I looked away from the orange stripe on the jacket to the referee's limp moustache. This was getting childish.
“No tricks to see here,” Eloden added beside me, hand sneaking over to brush against my still warm ear closest to him. “Right love?” he asked me, turning to pinch my ear and whisper the same pretty, not-English words as he had the first time into my flaming appendage.
I doubt the referee heard him. The cool sensation repeated.
My whole body shivered again. Eloden had cold hands, big deal. There was no need to get freaked out. I had plenty of air to breathe and he was not smothering me with his presence. I shifted further out of reach.
My first instinct had been to slap Eloden across the rink and tell him to shove his Sweetheart and love endearments where the rest of the shit goes while I made a hasty exit off the heated, crowded rink aisle, but that would draw unnecessary attention. Never cause a scene if you want to go there again. Keep the neurotic to a minimum at the grocery store, the library, and the rink. Rules were meant to be followed.
“Gotta pee,” I said, figuring escape was worth breaking my silence once more. I risked what the ref might consider a fancy move to turn around again and head towards the washroom, ignoring the predictable shout to slow down. Not with tall, dark and mysterious behind me and my first-ever panic attack chasing my heels.
Squeals accompanied my wheels-smoking exit into the pit stop, which I mistook for fear of collision until I made out one of the glass-shattering screams to include a shocked, “Boy!”
Turning one-eighty on my abused skates, I met Eloden’s bewildered brown eyes and pointed to the bench outside the washroom.
“Out! Girls only!”
He smiled at me and waved.
Damn it. It was like he knew every single one of my rules and purposely set out to make me break them.
I skated towards Eloden and bravely gave him a push, two hands on his chest and the outraged feminine cavalry behind me. Newton’s second law of motion proved itself to be unchanged by the degree of female fury, Eloden’s solid mass not shifted much by my tinier mass as I collided with him.
Also, if you hit something hard on skates, then you’re going to rebound.
Quick reflexes caught me again before I fell as I stumbled backward, my skates having hit a loose floor tile. I screamed inside really, really loud.
Can you have a silent panic attack? Yes, you can.
“Falling into my arms again,” Eloden teased as I sucked air like a near-drowning victim.
We were going to get kicked out if the referee caught us embracing again after his warning. I did not want to get banned from skating. I needed to get this situation under control. No screaming, no punching and no using my skates to roll over Eloden like a freight train. Some people had their nicotine or caffeine habit and this place was my drug addiction.
I grabbed onto Eloden’s arm to pull myself up, my fingers gripping something so hard it had no give. Nobody had literal rocks for muscles. At first, I thought I had grabbed a weapon in an arm sheath, and I dropped his bicep like a hot potato. Security guys were here on weekends, even if they were fatter than muscled at a third-rate gig like this. Eloden couldn’t be carrying, right?
What about the kids present? Well, tweens that would resent being called kids, but still minors legally. They were way too young to be exposed to weapons in what was supposed to be a safe place for them to play. Eloden was leaving sans his accessories if I had it my way. My quirks were telling me to forget it and escape to the bathroom but when it was about protecting someone else, I could overcome them.
Probably surprising Eloden, I started rubbing and patting down his upper arm again like a cat in heat, obsessively touching him to any witness, and hissing when he dared to grab me back. I found the hard weapon, a round band encircling his bicep that felt nothing like the gun or blade I had been worried about him carrying.
“Nice ladies don’t scratch,” Eloden said, ignoring my hissing to pick me up right off my sliding skates and throw me over his shoulder.
No fucking way he just pulled that Neanderthal move.
My bladder impacted on another hard lump near his neck in the weirdest necklace ever—
what was it made of, a lump of steel—and I got an upside-down view through his short-sleeved shirt of a metal band I had palpated above the large bulge of his biceps. The band was weird, but I didn’t see any weapon near it. I quickly took advantage of my position to finish my weapons frisking and coming up with nothing more other than Eloden was now a hot, Irish professor that cosplayed as a Celtic warrior, torc around his neck and bicep band part of his props.
