Glimpse: Book One of the Glimpse Quartet, page 4
It’s the best license photo I’ve ever seen, the lucky bastard. But beneath the name Vaughn Taylor, his birth year reads the same as mine. Bold choice, not even bothering with a fake.
“Sorry, sir. This says you’re eighteen?” I don’t mean to raise it into a question, but when my eyes land on his again I nearly lose my footing. Who makes this much eye contact with a stranger?
He rolls his eyes and takes the license back. “Bloody hell. Water with lemon, then.”
“First time in the states?” I ask, though his license told me he’s from Florida. Did he really expect to get away with that?
He smiles ruefully. “No. Just not quite acclimated, I suppose.”
I nod, twisting my lips to hide a smirk. “I’ll be right back with that drink.” Something about him makes me want to run away, but when I return with the water, I have the strangest urge to slide into the seat across from him.
“Do you have any questions?” I nod to the menu. If he had ever been here before, I would remember. A face like his would never go unnoticed. Even if I wasn’t working, Ashley would have told me about him by now.
“Have you worked here long?” His gaze stays fixed on mine, but for some reason I suspect he’s seeing more than just my face.
“I meant questions about the menu.”
“Oh, but you’re far more interesting.” He drums his fingers on the table, daring me to play his game. It’s been so long since anyone flirted with me that I can’t tell if I’m imagining it. The paranoid part of my brain suggests that he’s a long-lost cousin of Alicia or her servant Becca, sent here to torment me.
“I’ve worked here a few years, yeah,” I answer at last, keeping a reasonable distance from the table.
His icy irises pierce right through me, softened by a sweet smile. “You grew up in town, then?”
“Most of my life. You’re from Florida?” Why is my heart beating so fast? My palms grow clammy the longer I stand near him.
“I’ve lived all over the map. But yes, most recently I was in Florida. Ghastly place.” He shakes his head, his nose crinkling with a small smile. I bite the inside of my cheek and take a tiny step back. If he notices, he doesn’t let on.
Of course he’s not from Florida, you idiot. With an accent that strong, he must have grown up in the UK. “Are you moving here? Or just visiting?”
“Undecided at the moment. Perhaps you can persuade me.” The tip of his tongue runs over too-white teeth, forming a dimple on one cheek. The strange feeling in my gut persists, bidding me to step closer and make a break for the door at the same time. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Blair.” Ashley’s voice cuts through the fog and I force my focus away from him. She tips her chin at one of my other tables, where Mr. Clawson is waiting for his check.
“Why don’t you think on it while you look at the menu, and when I come back you can give me your pros and cons?”
He takes a sip of water, staring up at me through long lashes. “Perfect.”
Shaking my head, I hurry to the other table and ask if Mr. Clawson wants any dessert. It’s not until I run his check that I realize the time. Gia is going to kill me.
Steeling myself against the imminent flirting that awaits me, I send Mr. Clawson on his way and head back to Vaughn’s table. If I don’t look at him again, I might escape with my dignity intact. Still, his meal could keep me here long after Gia is supposed to pick me up.
My anxiety fades when I find the stranger’s table empty, a fifty-dollar bill tucked under the still-full water glass. Is this a prank? I hold the bill up to the light, but it looks legitimate.
The oddity of his visit haunts me while I clean tables and close out my shift, stuffing my apron in my bag.
“Bye Ash,” I call on my way out. There’s no way Gia will let me off the hook, even if I have less than thirty minutes to get ready. As if she can read my thoughts, my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Don’t even think about backing out. I’ll send in Seal Team Six if I have to , it reads. I roll my eyes as I type my response.
I’ll be ready by eleven. But I’m going to complain about it the whole time.
That’s the spirit.
Her response makes me smile, even as a light, misty rain begins to fall. Knowing it won’t stop me from getting wet, I walk a little faster. The sooner I can get inside, the less work I’ll have to do before the club.
