Love at the Electric

by Hughes, Jenn

  “Don’t converse very often, do you?”

  “I don’t normally need to converse in pubs. I put my lips to better use.” He enjoyed the blush on her face before adding, “Like with drinking. Obviously.”

  Her eyes darted down to the tabletop littered with crumbs and amber splotches of dried alcohol. “Yes, well . . . Hobbies, then. Ice cream.”

  “Ice cream is a hobby?”

  “It is in my book. And speaking of books, I do enjoy those from time to time. Music, too. Movies especially, though. All kinds. I have eclectic tastes.”

  A guy in a black tracksuit with a plasma-blade hilt clipped onto a leather dress belt dodged a group chatting nearby. The cylindrical, aged silver hilt scraped against and jarred the edge of the table, distracting Sam from more critical Lillian matters.

  Sam watched him go and mindlessly growled, “Zith Lords. No manners.”

  “Vazer certainly didn’t have any.”

  “I automatically thought of Maim.”

  Lillian grinned. “We’re showing our ages, I think.”

  “Hey, I’m thirty-five. We’re not that far apart. And I rewatched the Quasar Crusades prequel trilogy a few days ago, so it’s fresh in my mind.” Sam perked up like a hound on a scent as their mini movie discussion led him down a winding path. “Have you been in Cinemagoria yet? Over on Brixton Chapel Boulevard? Eclectic is the only way to describe it.”

  “Yes! I love that place. I found a movie there with a heroine who’s an alien werewolf clown, which is a particular sub-genre I had no idea existed—and with good reason. It made absolutely no sense, but I laughed until I cried. I do love old black-and-white horror films. Most horror films in general.”

  Lillian was officially too awesome to be true. Smart, stunning, and she liked horror movies . . .

  Sam hesitated. It could be a trap. Something along the lines of, Oh yes, I totally go spelunking all the time. What’s spelunking? So many women went along with whatever he happened to mention enjoying and, when push came to shove, had no real knowledge or interest.

  But Lillian had made it pretty clear she wasn’t like that. She’d already teased him, argued with him, and generally didn’t seem to give a shit about his opinion of her. Sam leaned against the table to get a little closer to lovely Lillian.

  “You know, there’s a Holiday Horror Fest at The Electric. At ten o’clock on every night until Christmas, they’re showing a different film. Blood, guts, and tinsel. Not for the faint of heart.”

  “I hadn’t heard. But it sounds fantastic, and my heart is far from faint. The Electric is the cool theater a few blocks from here, isn’t it? The one with the leather armchairs instead of regular seats?”

  “Yeah. Great place, and their festival lineups are stellar. I’m not a holiday-loving guy, but when they incorporate the macabre I can’t resist . . . ”

  Sam trailed off, struck by the surrealism of the moment. He was in a bar with a woman talking about horror movies. His heart flip-flopping in his chest. At attention under the table. It was kind of perfect in a new, weird way.

  “Not every day I meet a woman who likes horror flicks. Let alone ones involving werewolf Santas and zombie elves.”

  “And it’s not every day I meet a man who isn’t freaked out by the fact that I do. I’m surrounded by attorneys all day, and most of them are surprisingly squeamish. I like spending what little free time I have being the opposite of me, I guess. Probably sounds strange.”

  Her words curled up inside his brain like a bunny with a sledgehammer, soft and innocent seconds before striking.

  Great game idea. Call it Bunny Bam.

  But the great idea didn’t drive away the knot Lillian’s words implanted in his throat. She had said aloud precisely the way he felt, day in and day out, and it stripped him down. He had to cover up. Hide his nude nerves behind an orthodontically perfect smile.

  “Not strange at all. Makes perfect sense to me.”

  Her dusty rose lips parted a little. She bit the lower one and Sam nearly moaned when she let it slip out from the grip of her teeth. That plump flesh glistened in the light. Moist and smooth and ready to be tasted. She leaned against the table—does she know what she’s doing to me?—and mirrored him until their faces hovered only a few inches apart.

