating guppy and leaned close. “Or do you want to cut to the making-out part?”
“Knock it off.” Shoving him back, I took the spoon and set it on the table. “Goober.”
“I’ll have you know I’m at my peak sexiness after dessert, when your body can’t differentiate between the sugar rush and me.”
I covered a snort with the back of my hand. “Oh, I can tell the difference.”
I had meant the comment to be flip, but it came out too soft, and he heard the ache.
His voice gentled, probing for open wounds. “How?”
“The sugar rush fades,” I answered honestly.
“I’m going to kiss you now.” His left arm slid behind my shoulders, and he hauled me up against his side while his right hand cupped my cheek. “Trust me?”
All I could do was nod and twine my fingers in the fabric of his shirt to hold on for the ride.
This was actually happening. My first real kiss. With the boy of my dreams.
His lips brushed mine, a gentle pressure that had me chasing his mouth for more of the delicious taste of him—chocolate and man with a hint of trouble. He let me pursue him, a chuckle in his throat, until I retreated on a frustrated sigh.
I’d spent a lifetime chasing him. It was past time he returned the favor.
“Get back here.” With a growl in his throat, he stalked me, pressing me against the wall at my back, unwilling to break contact. The hand on my cheek roved down my neck, my shoulder, my arm and eased under the table where it palmed my hip and rolled me against him. A heartbeat later, he cursed into my mouth and yanked back his hand. “Damn rules.”
I laughed at his frustration, and he thrust his tongue between my lips to tangle with mine. He surrounded me—his scent, his taste, his warmth—and my head spun faster than a merry-go-round. I drank in his groan when I nipped his bottom lip, and grinned when he murmured my name in a guttural tone I had never heard from him. That I wished no one had but me.
“The owner asked me to toss some ice water on you,” our waitress said blandly. “Can you two behave or do I need to go back and grab my pitcher?”
Ignoring her, he kissed me once more, twice, before resting his forehead against mine. “Why haven’t we done this before?”
The answers were all too grim for a moment like this, so I kept thoughts of heartbreak, of Atramentous, of Volkov, locked away so as not to tarnish this perfect memory.
“It wasn’t a bad first kiss.” I patted his cheek, not about to stroke his ego, then turned to the waitress. “We can behave—”
Boaz threaded the fingers of his left hand through my hair and hauled my lips crashing back to his while his right stroked my hip, tracing the top edge of my panties through the fabric of my dress. Penned between him and the wall, a trap I did not mind falling into at all, I forgot how to breathe.
At least until ice-cold liquid splashed us in the face, and I gasped against the water plugging my nose.
“Worth it.” The devil was in his smile, and this time he didn’t apologize for breaking the rules. He looked like he was debating when he could do this all over again and wondering if I’d let him. “You were saying?”
“I was saying—” What had I been saying?
“That was all the warning you get.” The waitress hooked a thumb over her shoulder, indicating a wrinkled gentleman gazing at us with jolly eyes and a sly grin. “I do what the boss says, and he says it’s time you got a room, Boaz Pritchard.”
The use of his full name snagged his attention, and he eyed the woman. “Do I know you?”
“You knew my little sister for about ten minutes.” Her gaze swept down him, clearly not impressed. “If that.” Her smile turned mean. “Though you might remember me from the baseball bat I took to your bike when I found you passed out on top of her in the kitchen, we haven’t been formally introduced.”
“Dana Higgins,” he said without missing a beat, and I could tell the woman was stunned he remembered his exes’ names at all. “We met our freshman year.”
“Sweetheart,” she sighed in my direction, determined not to award him points for having that much decency. “He’s only going to break your heart.”
“Oh, he already has,” I assured her. “Smashed it, really.” He recoiled so hard from me, he bumped his head on the back of the booth. I reached up to rub away the sting, enjoying the bristly feel of his scalp against my palm before I ruffled the longer strands on top. “But you know what? He’s worth it.” I held her gaze. “I bet your sister said the same thing.”
All the girls who contracted Boazitis understood it was a lifelong condition with no cure. They might yell and cuss and rail at him, they might even hate him for not loving them back, but none of that mattered in the end. Boaz had only to crook his finger, and they would all come running back for seconds. I was terrified, having had my first real taste, that I would be the same.
“She never had a lick of sense.” The woman slapped our ticket down on the table. “Guess you don’t either.”
I used a few napkins to blot my face dry. “Guess not.”
Boaz paid, arguing that since he had asked me out, it was his job to cover the tab. I left the tip, and I was generous. It took guts to stand up for your sister, let alone for a total stranger you worried might be in over her head. Plus, knowing Boaz, he probably deserved the ice water.
The owner patted Boaz on the shoulder when we passed him on our way to the door. “Come back any time, son.” He hooted. “I haven’t seen Lisa that riled up in years. Just call ahead so I can pas
s out ponchos to the customers in advance. We’ll charge extra for folks who sit in the splash zone.”
“Looks like you made a new friend.” I chuckled under my breath. “I expected him to start yelling for an encore at any moment.”
Boaz kept walking, making his way toward Willie. “Yeah.”
“Hey.” I grabbed his arm. “You okay?”
“What happened in there doesn’t bother you?” His stricken expression made me wonder what distressed him most. That the waitress had called him out or that I’d had a front-row seat. “I deserve what I got. I’m not contesting that. But you didn’t.”
“It was only water. Our clothes will dry.” I raked my fingers through my damp hair. The humidity was having a field day with my not-exactly-curls. “Besides, how many girls can say their first kiss was so steamy a concerned bystander doused them with ice water?”
Boaz looked torn between his trademark cocky smile and a vulnerability that pierced my heart like a crooked arrow. “You’re not upset?”
“Why would l be?” I took his hand and led him to Willie. “I know you, Boaz. The good, the bad, the ugly.”
He didn’t say another word, just handed me my helmet and put on his.
I climbed on behind him, certain this would be the end of our night, but he surprised me by aiming for River Street. I was still deciding if dancing would restore his mood when the fine hairs lifted down my arms. I tipped back my head, following a hunch, and spotted Cletus fluttering above me.
Oddly reassured, I held Boaz tighter and let the night wash over me until he found us a parking spot.
Music poured out into the street, soft and inviting, but we didn’t head toward the club.
The pensive edge of his mood hadn’t lifted, but he put on a decent act. “May I have this dance?”
“Yes, you may.” I accepted the hand he offered and let him lead me into a waltz that fit the bluesy music about as well as our soggy attire would fly in a ballroom. I stumbled once or twice, well out of practice, but his steps were sure, and he made a fine partner. “I hope you didn’t need that toe.”