Halfway to my house, a shiver runs down my spine, followed by the distinct impression I am being watched. But a quick glance over my shoulder tells me I am alone. Still, my feet shuffle faster over the pavement.
I have almost reached the trailer when I hear footsteps behind me and spin to face the pursuer.
“Hello?” My voice carries all the threat of a kitten as I peer into the darkness. No answer. As if I expected a response. The longer I wait, the more anxiety pools in my stomach. Ridiculous as I feel, I sprint the rest of the way to the trailer, throwing the door shut behind me.
“Blair? Is that you?” My mother peers out of her room, pulling a robe tight over stained sweats. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, chest heaving while my breath returns to normal. “Nothing. I forgot my coat.”
“You should have called me.” Her brow lifts in the center, concern etching her features though I can see more than a few empty cans in the trash.
I wave her away, heading straight for the jar on the counter as I dig through my bag for my tips. Conscious of her eyes on me, my hand freezes on the bills. I push the empty jar back to the wall and clear my throat, turning for my room. “I’ve got to take a shower.”
She would blow every cent on booze if I let her. Still, I feel guilty trekking to my room with the cash weighing me down.
“I’m proud of you for working so hard, honey.” She offers a small smile that sends pins and needles straight into my heart.
“Happy to help,” I mumble, saluting over my head without turning back. It’s not her thanks I’m after, though a paycheck would be nice. We went without hot water for over a month before I started bussing tables when I turned fourteen.
Renewed panic rushes through me when I reach my room and see I have fifteen minutes before Gia arrives. After taking the quickest shower of my life, I rake a brush through my wet hair and start the blow dryer. The second I get a foot into my jeans, there’s a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it.” I run to the door before my mother can answer. Of all the nights I want to get away, she had to pick today to be alert.
Gia huddles under the doorstep in a tight red miniskirt, barely longer than her raincoat. So much for subterfuge.
“Where are you guys going at this hour?” Mom wanders into the kitchen, her eyes going straight to Gia’s skirt. I widen my eyes at my friend, and she flashes me an apologetic look.
“It’s, uh, theme night at the coffee shop. Open mic night, I guess.”
My mother’s eyes narrow as she props one hand on her hip. “What’s the theme?”
“James Bond?” Gia answers before I can come up with anything plausible. It doesn’t help that she raises the end into a question, as if she’s not sure of the theme herself. We are so screwed.
“James Bond?” From the way her brow quirks, I can tell she’s not buying it.
Gia nods, pressing her lips together. “Yep. Super sexy.”
Seconds tick by while my mom stares at us, deciding whether to pick this fight. I hold my breath, ignoring the part of me that resents her for showing up to parent at the least convenient moment. Annoyance aside, she’s my last hope of getting out of this.
“Alright,” she answers at last. “Be careful. I mean it.”
“Promise.” Gia crosses her heart, a huge smile on her face. With one last suspicious look at both of us, my mother disappears to her room. I wonder briefly if she has decided to let us go so she can have the house to herself to drink in peace.
“Okay. Let’s go,” I breathe, waiting for Gia to turn for the car, but she doesn’t budge.
“I knew you’d wear something like that.” She barrels past me and stalks straight toward my room. I follow her, my insides curling up when I catch sight of the deep green fabric draped over her arm.
“James Bond? Seriously?”
She ticks a finger at me, shoving the dress into my arms. “Why else do we look this sexy?”
“I don’t know,” my jaw clenches, “because you’re trying to get us kidnapped?”
Her hands move to her hips as she looks down at me from four-inch heels. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you talk yourself out of a perfectly good idea because you’re freaking out over nothing. Now get your ass in that dress or I’ll do it myself.”
Experience tells me she’s only half kidding. If it weren’t for her, I never would have made it to my first Homecoming after my date wound up with strep throat. “I’m already afraid,” I groan, shooing her out of my room so I can change in peace.