  “Do you like—”

  Three glasses slammed down onto the table. Rik slid across the booth seat and, in Sam’s opinion, got way too close to Lillian.

  “Drink up, everyone,” Rik said, his eyes drilling into Sam.

  Spurred on by the glare, Sam took a sip. Cheap bourbon. No more expensive stuff, courtesy of Rik Bryant. Rik and Lillian dove into quiet conversation, leaving Sam with little doubt of his status as the third wheel. Rik didn’t need or want an escape hatch, and Sam no longer had an excuse to hang around.

  Sam downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp. As his throat burned, he set the glass on the table. Loud enough to deserve attention, but getting none. Irritated and tired of the googly eyes Rik and Lillian had started making at one another, Sam decided to have one last round of fun with Rik before leaving. He clutched at his left arm and groaned.

  “God, my chest is so tight, and my arm is killing me...”

  That got their attention. Rik’s and Lillian’s heads jerked toward him. Lillian’s eyes widened, while anger flashed through Rik’s. She leaned across the table and touched Sam’s hand, soft fingers sending a jolt through his body.

  “Are you okay?”

  A look over at Rik’s red face brought a smile to Sam’s, but faking a full-on heart attack seemed like too much torture for the guy. Sam stretched and then blew out a breath. “I’m good. Must have been indigestion or something. Guess I should head home and let you two enjoy your reunion.”

  Sam slid across the seat with his coat wadded up in his hand. He deftly positioned it to cover his crotch. “Great to meet you, Lillian. Again. And don’t forget The Electric. Santa Klaws is playing tomorrow night.”

  She smiled and nodded. Sam said goodnight and left them alone in their booth. Once outside, he stopped to steal another look at her through the window before heading home. He couldn’t help but think, as he watched her laughing again, that Lillian was perfect—except for the fact she worked for . . .

  “Preston Lavery,” Sam growled, his angry breath blown away by a strong gust of flurries and wind.

  Rival.

  Archnemesis.

  Supervillain.

  Preston held several titles in Sam’s mind. Most too ugly to utter out loud. And as long as Lillian remained in Preston’s devious clutches, Sam couldn’t afford to get close to her. One slip in the heat of the moment and he doubted she would hesitate to divulge proof of his secret identity to her rat of a boss.

  Still benched for the rest of the year. No problem. Nothing twenty or thirty cold showers won’t cure.

  Chapter 4

  Dick Negotiations

  Lillian knew that mature adult women shouldn’t literally drool over younger, unattainable men, but that certainly didn’t stop her salivary glands from unleashing the floodgates as she watched Sam Owens leave Old Henry’s. The rear view ranked just as appealing as the front.

  Get it out of your system . . .

  Hot Hottie McHot. Hot, hot, hot. Sir Hottie Hottington—

  Okay, enough. Back to adulting.

  He was as cute as she remembered from their first meeting. His tailored charcoal suit trousers fit perfectly—tight enough to spark her interest but loose enough to let her imagination run wild. Her gaze followed that head of immaculately combed dark brown hair as he weaved through the crowded pub. Taller than most of the other people in the room, he made an easy target until heading out the door—

  “You’re hurting my feelings,” said a voice from beside her.

  She look
ed over and caught Richard—oh, right—staring at her with a devilish grin.

  “What?” she asked, taking a sip of her beer.

  “You were staring at Sam so hard I was beginning to think you’d forgotten I was even here.”

  Lillian laughed dramatically to hide the fact Richard was absolutely right. When she finished cackling like a witch, she took another sip of liquid courage. “Don’t be ridiculous. I . . . thought I saw a wizard I know from the office, that’s all.”

  “Oh, well, fully recovered, then,” he said with a smile. “And very glad to finally get you alone.”

  And they were off. Lillian immediately felt self-conscious. Under inspection as Richard’s eyes wandered down. A miserable failure at subtlety. She didn’t mind before, but now every single insecurity reared its ugly head.

  Suck it in.

  Turn your head to avoid harsh light.

