Eleven
“Lifetime ban. A
lifetime ban!” Edward was trying to wrap his mind around the
astonishing events of the last twenty minutes. “But I’m a member of
their discount club! They can’t ban a member of their discount
club, right?”
“They did,
though.”
Rachael’s voice, low
and sweet, also conveyed her extreme amusement. He was glad. Amused
was good. Giving him a left cross in the front teeth because she
felt molested was not.
And oh my God, her mouth tasted like a Green Tea
Frappuccino. And SHE kissed ME!
“Listen, Rachael . .
.” He reached for her small warm hand without thinking, realized
what he was doing, and let his hand drop back to his side. “I
wouldn’t want you to get the idea that—”
“You troll bookstore
shelves to pick up babes?” And for a wonder, she reached for his
hand, and held it.
I will never wash this hand again, as Jabba is my witness.
By all the gods in the Marvel universe, I will never . . . Pay
attention, dumb shit! She’s still talking!
“Woe to me, then, the
latest victim of your Bookstore Nosh.” She laughed. Rachael had a
wonderful laugh, sort of deep and bubbly at the same time. It was a
little strange to hear it when he could still see the tear tracks
on her cheeks. “Perhaps you’re my
victim, Edward. Did you ever think of that?”
“I’ve fantasized about that,” he admitted. He didn’t want
to. He absolutely did not. He wouldn’t. Nope.
He peeked at his
watch and groaned.
“You have to go.” It
wasn’t a question.
“I kind of
do.”
Curse you, evil vampire queen who lives on Summit Avenue
and is planning to enslave infants. The first awesome chick I meet
in . . . what year was it? . . . the first awesome chick I meet in
forever, and I have to ditch her to play I Spy with the
undead. “But, Rachael, I swear this isn’t some scam so I can
make out with you and then head for the hills like a scalded
rabbit, never to be seen again. I’d never do that, and anyone who
would do that to someone like you
should be strung up by his testicles with fishing line,
but—”
“I know it isn’t a
scam.” Her lips had curved into a smile at fishing line. “I know you truly need to be
somewhere else, and truly hate it.” And she gave him a smile of
such sweet calm, he would have bought her a hundred Green Tea
Frappuccinos.
“Right! Exactly! Duty
calls. But I—”
“Want to see me
again.” Again: not a question. He couldn’t recall being so
comfortable, so soon, with anyone, never mind a super-hot brainy
brunette.
“Anybody ever tell
you how easy you are to talk to?”
“No.”
“Oh. Because you
are.” Asking a girl out never used to be this
easy. Maybe being out of practice is improving my sex appeal. Or
maybe she’s got a fever. “You really, really
are.”
“Many people would
disagree.”
“Morons,” he said
with no hesitation, and this time they both laughed. Then they were
done with mirth and just looked at each other. He had to leave and
he couldn’t, so they stood on the sidewalk outside the “and stay
out!” bookstore and looked and looked and looked.
It won’t work. This is going too well. She’s just being
nice. Someone like that? Could have anybody. Anybody at
all.
“We should see each
other again very soon,” she said, and he thought he was going to
pitch a header into the sidewalk from sheer relief. Or into the
storefront window; wouldn’t that please
the manager!
“Tomorrow morning?”
he blurted. “Breakfast?”
She frowned, and
faster than he would have believed, it felt like everything inside
him had been flash frozen. “I’ve got to meet with a friend of the
family . . . She thinks she’s got some clients to send my way. A
late lunch?”
I’ll put off the stakeout until late afternoon again. How
much trouble are a bunch of evil suckheads gonna get into during
daylight hours, anyway?
“Late lunch,” he
agreed. “Where?”
She hesitated. “I
don’t really know the area. And you don’t, either. Is there a place
you want to try?”
“The Oceanaire,” he
said at once.
“Seafood?” Her
adorable nose wrinkled in an adorable way, and she had an
adorable-yet-perturbed expression on her adorable face. “In
Minnesota?”
“You got this place
all wrong,” he assured her. “It’s good stuff. You’ll never think
you have to go to Legal Sea Foods again.”
“Ohhhh, Legals. Umm,
did you ever have their Arctic char? Sublime. How do you know this?
Research?”
“Sure. And you come
across as a planner. You probably researched, too.”
“Well, I rented
Fargo.” She laughed. “And I have to
say, I loved the accent (and Frances McDormand). Midwestern accents
sound so homey to me. Like when Paula Deen talks and I suddenly
want her to start spooning mashed potatoes into my mouth. Can you
hear it out here? The accent? They exaggerated it a bit in
Fargo, you know . . .”
“I can hear yours,”
he said, smiling.
“Oh. Really? I have
one?” She jerked a thumb at herself. “I do?”
“You drop the
occasional r.”
“You mean when I pahk
the cah at Hahvahd Yahd?”
He shuddered. “I
really hate it when people say that. A fake Boston accent is one of
the worst sounds in the world. It’s up there with Kanye West taking
Taylor Swift’s mike away.”
“You’ve got a point.
I didn’t expect . . . I mean, I like some of the things I’ve seen
out here.”
Please be talking about me, please be talking about me,
please be talking about me . . .
“. . . place I’m staying turned out to be kind of
terrific. Which made me ashamed. I’ve done nothing but find fault
with the state of Minnesota since I showed up,” she admitted. “I
hear myself talking like a jerk . . .”
“And yet, make no
effort to change,” he teased.
“You shush. And you’d
better go. You’re late already, aren’t you?”
“Dammit!”
Slammin’ hot, super-smart, funny, hot, smart,
and the most intuitive person I’ve ever met. God, if this is
another one of your sick jokes, you and I are DONE, pal! You’ll be
off the Christmas list again! “Of all
the—dammit!”
“You didn’t think we
were going to stand out on this sidewalk all night, did
you?”
Only in my dreams. “So tomorrow? Can I call
you?”
“I’m planning on it,
Edward. So you’d better call me. I am
no fun at all when I’ve been
disappointed.”
“Right. Right! Okay.
Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. But I’ll talk to you earlier! Or leave
you a voice mail.” He wanted to kiss her again, but they really did
only just meet, so he grabbed her hand and wrung it like a
politician canvassing red states. “Great to meet you, Rachael.
Soooo great! Okay.” He ran to his rental car, screeched in
mid-scamper, then turned around, abashed. “Um . . . Rachael . .
.”
“Six, five, one. Two,
six, one. Seven, four, four, four.”
“Got it!” He waved,
squashed the impulse to run back and kiss her ripe mouth some more,
then hopped in his Rent-A-Prius and roared out of the parking
lot.
The drive to the
vampire queen’s lair had never gone so quickly.