Authors: Samantha Towle
“Erm, no, but thanks.”
Training with Zeff is one thing, but we’ve already had dinner together once when we went for pizza, twice would just be like a date. Especially if he cooks for me. Zeff might think an acceptance of dinner as I’m okaying it as a date, or something. I can’t confuse things; I need to keep this neutral.
“I need to get back to my flat. I’ve got stuff I need to do.”
Okay, I know it’s weak, but it’s the best I could come up with.
“Stuff,” he echoes. “So you need to get back to your apartment to do
stuff
.” He raises his dark brows. “What stuff?”
I get to my feet tucking the mat under my arm. “Stuff. You know. Woman’s stuff.” That’ll shut him up. Men never like to talk about woman’s things.
“Hmm,” he murmurs. “So you need to rush back to your empty apartment so you can get on with woman’s stuff.” He air quotes. “And what are you going to do when you’ve finished doing your woman’s stuff?” Again with the air quotes.
What’s up with that?
I look from his hands to his lightened face. “Watch TV, go to bed.” I shrug.
“Why don’t you want to stay for dinner, Bunny?” he queries, his voice suddenly sounding deeper, more intense.
I look at him, then down at my feet, scuffing the grass with my toe. “It just feels odd … having dinner with you – twice now, and you cooking for me … well it kind of feels like it’d be a … ”
“A… ?” he pushes.
“Date.” I look up at him to catch his reaction. But I didn’t need to look, hearing his laugh was loud and clear enough as to his thoughts on my response.
It does nothing for my self-confidence.
I’m kind of pissed off and severely insulted he thinks the thought of dating me is that funny. My whole face is burning with embarrassment. It’s a good job I already crippled him before, or I might have been tempted to kick him there again.
“Yeah 'cause I let all my dates kick my ass – well nuts,” he corrects, “before we have dinner!”
He’s still shaking with laughter. I wrap my free arm over my other, getting the urge to walk off.
“Look, I’m not trying to get into your pants, Bunny. I just thought it’d be nice, two friends having dinner together. I know you don’t like having them so much, but for now you’re stuck with me as one.” He winks. “And trust me, even if I wanted to get into your pants, tonight really wouldn’t be working so well for me. Your swift knee saw to that one.” He nods down at his groin.
I feel my cheeks heat.
“And you’re not telling me you haven’t ever had dinner with a friend before?” he continues.
“Of course I have.” I flicker a look his way.
“Well there you go then. And I’ll even let you load the dishwasher with all the dirty pots if it makes you feel better, you know, make it even less date-like,” he adds, a smile ghosting across his face.
I suppress a rising smile. Sometimes I can’t not smile at him. And I guess what he’s saying does kind of make sense. I’m just over-thinking things.
“Okay, I’ll stay for dinner,” I say slowly, “but on one condition.”
He folds his arms across his chest, intrigue capturing his expression. “Shoot.”
“You stop calling me Bunny.”
Releasing a hand, he steeples his fingers over his mouth. “Ahh, now come on that’s not playing fair.”
I put my hands on my hips, stifling a laugh. “Take it or leave it.”
“Why do you hate it so much? Because personally I think it’s cute.”
I give him a look. “Um, where do I start … because you are totally taking the piss every time you call me it and because it makes me sound like a pet, or worse, like one of Hugh Hefner's Playboy bunnies or something equally as tacky.” He raises his eyebrows at that one. “And before you say it ,don’t.” I point a warning finger at him
“What?!” He raises his palms, feigning that innocence he’s so good at. “Okay, okay,” he concedes. “How about I don’t call you Bunny for the rest of the evening.”
“Two days.”
“One.”
“Two. Or nothing. Take it or leave it.” I give him a firm look, letting him know I mean business and that there’ll be no felxibility.
“Jeez, you drive a hard bargain. Fine, two days,” he huffs.
I hold my hand out to shake. He begrudgingly takes it and gives my hand a quick shake, then taking the mat off me, he strides toward the lodge.
Smiling, picking his water bottle up off the floor, I follow behind.
He waits at the back door, holding it open for me as I ascend the porch steps. “Bunny,” he drawls, “you know when I said I’d let you load the dishwasher … well actually, the clean ones need taking out first.”
He makes a cheeky face at me as I continue on up the steps.
“Bunny is off the menu for two whole days remember.” I give him my best stern look.
“Ah, right yeah, sorry.” He nods solemnly, but I can see the glint in his lovely dark eyes. He knows exactly what he’s doing. But I kind of have to like him for it too. He’s just a bucket load of mischief and more.
“And of course I’ll empty Nningn takingthe dishwasher, it’s the least I can do if you’re making dinner.”
“Atta girl!”
He playfully cuffs my arm with his fist as I pass by into the kitchen.
And it definitely doesn’t feel like a date now. That couldn’t be more of a ‘one of the guys’ thing to do if he tried.
Pausing, I stop to look at him as he overtakes me, heading straight for the refrigerator, it finally dawning on me.
I’ve finally figured out what it is I like about Zeff.
Reaching the fridge he stops and looks over his shoulder at me, catching me staring. But I don’t look away.
“What?” he says, smiling his off centre smile.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “You just really remind me of someone I used to know.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, mildly interested. “Well, I hope he was startlingly good-looking and charismatic.” He winks at me before turning away and pulling open the fridge door, revealing its contents.
“He was,” I say quietly. “He was the best.”
There was never anyone one quite like Sol in my life, before or since. Well, not until now that is.
Chapter 10: Drunk Lips, Cause Slips
After dinner we go sit in the living room. I curl up on one of the leather chairs, sipping on my third glass of wine. Zeff sits across from me on the sofa I woke up on a few days ago looking relaxed with a glass of wine in his hand.