  Look casual.

  The effort lasted about five seconds, until she realized Richard Bryant was doing it to her again. He made her feel inadequate with only a glance and left her worrying about every single aspect of herself . . . or at least that’s how he used to make her feel. Lillian ignored his stare and went back to enjoying her beer.

  In college, the competition with Emily to hold his attention was fierce. In Old Henry’s, however, Lillian decided it was time for Richard to worry about keeping her attention—because he suddenly had a little competition in that department.

  “Although, I have to say, Sam certainly has a way of controlling the room. I enjoyed chatting with him. He’s much more interesting than I realized,” she said, rubbing a drop of rich porter off her frowning lips. “Not very polite of you to hurry him on, considering he’s your boss. There was no reason for him to leave.”

  Richard’s grin faltered. “I didn’t ask him to leave. He . . . uh, said he had work to catch up on.”

  Her subtle frown sank lower, the corner of her mouth clenching like a fist. Lillian put her hand on Richard’s shoulder and shoved him back a bit.

  “Don’t treat me like an idiot. You won’t get very far with that approach. I saw the looks you threw at him. You wanted him gone, which makes me wonder why he was even here at all . . . Reminds me of when we met at a party and you had that roommate of yours hang around in case some unattractive girl hit on you, and you needed an excuse to leave.”

  He scooted closer, his hand sliding across her back until it rested on the opposite shoulder. He hadn’t changed much. Behind the glasses, a few lines had developed around his eyes. A touch of ash at his temples didn’t stop her from almost brushing away his floppy red locks off his forehead the way she had before. Almost.

  When her presumably steely will failed, and Richard’s mischievous grin made her body want to rock toward him, something . . . someone completely insane stopped her. Someone blue-eyed and broad-shouldered with a butt begging for a smack as it walked away from her. And suddenly Lillian couldn’t focus on Richard. Not on his eyes or the way he had leaned even closer to her. All she could see was Sam. And she didn’t mind one little—

  “You can’t blame me for wanting to spend my evening with you over Sam, can you? He’s my friend, but you and I can have a lot more fun together.”

  Same old Richard. A shameless flirt in college, he still managed to get to her with his chronically cocky ways. Old memories came flooding back. A few good ones. More than a few bad ones. One incredibly bad one in particular. Fresh anger swept over her at the painful thought.

  “And you certainly haven’t changed. As I recall, your idea of having fun with me was sneaking around to see me because you didn’t want Emily to know about us, and then dumping me but forgetting to tell me. But I did find out eventually—when the two of you came back to school engaged.”

  The second Lillian blurted out that barb, whatever nerves or tension roiling inside of her vanished. To say it aloud made her feel like she’d crawled out of a cave and walked into daylight. She’d never questioned him or even implied he’d hurt her because that might have given him an ounce of smug satisfaction in his ability to break hearts. But her heart was no longer broken, and it was her turn to be satisfied.

  Richard threw her a look she couldn’t decipher. At first. For a moment, he appeared shaken, the blood draining from his face. She thought he might apologize . . . but then she saw his wheels start turning. His fingers tapped nervously on the tabletop, and he didn’t say a word. The dramatic silence—and old courtroom trick—bought him time. And if he had to think that hard to come up with an apology, Lillian realized there had to be more to the delay.

  “Forget it. I don’t want to get into it tonight,” Lillian said quietly, staring at her beer and hoping to lure him into admitting the real reason behind drinks at Old Henry’s.

  “Lillian, I am so sorry for—”

  She turned her head and aimed her glare at him. “No. You don’t get to apologize right off the bat and absolve yourself. I’ll listen to your apology when I think you mean it, not when you’re trying to manipulate me—and don’t think I can’t see you’re up to something. This evening was supposed to be a friendly get-together, and you’ve already turned it into a head game. So stop. We’re both a little too old for games now.”

  Richard pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Fair enough. I owe you an apology for the way everything happened, but I’ll wait until you’re ready. In the meantime, maybe we can reminisce about the good old days and pick up where we left off.” He grinned again before adding, “Wasn’t that on the hideous plaid couch in your dorm?”

