Epiphany (Legacy of Payne) (3 page)

Like Six, who reappeared and leaned over the bar. She raked her eyes over Brad’s body, and I had to smile. She never passed on an opportunity to ogle. Ever.

“Mac wouldn’t give you a chance, huh? Don’t feel bad—she didn’t give any of the others the time of day either.” Of course she’d been listening. When it came to the opposite sex, her ears operated on steroids. Or maybe it was my love life she couldn’t resist sticking her nose into. I almost snorted.
What love life?

“Mac? Is that what you go by?” he asked. “It suits you.”

I shuddered. “No.
No way
. Six just has a death wish,” I warned, shooting her a glare.

“Ah, never mind her.” She waved off the threat. “Mac’s too sweet to dish out payback.”

Brad aimed a brilliant grin at me. “Sweet enough to say yes to dinner?”

“Of course she will,” she answered before I could open my mouth.

“Six!”

“She’s just shy.”

“I’m standing right here, guys. No need to talk over my head.” I squared my shoulders and met Brad’s blue eyes. “You seem like a decent guy, so I’m gonna give it to you straight. I don’t date.” No way would I put myself through that pain again. As it was, memories of Joe fed off my heart like a rabid animal. I needed time to heal, though I had to admit that serving time on the healing wagon sucked. Dating sucked even more.

“Won’t give a guy a chance, huh?” Brad arched a brow.

I shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

“Brutal,” Six said under her breath.

I planted my hands on my hips. “The place isn’t hopping yet, but I’m sure someone’s waiting for a refill,” I told her.

“Gee, a few weeks of working here and the bossy pants are already on.” She softened her words with a smile. “Okay, I’ll get lost.” She treated Brad to another one of her stunning grins. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.

I shuffled my feet and tried not to squirm under his gaze. “Well, thanks for stopping by, but I should get back to work.”

“Yeah, sure.
You
don’t be a stranger now.” He gave me a hopeful smile, and I wondered if he’d heard a word I’d said. “I’ll see you later, Mac.”

Apparently not.

I lifted my hand in a noncommittal wave. After Brad left, the hours ticked by and the number of customers multiplied. It was a typical Saturday night for any bar, even in the dead of October. I was in the middle of making a lemon drop when someone pulled the door open. I raised my head, about to greet the newcomer, but dropped the glass instead.

Holy shit.

The veil between reality and dreamland disappeared, and I gawked at the man standing in the doorway. Wind blew his dark hair into those incredible eyes I couldn’t erase from my mind. I dug my fingernails into my skin for the second time in twenty-four hours. Nope, still not dreaming, only this time I was completely sober.

I had my first psychic dream when I was nine. Psychic implied power, and powerful wasn’t a word I’d use to describe myself. I couldn’t foretell the future or conjure visions at will, but I couldn’t think of a more fitting word to describe what I sometimes saw in my dreams. At nine the dream had been inconsequential, though it had been the first. Fourth grade had been half over when Joe walked into Mrs. Silverstein’s class. For every ounce of shyness I possessed, he excelled at standing out. And for some unfathomable reason, he chose to stand out next to me.

I hadn’t told anyone how I’d seen him coming. Joe and I were inseparable those first few weeks, and I finally broke down and fessed up about the dream; he’d laughed me off the playground. He hadn’t meant to be mean. Looking back, I considered his reaction a favor because he’d been right. Such claims 
were 
crazy. Even at nine, I hadn’t wanted to be termed a freak. Over the years, my dreams became more active and detailed, and for a while I grew apathetic toward them, convincing myself they weren’t a big deal.

Now I was far from apathetic. It was like experiencing that first dream all over again—only times ten. The door swung shut with a bang, jolting me out of my stupor, and someone chose that moment to break a rack on the pool table. A new song started on the jukebox, the melody as languid as the spilt liquid slowly inching toward the cupboards underneath the counter. I stood frozen in my drenched sneakers, forgetting about the order that needed filled, heck, forgetting to 
breathe
.

Height-wise, I put him around six feet. Thick, dark hair brushed his ears—the kind of hair I ached to sink my fingers into. He’d replaced the brown leather jacket with a black one, and I couldn’t decide which color suited him better.