“You should be,” she nods on the way out. I hold up the dress to find it’s a one-shoulder number with one long sleeve. The bottom crisscrosses in the middle, designed to expose as much of my thighs as possible, no doubt.
“No way.” I shake my head, knowing she’ll be listening at the door.
“Try it on, you coward.” Her fist hits the wood lightly. With a deep sigh, I change into a strapless bra and step into the dress, which suctions to my frame like a second skin.
“You can come in now.” The dread in my voice is palpable, spurred on by her gasp when she swings the door open. My arms fold automatically, shoulders sinking low to shield my body.
She taps my elbow with the back of her hand, circling like a vulture. “Look at you, you green goddess. Elphaba who?” Her nod of approval has me clenching my jaw again.
“I don’t have your boobs, G.”
She scoffs, twirling a few braids around her fingers. “That’s not a boob dress. It’s a leg dress. I picked it special for your soccer thighs.”
I pull at the hem, wishing I had four more inches of dress to work with. The pale skin on my legs is practically translucent, making the green stand out all the more. “I can’t even bend over in this thing.”
“So don’t.” She shrugs, tugging on my arm. This time I remember to grab my jacket before she can herd me to the car.
I complain about the dress the whole way to the club, but after fifteen minutes she ignores my protests. “You look hot. Stop thinking about homework for five seconds and have a little fun.”
“Speaking of which—we have a test on Tuesday. I should study.”
“Study tomorrow. Tonight is my night.” She parks the car and I follow her down a dark alley. It’s exactly the kind of place you expect to get mugged, a large dumpster providing the perfect cover for any would-be attackers.
“What’s this place called again?” I pull my jacket tighter, checking over my shoulder after every step.
She smirks at me in the darkness, leading the way as if she’s been here a thousand times. “Reborn.”
“Spooky.”
At a dark door so flat it blends into the side of the building, she stops and reaches for her phone. I do my best to ignore the sounds of rats and other vermin roaming the alley, bouncing from one foot to the other while I wait through endless rings.
“Hey, we’re out back.” She taps the red icon and tucks the phone in her bra without waiting for a response.
“What are you, a mob boss?” I shake my head at her, stepping closer when a wrapper rustles beneath the dumpster. Soon enough, the door swings open and we rush inside.
Gia kisses the cheek of the boy who let us in; a nervous flush spreads over his face. “Thanks, Aaron.”
“Don’t get caught. If anyone asks, I’ve never seen you before.” He checks around the back room, leading us into the main part of the club before someone sees. Already I can feel the bass pounding in my chest.
Blue light beckons from the doorway, which gives way to a sprawling crowd from wall to wall. The bar sits to our left, a few tables scattered across the perimeter. Almost everyone is on the dance floor, undulating in a living mass that sends a whole new wave of nerves through my body.
“This. Is. Awesome,” Gia squeals beside me. Not exactly the word I had in mind, though the unearthly glow from the lights is somewhat enchanting as they shift from blue to red. With nowhere to go but forward, I follow her into the unrelenting masses.
Chapter Five
Liam
“Thanks for coming with me tonight. Scott bailed at the last second and I didn’t want to miss it.”
I nod as Bradley stretches in his seat, excitement plain on his face. The first lunch was unbearable, with him touring me around as if I hadn’t spent the first few days in town memorizing the layout. But the second was surprisingly un-terrible.
“Do you have a good fake ID?” he asks, quirking a brow. “I probably should have checked sooner.”
Given how much cash I had to pay the forger for a rush job, I should hope so. “Yes.” If anyone is getting us caught tonight, it’ll be him.
Clubs have never held much interest for me, apart from camouflage. But I would have said yes to virtually any excuse to escape town for a few hours, even if it increases my chances of getting caught. He whistles in response, clapping me on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I’m not interested in you.”
“What?” I turn to him, not bothering to hide my surprise. Though it casts his friendliness over the last week in a new light, I quickly wave it off. “I didn’t think you were.” I didn’t even realize I was an option, though now it seems rather obvious.