  She rolled her eyes and ignored his prodding, tracing a line in the condensation on her glass. “Get real . . . What do you want, Richard?”

  Lillian wore her ability to read Richard Bryant as a badge of honor. Most attorneys would have chosen hara-kiri rather than face him in a courtroom, but he had a distinct tell—he was DEFCON one on the charm scale when lying or manipulating. Lillian was not having it. With an eyebrow arched, she threw him her fess-up look.

  Richard groaned. “Ah, fine. But you have to promise to listen to my argument before making a judgment.”

  “I’ll hear your remarks, but I won’t agree to withhold judgment because this sounds like it will be typical you and I’m already irritated.”

  “Okay, I’ll cut to the chase. I want you to help me make Emily jealous, thereby forcing her to take me back and save our marriage.”

  Seriously? Same. Old. Richard. Diiiiiiiiick . . .

  It stung. She had to admit it. Suddenly she was twenty-five again, tossed by the wayside and easily forgotten while Richard tripped all over himself to please Emily . . . but Lillian sure as hell wasn’t about to dive into the depths of despair over it. Not again. She gritted her teeth and smiled.

  “And why would I help you do that?” she asked. Nicely. Exhausting work.

  He scratched his head and then asked in a squeaky voice, “Fr-iends?”

  “Oh, no. You’ll have to do a lot better than that.”

  Richard tapped his fingers on the table again, like a gunslinger spinning the cylinders of his fully loaded revolver. “Two dinners, on me. Fancy restaurants, the crème de la crème of Port Bristol. And you’ll be my date to the Origin Christmas party in a few weeks.”

  “I’m not saying no to the food because I’m a sane human being, but a Christmas party at a rival company doesn’t sweeten the deal.”

  “Oh, yes it does. The Origin Christmas party is the Met Gala of Port Bristol. Black tie, the best booze in the world, and Sam doles out these ritzy swag bags for the guests. Free Origin Sevens. Those phones are sold out and go for eight hundred dollars, easy. You’ll be your stunning self, on my arm and driving Emily crazy with envy . . . It’ll be fun.”

  It did sound kinda fun. Cinderella at the ball in a glittering gown, on the arm of Prince . . . Uncharming. The li
ttle voice inside of Lillian, the young one that tried to tell her to have a good time, screamed yes. But then a much louder, far more reasonable and older voice reminded her that she didn’t own a glittering gown. A lot of vesty pantsuits, though. In order to find the perfect dress to slay Emily the ice queen, she’d have to make a trip to New York City and launch a Fifth Avenue fashion assault . . .

  Then Richard flinched, just a little at the corner of his cocky mouth. That was all it took. Lillian knew she could get more out of him than a Christmas party, and she wanted a specific something to make her life temporarily more manageable.

  “Not to sound lazy, but that all sounds like a lot of effort and I’m overworked as it is. I need more than what you’re offering.”

  A devious smile crept across his face. “Anything. Anything at all.”

  “Withdraw Origin’s latest infringement lawsuit against Mythos.”

  Richard’s smile faded. His eyes narrowed, the pupils like pinholes. “That’s a little unethical.”

  “It isn’t when the lawsuit is frivolous and nothing more than the response of a sulky man bested by his competition. The likelihood Sam Owens will win this case in court isn’t any better than the last three he lost, and you know it. Drop it, save everyone time and money, and I’ll be your friend and help you win your wife back.”

  Hot flash. Not from the bodies in the room, since most of them had left the building. Not from Richard, either. And not an actual hot flash. Her hormones operated like a well-lubricated engine, thank you very much. The thought of Sam Owens, a walking cliché for male objectification, turned her on. She grinned. Luckily, Richard took her sudden change of mood as a sign to close while he could.

  “Deal. I promise you won’t regret a thing and I’ll try to be a perfect gentleman.”

  “Try being the operative word. So, what is the deal with Sam Owens?”