Suddenly, his gaze shot to mine. I panicked and ducked behind the counter, using the mess at my feet as an excuse. Alarm bells went off in my head. 
Shit, shit, shit! 
Would he recognize me from last night? Was I destined to be remembered as the girl who’d puked on him in a bar?

“What happened?” Six bent down and helped me pick up the glass. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I hissed. “It’s 
him
.”

“Who?”

“The guy I puked on!”

Her eyes widened. “That’s the guy?”

“Yeah.” I stood and kept my back to the entrance as I dumped the glass into a trashcan. “I need to grab a broom and mop,” I said, already envisioning my escape through the swinging doors leading to the backroom. The thought of facing him terrified me, and I wasn’t altogether sure why. I should be eager to talk to him, to find out who he was—find out why he’d lived in my dreams for so long.

Six grabbed my arm. “I’ll do it. He’s coming this way. Go talk to him.” She gave me a mischievous grin.

“Six!”

“Remember the guy I wanted you to meet? The hot newbie?” She pushed me further away and blocked the path. “Well 
that’s 
him,” she explained upon my blank stare. “His name’s Aidan. Now go talk to him.”

“He’ll recognize me.”

“No he won't.” Her attention darted behind me, and I assumed he’d arrived at the bar. She lowered her voice. “You had your mask on, right?”

I swallowed a groan and nodded. Once she vanished into the back, I turned around and tried to convince myself he was just an ordinary customer. Nothing special about him.

Right.

“I’ll be right with you.” 
Coward. You can’t even look him in the eye.
 I told the voice in my head to shut up and went to mix another lemon drop, and his name became a mantra.

Aidan
.

By the time I set the cocktail on the counter, barely registering the customer waiting impatiently in front of me, my hands were shaking. Aidan’s presence blasted me with the force of desert heat, and it took everything I had to feign casual when I approached him. “What can I get you?” Was that my voice sounding so normal?

He looked up and seemed to search my face for an agonizing second, and my mouth went dry. 
He recognizes you . . .

“I’ll have a Coke.”

“Sure.” I hurried away to fill his request. Six reappeared from the back and began cleaning up the sticky mess. Her eyes traveled between Aidan and me, as if to ask “did you talk to him?” I gave an imperceptible shake of my head and almost dropped another glass. When I returned to Aidan, I had a death grip on his soda.

“Thanks,” he said as I set his drink on the counter. A hint of a smile graced his mouth, enough of a tease to indicate how devastating a full-fledged grin would be.

“No problem.” I cleared my throat. “So . . . Six says you’re new in town.”

“Six?” His dark brows scrunched over eyes full of intensity.

“Yeah,” I said, pointing to my friend, “Six.” She kept her attention on the mop, though I knew she was listening to every word. “She said she recognized you from High Times.” Better to put the focus on her. 
She 
hadn’t spewed blue crap all over him.

“The redhead?” He briefly glanced at Six with something close to amusement. “Yeah, I remember her.” His gaze never wavered from mine as he sipped from his glass. I lost my breath. What was it about this guy that twisted my insides into a pretzel? Why couldn’t I be more like Six, who never had a problem talking to men?

“How long have you been in Watcher’s Point?” I asked.

“Not long.” His expression shuttered, telling me no more than his two-word reply.

“I moved here about a month ago,” I said. “It’s a nice town.” 
Lame-o. Why don’t you bring up the weather and add “Loser” to your social resume? 
Had I wasted so much time on Joe that I wasn’t experienced enough to simply talk
 
to a guy?

“I’m kind of passing through,” he said after a beat, and I wondered if he was bored, or maybe uncomfortable with small talk. “What do I owe you?”

“Excuse me?”

His mouth twitched, as if holding back a grin. “For the drink?”

“Sorry.” I rolled my eyes to cover my mortification.
“
Don’t worry about it.”

He lifted a brow.

“It’s only soda,” I said with a shrug. It was the least I could do after ruining his jacket.

“Thanks.”

“Just holler if you need anything else.”

He nodded. “Will do.”

I stepped away from him, and several customers came in at once, including Christie and her boyfriend Judd. I kept one eye trained on her as I mixed a whiskey sour, and just as I anticipated, she hopped onto the barstool next to Aidan. Couldn’t say I blamed her, though she had guts to flirt with him in front of Judd.