He’s dressed in a black long sleeved sweater and jeans, which look like they cost more money than I could earn in two months at the café. He changed out of his sweats just before he made dinner, and I changed into the spare pair of jeans and T-shirt I always carry in my rucksack, I didn’t fancy wearing my sweats all night either.
The fire is roaring to my left, the heat soothing on my skin, and I couldn’t be more relaxed if I tried. It’s crazy how comfortable I feel here with him, after such a short time knowing him.
Zeff is one of the easiest people I have ever met. He’s so uncomplicated, so open and inviting, and yet, I barely know a thing about him.
“Do you want some music on?” asks Zeff.
“Sure.” I smile.
“Any preference?”
“Nope.”
Leaning over he picks a remote control up from the side table. His sweater rides up and I catch a glimpse of his tight toned abs. Heat courses through me.
I take a glug of wine.
He points the remote in no particular direction and then I hear the music melt into the room. The Doors, Love Her Madly.
I’m impressed. My dad used to listen to them like they were his religion. Hearing this song reminds me of being in the car with him and my mum, driving to my Nan’s house on a Sunday afternoon.
Emotion starts to gather in my chest. Grief. Longing.
Then without warning a memory of Nathan in his Jim Morrison T-shirt flashes through my mind.
He’s leant up against his car, waiting for me. He’s taking it off in the woods …
I blink myself free from the memory and take another drink of wine.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Not that I’m not impressed, or dissing your taste in music in any way, because I’m not, all hail Jim Morrison. I actually grew up listening to The Doors. But I really didn’t figure you for this kind of music.”
His brows pull in together and he licks his lips. It’s distracting.
“You’ve got a lot to learn about me.” He winks. “Hands down the sixties and early seventies music was the best.” He clicks his tongue in mock-reproof. “The Doors, Rolling Stones, Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, all the good music came from then.”
“You see, and I had you figured as a Kenny G kind of guy.”
He lets out a deep throaty laugh. “Hey, don’t knock Kenny. Hot bubble bath and a glass of wine, Kenny playing in the background, I can really connect with my inner woman.”
I’m sipping my wine as he says the last part and I laugh, snorting, wine goes up my nose. I start choking.
“Attractive,” he chides, laughing. “You okay? You need me to get you anything, a glass of water …”
“No, I’m fine,” I wheeze, wiping my hand over my mouth, the coughs beginning to subside.
“Pig trough … ”
I snort again. This third glass of wine really is having the desired effect. “Stop it!” I chide.
“Bunnies and pigs, huh?”
“Hey,” I warn, holding a finger up in his direction.
“Merely an observation,” he says innocently, grinning at me over his wine glass.
I really like Zeff’s smile. I like that it’s crooked. That it diminishes his perfection. Makes him look more human, and not like something carved out of marble by God.
Okay, so now I know I’ve had too much wine when I’m thinking crazy shit like that. Well, seen as though I’m on crazy shit for brain and have had too much wine to care, I might as well ask what’s been bugging me for a while now.
“Zeff, can I ask you something?”
“Is it clean?” he asks with a salacious smile. “Because I’m not talking dirty with you.”
“Shut up!” I roll my eyes at him, but I can feel a flush rising in my cheeks. “I’m being serious.”
His gaze holds mine, “Oh you’re being serious. Well, okay, sure, I can do serious for a minute.”
I drag my hand over my ponytail, pulling it around the nape of my neck. “I know you're human, of course you're human … but well, it’s just … is there anything
special
about you?”
He lifts his eyebrow, part curious, part jokey. “There’s a lot that’s special about me – fancy narrowing it down a bit?”
“Well–” I fiddle with the stem of my wine glass. “Do you have any … powers of any sort?”
“Powers?” he echoes. “What do you mean, powers?”
“Just – can you do stuff that regular people can’t do?”
“Um … not that I know of.” A half-smile. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s just – every time I touch you, I get a shock – like an electric shock. It’s not so bad now; I’m kind of used to it after having so much contact with you while training. But it was a little weird at first. And the other day when we were talking about my attack I could literally feel your anger emanating out of you and coating onto me.”
And now saying it out loud I can hear how strange it sounds, but it’s also really true.
He scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry, but that’s not coming from me. I’m just a regular guy. Nothing extraordinary about me, except for my damning good-looks that is.” A grin. “Are you sure it’s not just something about you – a Vârcolac thing?”
I’m looking at him intently, spying for anything. A flicker in his eyes or slight change in expression. An increase in his heartbeat. But nothing. He either has no clue, like he’s saying, or he’s really
really
good at hiding it. I can’t decide on which one it is yet.
I shake my head. “I don’t know for sure, but it’s only from you that I’ve ever experienced it.”
My voice is a little quieter now, the alcohol confidence waning.
He shrugs. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not something I’ve heard of before.”
Zeff is a pretty open book, and if there was something special about him I think he would tell me. So it must be something to do with me. Around him. And now I feel kind of stupid bringing it up. I chug back on my wine until I drain the glass.
“More?” There’s a smile in his eyes.
God, I must look like a real alchy. But then again I don’t rea V"0">ly trlly care. The booze is numbing the part of my brain which makes life hurt just that little bit more.
“Sure,” I say.
Zeff drains his own glass and reaches over, retrieving the half-full bottle from the coffee table. I clamber forward in my seat, holding my glass out, allowing him to fill it.
He sits back and picks his own glass up to fill, then pauses. “Actually, I better not have anymore. I have to drive you home.”
“No.” I pause glass on lips “Don’t worry about me. I can walk – well run home.”
Okay stagger
. “It’ll take me five, ten minutes, tops.”