He laughs, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel. I should pay closer attention to the humans if I have any hope of blending in.
The neon sign over the entrance bleeds into the night when we arrive, the music so loud it echoes down the street. A tall oaf with a shirt at least two sizes too small stands at the entrance, a scowl on his face.
I hand him my ID first, which he inspects carefully after looking me up and down once. As I suspected, he barely looks at Bradley’s before ushering us inside.
“That was easier than I thought,” Bradley elbows me, appraising the crowd with a confident smile. Light hails from an unknown source, changing color every three minutes or so. Most of the people here are drunk, or soon to be, and yet I feel an odd sense of ease.
“Were there a lot of clubs in Florida?”
I shake my head, scanning the crowd automatically for possible threats after a lifetime of habitual wariness. “None that I ever went to.” Ocala was home to so many retirees it made for a reasonably quiet lifestyle. Until Vaughn showed up to obliterate the peace.
Bradley leads the way into the crowd, scoping out an open space. Before the song is over, he finds a girl, who I judge to be twenty-two or so, and introduces himself. Her smile is soft and unassuming as she beckons him to join her.
I can’t help the surprise on my face as I watch him, his easy manner and decent rhythm at odds with such an innocent appearance. More than a few eyes wander to me as the music plays on, but my stoic face keeps them at a distance.
As the night deepens, the crowd rises and falls. I watch as a couple sneaks into the bathroom, their drunken giggles giving away their intentions. In the corner, a middle-aged couple shares an appetizer while the man watches a young woman in a mini dress on the dance floor. His date pretends not to notice, checking her phone every so often to hide her disappointment.
“You call that dancing?” Bradley elbows me in the ribs when he catches me lost in thought. I accept the obvious invitation of a woman near me, making a show of it if only to keep him satisfied, though she can’t possibly see my face through the strobe lights. From the smell of her breath, I doubt she’ll remember much of this night.
It is not until the strobe lights cease that I catch a tiny flash of green in the mass that steals my attention.
It can’t be.
But then it has to be her, because the chances of there being a young woman with waist-length black hair in a neighboring town are minimal at best. When she turns, purple-hued light glances off her cheek.
“Fuck.” The music is too loud for anyone to hear me, though the woman to my left pouts when I stop dancing, my body suddenly rigid. Soon enough she moves on to her next conquest, my rebuff quickly forgotten.
Now that I’ve caught sight of her, I can’t let go.
Emerald fabric clings to her every curve, stopping short on her thighs. The pale skin of her neck reflects the lights as she scrapes her hair over one shoulder. Her friend dances beside her, every bit as stunning in a red miniskirt.
She is shy; that much is obvious. But every time she moves, her hair shimmers in the lights and her body loosens minutely. My own body yearns toward her, ready to throw all my plans out the window at the sight of her hips swaying.
Before I can do the unthinkable, a towering man with thighs the size of tree trunks grabs her waist and dances behind her, grinding against her.
She reacts immediately, her whole frame shrinking away from him. It’s not my job, I remind myself, even as my fist closes. Getting involved in human troubles can only breed disaster. Still, I take a step closer and tune my ears to their pocket on the floor.
“Come on, baby,” he croons in her ear, snaking a thick-biceped arm around her waist. My shoulders stiffen as she bows away from him, her slender form dwarfed beneath his muscled frame.
It’s a public space. No one will let him cause any real harm. But it doesn’t stop my blood from gearing up for a fight. Nor does it keep me from pushing through the crowd to get to them.
Before I can reach her, the group erupts in quiet commotion. I strain my neck around his towering form to see another hand yanking his arm away, fist half-cocked. Gia has come to the rescue.
The slow smile that spreads over my face widens when Gia maintains her stance, even as the man steps into her space and puffs his chest. She pulls out what looks like a small keychain and squares her shoulders.