Just another Friday night freak.
My choices ran through my mind with each step towards the exit. I could scream, making a huge scene and hope that I didn’t end up with a lifetime ban like Eloden. The police would be called, and I might even have to go down to the precinct. I could let Eloden get us outside to the parking lot and past troublesome witnesses and then break free, running to my trusty Civic and escaping.
Could I drive with skates on? My keys were with my coat and checked anyway. So were my purse and the can of hairspray that could spot as mace in a pinch. It was more useful than the screamer my stepfather had bought for my keyring when I moved out of my parent’s house. The only thing in danger from the screamer was my eardrums if that stupid thing activated one more time while I dug around in my purse for my keys.
Like thinking about ear-shattering wails made him turn up, the referee’s whistle put a hitch in Eloden’s step. I looked up from Eloden’s back and got an eyeful of the ref dropping his orange whistle to finish zipping his pants as he came out of the men’s washroom. I bet he hadn’t taken the time to wash his hands, either. I didn’t care at that moment. My hero could consider his maroon jacket his cape if he got me out of this situation.
I pinched Eloden’s butt when he tried to keep walking, using my nice girl claws on him and what do you know, he stopped. He hissed like a cat, too. Men were such wimps.
The referee blew his whistle again about half a foot from us, for no other reason I could determine other than he could since Eloden had frozen. I snidely wondered if the ref slept with the damn thing, tweeting his snores.
“There is no carrying, lifts or... putting anyone over your shoulder,” the referee said, running out of steam. Well, I’m sure I was the first shoulder carry he had seen in the arena. This wasn’t exactly an Olympic sport.
Eloden turned with me still in his arms so the referee got a face full of my butt. He dared pat me on it while he made some sort of soothing noise. “She’s not herself. I should take her home in case she becomes more indisposed,” Eloden explained.
Holy crap. He really had been kidnapping me. This wasn’t just trying to find somewhere private to talk.
“You could put someone’s eye out with her skates swinging around like that,” the referee said in the most asinine complaint ever about round wheels. I kicked my pokey skates around anyway. Maybe, I could at least break Eloden’s nose.
He smacked my ass. That was it.
I made an unmistakable retching sound, calling out, “I’m going to hurl,” in case my threat wasn’t clear. He wanted a sick girlfriend? I could deliver.
“Get her to the washroom, man. It's carpeted out here,” said the referee, sounding panicked. Did he have to do cleaning duties, too? I made more retching sounds, really getting into it. Good thing my stomach was cast-iron.
Eloden complied with the referee’s request, but I could tell by his stomping gait that he wasn’t happy about it. We had been about ten feet from the exit.
Well, I still had my ass in the air, so we were both pissed off. Besides, I had been about three seconds from pleading with the ref to call the police despite my broken rules because no way was I leaving the rink on Eloden’s shoulder to be stolen like a cautionary tale for girls that like to go out on their own.
More female shouts accompanied our return. Eloden sighed, turned and
lowered me to my skates. I coughed and retched right on his chest, hunching over like I was going to lose my supper on his feet. He didn’t back off like any normal person would to save themselves the disgusting mess, strong hands grabbing my upper arms to support me.
“Let go,” I hoarsely whispered to him. “I need a toilet,” I added, bravely pretending to hold back my vomit. “Please,” I said, letting misery bleed into my voice. I had enough crap in my life to be able to use the real pain to fake it.
Eloden bent over my hunched body and wrapped his arms around my back like he was giving me a hug or holding me up. His mouth whispered inches from my ear, “Liar.” He let me go with that declaration.
I didn’t dare raise my head and look him in the eyes even to spit another insult. Keeping a hand on my supposedly sick stomach, I skated hunched over into the women’s washroom, grateful when the other girls directed me to the bigger, accessible stall. I still locked their sympathetic gazes out before sitting on the toilet and making a few more realistic noises. I really wish I had gotten a drink earlier. My parched throat was burning with all this gagging.
