Less than a week ago, I'd been in a hotel room with a guy who'd massaged scented oil all over my body and then gone down on me in a way that left me gasping. And yet, I swear that didn't do as much for me as Seth's fingers on my bare skin did now. The rest of my body jolted to life, suddenly ravenous for more of him. When he trailed his fingertips down to my lower back, I could perfectly discern every place he had touched me and every place he hadn't, as though his fingers left scorch marks in my flesh. Magic fingers. Seductive fingers. My nerves pulsed hungrily, demanding I take action and give them more.
When his hand finally came to rest by my tailbone, right at the edge of my jeans, I murmured, “You can go lower if you want.”
“No,” he returned. His voice seemed huskier than usual, holding an unfamiliar intensity. But it was laced with wistfulness too. “I really can't.”
The audience whooped and demanded an encore when the show ended, which the band was only too happy to giveâmultiple times. Talk about stamina.
As I watched them wrap up the song and make their bows, an idea suddenly struck me. Excusing myself for the bathroom, I headed back in the direction of the dressing room. Once out of any passerby's eyesight, I turned invisible and slipped back into that room, still perplexed about that burning, crawling sensation.
It was gone. Everything felt perfectly normal in the room. Jackets and instrument cases lay in unceremonious heaps on the floor, and empty red plastic cups vied with overflowing ashtrays to cover up other flat surfaces. I paced around slowly, peering in corners, looking for somethingâanythingâthat would explain what I had felt. And again, I came up empty-handed. All was quiet and still. No person or creature waited to leap out, though I was pretty sure what I'd felt hadn't come from anything living. Yet, it also hadn't resembled any charm or enchanted object I knew of either. If anything, that tingle had felt like something in the middle: half sentient, half not. But that made no sense.
Returning to my friends, I saw them making preparations to leave. None of us could stop talking about the show. We separated and met up again at Doug's place for a post-show party he'd invited us to. I'd been to similar gigs of his but saw more people here than ever before. They packed the place. Alcohol and pot flowed like milk and honey, but I stopped after a couple shots since I had to open at work in the morning.
Through the smoky, decadent haze, the band worked the crowd like they'd done this sort of PR all their lives. They talked to everyone, charismatic and outgoing, though never too proud or conceited.
As this went on, Seth and I kept a respectable distance from each other in order to maintain the illusion we were nothing but friends. While I still believed that was a good idea, it sort of seemed like rubbing salt into open wounds. Bad enough we couldn't touch each other; now we couldn't talk either.
Alec found me at some point, attempting to resume the conversation we'd been having when Doug spirited me away. The drummer handed me a plastic cup.
“This guy over there knows how to make vodka gimlets,” he said happily.
I sniffed the cup. It smelled like pure vodka. Probably a cheap kind at that.
“Thanks,” I said, literally keeping it at arm's length.
Alec leaned against a nearby wall, propping his elbow against it to create a more enclosed sense of space between us. “So, did you like the show?”
“Yes. Absolutely. You guys were amazing.”
His chest puffed up with pride. “Thanks. We've been working really hard. We've got some other big shows coming up soonâI hope you'll come see us.”
“I will if I can. I seem to be working a lot lately.”
“Over at that bookstore with Doug? I can't figure that out. Neither of you seem like that type. Especially you. You look like someone with a wild side. Someone who likes to party.”
I kept my smile up and took a step back. “Sure. Just not on school nights, you know?”
Ignoring what I thought were obvious “back off” signs, he took a step toward me with a smile he probably believed was seductive. His clumsy attempts at flirtation suddenly seemed less endearing. “Come on,” he laughed. “Call in sick tomorrow. I know somewhere . . . somewhere we could go if you really wanted to have a good time. A more intense scene than this.”
“No. I can't. Sorry. Um, thanks for the drink, but I've got to go ask Doug . . . uh, something about work. I'll see you around.”
Clear disappointment flashed across Alec's face at my rejection, but he didn't push the matter as I made a hasty retreat toward Doug. When I found him, he and I didn't really discuss work, but we hashed out a number of other amusing topics, made more so by his increasing intoxication and the fact that he really did now have an entourage of groupies. It looked like he'd be getting lucky after all. If he was still running on the same energy tonight, he'd probably keep a bunch of them happy.
Finally, tired of the scene, I told him good-bye and found Seth on the other side of the room. Not surprisingly, he was by himself and not drinking. He'd been born without the small-talk gene, and I knew for a fact interacting with others at parties made him uncomfortable. I had teased him in the past that he might actually be pleasantly surprised if he just made an attempt at talking to new people. He wouldn't have any of it, however. He seemed fairly entertained by peoplewatching, eyes twinkling and lips quirked in a half-smile as if he were in on some kind of joke the rest of us didn't know about. I wouldn't have been surprised if he was logging all of this for future novels.
“Hey,” I said.
He brightened upon seeing me. The twinkling eyes took on a warm, knowing look. Something inside of me heated and tightened. “Hey.”
“I'm ready to go. You want to come over to my place?” He deserved it after the way I'd neglected him tonight.
“Sure.”
We were discussing who would leave first when I looked across the room and saw Alec handing Casey a drink. She looked like she'd already had more than enough, and Alec was doing the same closing-in maneuver he'd tried on me.
“What's wrong?” asked Seth, seeing my frown.