Six saved me the trouble of facing her. She greeted them with a tight smile and took their order. I watched Aidan’s expression closely. He didn’t appear interested in Christie. In fact, his gaze drifted, leaving no area of the bar untouched. The crowd was average for the Pour House—a mixture of college-aged kids, men chasing a clandestine liaison, and a couple of bums seeking refuge from the cold while loose change burned holes in their ratty pockets. He took the scene in without prejudice.

And while he was busy watching everyone else, I was busy watching him.

“I never thought I’d see the day.” Six appeared at my side, jerking me back to awareness.

“What?”

“You’ve got it bad.”

Her scrutiny burned my face. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” I couldn’t “have it bad” for any man. Never again.

Her eyebrows rose in perfect symmetry. “You’re not fooling me.” Her smirk really grated. Deep down I knew she was right.

“He’s too old for me, Six.”

“He’s not
that
old.” She glanced in his direction. “He couldn’t be older than thirty. Besides,” she said, grinning, “older men know what they’re doing in bed. Admit it, you’ve been drooling.”

I shrugged, attempting a pathetic display of nonchalance. “Well, what can I say?” I should have switched my major to theatre instead of art; maybe I’d be a better liar. “I’m not brain-dead. The guy’s a looker.”

Her grin widened. “Glad to hear it. You had me worried there for a while. You’re too hot to hide behind a nun’s get-up.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Good to know you’re normal like the rest of us.”

Normal like the rest of us.

She went off to help another customer, and her laughter lingered, as did her words. They repeated in my head like an annoying song I couldn’t silence. If I were normal like everyone else I wouldn’t have dreamed of Aidan before setting eyes on him. Some of the dreams had been erotic enough to serve as porn fodder. Something in my belly fluttered and caught fire.

Get your mind outta the gutter.

By the time last call rolled around, my mind had clawed its way to the gutter’s edge. I approached the trio. Christie held Aidan hostage with her slurred conversation, while Judd shot daggers at his girlfriend’s back. A strong whiff of alcohol hit me, and I wondered how much she’d had. Two shot glasses sat untouched in front of her. Judd wasn’t in uniform, so I assumed he was off duty. Shame, I thought, biting back a grin. It’d be fun to watch the sheriff’s son haul her out in a drunken stupor, uniform and all.

“You heard right,” she told Aidan, grabbing his arm. “Wednesday is hump day.”

Aidan raised an eyebrow, and he and Judd exchanged a glance. Seemed like a heavy glance to me.

“Lucky for us, today’s Saturday,” I said, earning a glare from Christie.

She ignored me and continued, “Thursday is so close to Friday, it’s criminal not to drink.” She snickered, as if she’d made the funniest joke since the creation of standup comedy. “’Course Friday is 
Friday
. No need to explain that one—”

“Do I want
 
to know what you’re talking about?” I interrupted. Aidan’s gaze flickered to mine, and a smile teased his lips. God help me, the man had dimples. If anything was criminal, it was those dimples.

“If you don’t drink on Saturday,” she started again, “you’ve got shit for brains. Everybody knows you drink on Saturday ‘cause everybody’s still drunk from Friday.” Christie paused long enough to down the shots. “As for Sunday, who the fuck wouldn’t want a drink? Just the thought of Monday is enough reason to grab a bottle.”

“What about Tuesday?” I asked, figuring she could find a way to justify drinking every day of the year if she tried.

“Cheap two-dollar Tuesday. Kind of like that shirt you’re wearing.” Her eyes narrowed as she took in my Walmart special.

Judd grabbed her shoulder. “Knock it off, Christie. You’re drunk.”

“Speaking of drinking,” I began, wishing I could hide in the back and take over dish duty, “last call.” I directed the words at Aidan.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

I stood dumbstruck for a moment, running all the replies to that loaded statement through my head.

Christie arched a brow. “Hel-lo?” she said, waving her hand in front of my face. “Still sitting here.”

I arched a brow right back at her. The idea of cutting her off was tempting.

“Well don’t just stand there. Fill ‘em up.” She pushed the empty shot glasses in my direction but only succeeded in scattering them. One rolled down the bar and fell off, landing with a soft thud on the fatigue mat behind the counter.

Gritting my teeth, I picked it up. Christie hadn't exactly been the frontrunner of the welcome committee. She blamed my mom for her parents’ divorce and therefore me by association. I got that. My patience, however, was running thin. “She okay for another round?” I asked Judd.