Of course, there’s always somebody that won’t go about their own business and let me mind my own, and that somebody knocked on my stall after about five minutes.
“Are you okay?” Too Helpful asked.
I was going to hack up a lung if I kept fake gagging.
“Is he still out there?” I asked, knowing that Too Helpful had probably seen everything.
“He’s sitting on the bench by the guy's washroom,” she said. “Do you want me to tell him something?”
“No,” I quickly replied, letting the panic out. “Please, don’t. I can’t see him right now.” I let out a few choked sobs.
“I don’t think he’s going to wait much longer. He already asked two other girls about you,” she said. She must have been girl number three.
“I n-nev-never w-want to s-see h-him,” I sobbed out. I could barely understand myself stuttering but Too Helpful must have practice or patience.
“Do you want me to get you-”
“He cheated on me!” I shouted. “B-bas-bastard.”
Too Helpful gasped and gave me a moment of silent condemnation. It hadn’t even been a good swear word. Great, I had some stuck up, goody-two-shoes to convince to help me sneak out of here.
“Made m-me s-s-sick to my s-stom-stomach,” I whined, reverting to babble. “I w-was s-saving my-myself for mar-marriage,” I added, hoping I was right about Too Helpful also being a Miss Righteous.
“It’s a blessing you found out about his sinful tendencies before it was too late,” Miss Righteous said.
Bingo.
I sucked back another sob. “I guess you’re right,” I said. “I’m coming out,” I told her, unlocking the stall door. Miss Righteous was just as I pictured her, prim and proper, with ironed grey slacks and a sweater twinset. Her soft, brown eyes were wide in her face as she took in my red, tearstained face. I had done a good job pinching myself and the hands-free sink in the accessible stall had been a bonus.
The real mess of my emotions was locked up inside me and not on display. I wouldn’t let out what I was truly feeling until I was alone and safe.
“Do you want a tissue?” Miss Righteous asked me, offering a single piece of tissue from her purse pack. If I had a full-on snotty nose and tears from a real break-up that little tissue would be completely inadequate, but it was fine for a fake break-up.
“Thanks,” I told her, then I met her eyes and faked a smile. It was that secret commiserating look every woman knew instinctively. Men were insensitive pigs, it said, but we ladies will get through their boorish behaviour if we stick together.
Screw the rules it broke, too. They hadn’t helped me anyway.
I blew my nose rather loudly. I didn’t want her to try to hug me to make me feel better. She settled for patting my shoulder lightly. I held it in. Slapping the poor sap that I was about to trick into helping me wouldn’t be smart.
“Can you do me an itsy-bitsy favour?” I asked, pulling my coat-check ticket from my pocket. I handed it to her before she could refuse. “If you could get my coat and purse, I won’t have to spend any more time around him than necessary. I can just leave and go home to, um, pray on what happened.”
She clasped the coat ticket like I’d given her manna bread. “I’ll be right back,” she told me, eager to get me home and praying. I had a suspicion I was going to get an invite to her church group or whatever before I left.
She was back within a few minutes. Most people stayed the whole four hours so there wouldn’t have been much of a lineup for the coat check. I had used the time efficiently, calling and then finally texting my twin stepbrothers when they didn’t answer.
The twins were eighteen and didn’t have a car of their own, but our parents both had cars, so usually, the boys could wheedle one of them into lending them a vehicle. It was the weekend, and I hadn’t bet on my brothers answering, but like the rest of our generation, our phones were like a fifth limb and they would respond to me eventually.
The text I had to think about for a minute to make sure it struck the right balance. I told them that the Civic was giving me trouble starting at the rink and I was outside and cold and alone in the dark, and I added a quick mention that I thought I saw something moving in the bushes, because it was Friday night and my call for help had to be more urgent than whatever else they were doing.
It was typical bullshit that any sister knew would get her protective brothers running, even if they were three years younger than me, without alarming them unnecessarily enough that the parental units were notified. My little brothers were built as big as Eloden, in other words, tank size, and the sight of the two of them together should be enough to frighten off anyone bothering me.