“That new drummer. Alec. He hit on me earlier, and now he's moving in on Casey. I think he's one of those guys who thinks plying girls with liquor is the only way to get laid.”
“Wait. I thought I was the only guy who knew that secret.”
I chastised him with a dry look before turning back to Alec and Casey. “I don't like it. I don't like him thinking he can do that to women.”
“You don't even know he's thinking that. Besides, look around. Every guy here is trying to get laid. Alcohol is par for the course. Casey's old enough to know that.”
“I'm going to go over there.”
Seth gave me a warning glance. “She won't thank you for playing mother hen.”
“Better she's mad at me than does something stupid.”
“Thetis, don'tâ”
I'd already left him behind, weaving through the people as I honed in on my target.
“. . . look like someone who likes to party,” Alec was saying as I approached.
“Hey,” I said loudly, sort of wedging my way in between them.
They both turned to me in surprise. “Hi, Georgina. What's up?”
“I'm heading home,” I told her. “Wondered if you wanted a ride.”
Casey smiled, glanced at Alec, then back to me. College-age, Casey was Hawaiian and Filipino, with high cheekbones and sleek black hair. Very pretty. “Thanks, but I'm gonna stay here for a while.”
Alec looked very pleased with himself. I turned back to her.
“Okay, but can I ask you something real quick, Case?” I smiled sweetly at Alec. “It'll just take a minute.”
I steered her away, catching her as she stumbled. Closer inspection revealed she'd been indulging in more than just alcohol.
“Casey,” I told her, once we were out of earshot, “I don't think you should be hanging around with him.”
“Why not? He's a nice guy.”
“I don't know about that. He just used the same pick-up lines on me. I think he's trying to get laid.”
“Every guy here is trying to get laid. I know the game.”
“Yeah, butâ”
“Look,” she said, “I appreciate the big sister thing, but I'm not stupid. I can handle this.” A mischievous look crossed her face. “Besides, I never would have thought
you
would be the one preaching sexual caution.”
Like I didn't know what that was a reference to. Damn O'Neill's libido. I made a face and attempted a few more logical pleas. She rejected them all, indulgence soon giving way to annoyance. By then, Alec hadn't been able to control himself. He came back over and put a possessive arm around her. She looked up at him adoringly, and I knew a lost cause when I saw one.
Seth and I met up back at my place, and he listened with admirable patience while I vented about men preying on women.
“Isn't that what you do though?” We were sitting on my living-room floor, setting up a game of Scrabble.
“I . . . no. It's not the same at all.”
“How so?”
He held my eyes for a moment, and I finally looked away. “It just isn't. Do you want to go first?”
He let the matter drop. Another nice thing about being with a nonconfrontational guy.
I quickly discovered playing Scrabble with Seth was like playing Monopoly with Jerome. A losing battle from the first turn. Admittedly, my knowledge of more than two dozen languages gave me a large vocabulary, but I didn't craft or manipulate words on a regular basis. Seth was a master. He could study the board, spend a minute calculating, and then play some word that was not only worth tons of points but interesting too.
Maize. Hexagon. Tawdry. Bisque.
That last one was just cruel.
Meanwhile, I was spelling words like
as
,
lit
,
ill
, and
tee
. And almost never on high-point spaces.
“Wait,” he said. “That's not a word.”
I looked down to where, in a moment of desperation, I'd played
zixic
on a triple-word-score space.
“Uh, sure it is.”
“What's it mean?”
“It's sort of like . . . quixotic, but with more . . .”
“Bullshit?”
I laughed out loud. I'd never heard him swear before.
“More zeal. Hence the z.”
“Uh-huh. Use it in a sentence.”
“Um . . . âYou are a zixic writer.'”
“I don't believe this.”
“That you're zixic?”
“That you're trying to cheat at Scrabble.” He leaned back against my couch, shaking his head. “I mean, I was ready to accept the whole evil thing, but this is kind of extreme.”
“Hey, it's not cheating. Just because your limited vocabulary doesn't include this word doesn't mean there's anything sinister going on.”
“Care to back that up with a dictionary?”
“Hey,” I said haughtily, “I don't appreciate your zixistic tone.”
“If you weren't such a zixy woman, I'd be angry.”
“Your zixicism is infuriating.”
The game forgotten, we spent the next twenty minutes coming up with as many
zix
variations as we could. Interestingly, it seemed to function just as well as a suffix as a prefix. I suspected that if Bastien had heard this conversation, I'd be accused of more boring geekiness.
Seth and I finally went to bed on the verge of hysterics, both of us still giggling once we were wrapped up in my covers.
“You smell good,” I told him, my face close to his neck. “What cologne is that?”
He stifled a yawn. “I don't wear cologne. Too strong.” “You must.” I pressed my face closer.
“Hey, be careful. You're giving me funny ideas.”
He had skin and sweat smells unique to him and him alone, deliriously delicious. With that, however, was a faint scent of something else. Almost like apples, but not in a girly, boutique sort of way. It was fleeting and lovely, mingled with musk and soft leather.
“No, it's something. You must. Is it your deodorant?”
“Oh,” he mumbled, yawning again. “I bet it's this soap Andrea and Terry got me. Came as part of some set.”
“Mmm. It's perfect.” It made me want to eat his neckâamong other things. “You know, you still owe me pancakes. I think I could go for . . . apple cinnamon ones now.”