I held my hands out eagerly to take my leather jacket from the dainty hands of Miss Righteous, overflowing with my boots, purse, and coat. The leather was comfy, soft and worn just right, a little thinner in the elbows so I could flex easier and tougher over the shoulders where I would want more protection from the heavy backpacks I carried most of the time. I pulled the zip-attached hoodie over my head, big enough to hang down my forehead almost to my eyebrows and shadowing the rest of my face to obscure my features. I felt more anonymous already.
Next, I pulled on the fingerless leather gloves that I absolutely loved for driving. Some people like to wrap leather around their cars on the steering wheels or seats, but I preferred it on my body. I had already taken off my skates, so I slipped my Star Wars socked feet into leather boots with a thick, chunky heel that gave me some desperately needed height. There were metal loops for fake buckles that did nothing to hide me but gave my walk a little jangle that I liked. It was too quiet for most people to notice except for me.
My new friend was looking at me like she realized she had opened the door to a Trojan horse. It wasn’t enough to get me by Eloden yet. He had said my name, which I still don’t know how he knew me, but I had to do something more drastic. The old me needed an emergency makeover.
I picked up my purse, which is a glorified backpack with a single shoulder strap that was too sack-like to call a messenger bag, and I dumped the contents on the bathroom countertop. I sorted hairspray, mousse, lip gloss, a pressed powder compact, three shades of very red lipstick, all of them still wrapped in plastic, and a tube of black mascara. The rest, I shoved back into my purse.
I was a little embarrassed by my Whore of Babylon lipstick habit. I would never wear it in public, but I couldn’t stop myself from buying the metallic twist tubes of sex in a stick.
Okay, I had two drugs of choice, skating and fire-engine red lipstick.
“Disguise,” I explained to a quiet Miss Righteous. She should have made an excuse to run off to be with her friends now that her good deed for the night was complete. I couldn’t bring myself to flip her off with my usual defences, scared enough after my encounter to accept not being alone for the moment.
How had Eloden known my name?
I lowered my hood and examined my pale, freckled face. Way too recognizable and you could almost see the frightened little girl staring back from me.
I undid my ponytail and used a bit of mousse to scrunch my natural waves into curls. It took a lot of product and water but the riot of curly waves that could almost belong to an 80’s movie was very different from my slightly wavy ponytail. Next, I opened a tube of lipstick and smeared it on my cheeks and then layered it thickly on my lips. I rubbed my cheeks and powdered that down, pleased by the heavily made-up look.
Not a freckle could be seen. I looked older and harder. I sniffed back the rest of my fear.
The mascara I let gunk on without wiping the stick before applying. Miss Righteous had a comb when I asked, of course, so I used it to backcomb and tease the hair around my face, gluing it all in place with hairspray, which sputtered as I finished, almost empty.
I shook the can again with dismay. It still looked like it could spot for mace.
I dug through my purse and found some grape-flavoured Bubblicious gum and stuck two whole, oversized pieces in my mouth, chewing to make a big wad I could pop and snap. I didn’t offer any to Miss Righteous. She looked more like a tiny mint kind of girl. I needed something I could bite.
“I’m ready,” I told Miss Righteous, looking at the mirror and confirming the scared girl was hidden.
Miss Righteous had guts, handing me a little white card with a church and bible study group times in plain black font. There was an outlined dove surrounding all the text.
I took her card and crumpled it into my purse, a small price to pay.
“Remember, all sin can be absolved in His eyes and with His hands. You need only ask for He loves us all the same,” she told me, obviously quoting, but I didn’t think directly from the Bible. Probably her group leader or whatever guy she was crushing on that made her believe in narrow-minded views of women’s virginity. A hymen did not equal a marriage ring and it didn’t guarantee happiness in a consecrated union.
Nobody’s hands were getting on me, not even blessed ones.
No Faerie Tale Love (Faerie Series Book 1) Page 2
