21 Shades of Night, page 386
A lot of unspoken stories lingered in his words, and I wondered for a moment what an appropriate response would be. I took a long sip of my margarita and pushed thoughts of Colin and the publishing company from my head. It was a world I didn't need to worry about anymore. My time in the city wasn't about Colin. It wasn't about deadlines or arguments or business trips or bad dates. It was about summer and free time and being my own woman. And alcohol.
The noise in the crowd was changing and I noticed some shifting around on a small stage at the back of the bar. A college-aged duo took to the stage, both men clinging to acoustic guitars. I looked at Ben and together we turned to watch the act. About twenty minutes in, after several long, jam-style guitar interludes and at least as many sarcastic conversations about marijuana usage and the average barfly, we finished our drinks and left cash for the waitress.
"Do you want me to take you back–"
"No," I answered, cutting him off. "We haven't danced yet." I grinned at him. Two watered-down margaritas hadn't exactly given me a strong dose of courage, but dancing to loud music was better than anything else that might happen back at the hotel. I had no idea what awaited me there; Laura still hadn't texted me to let me know about the train situation and we were getting close to the time she should be arriving. I didn't have high hopes for her making it to the city tonight. I was content to be with Ben, hit a few bars, and just dance.
For now.
There were several clubs within a few blocks and we picked the first one we came to. The crowd inside was light, and there were at least ten couples out on the dance floor, dancing to a pre-recorded track piped over the speakers. We snagged a table halfway across the room from the stage and settled in. I let Ben order the drinks as I looked around the club. Though unusual compared to my typical night-out preferences, I was excited to be out and... Single. What a strange feeling. Even at Ben's side, I was my own woman. Single. Available. Free. I smiled to myself as I glanced around at the patrons again, as if everything would look different simply because of my relationship status.
The lights in the club dimmed. The doors propped open as more people flooded in, easily doubling the crowd size in ten minutes or so. At exactly ten o'clock, the lights went almost completely dark and a slow, steady bass thrummed through the sound system. House music boomed to life as the lights flashed back on.
I spent three minutes convincing Ben to join me on the dance floor.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said, looking as if he was on the verge of giving in.
"I don't kid about dancing. It's a little known fact about me–I love it."
The atmosphere was electric, a striking change from the anonymous place we had first entered. The DJ was brilliant, spinning the right blend of older favorites with newer tracks. I lost myself in it, soaking up sensations I hadn't experienced in years. Colin hated to dance and Laura and I didn't see each other enough to make it a regular thing. The vibrations of the subs and the waving, rolling motion of the crowd swept me up and I clung to Ben as we moved through it.
I moved closer to him as more people joined the dancing crowd. The song changed, the pace amped up, and we moved faster. I dropped my arms from his neck and stepped closer, not caring when his fingers grazed my hip. I watched him dance, separate from me and somehow connected. We moved together easily, even though I could count on exactly one finger the number of times we'd danced. I tilted my head back and he pulled me closer, his eyes blazing in the swirling blue lights of the club. When I put my arms around his neck again, he wrapped his arms around my waist and the world fell away from me. I slid in closer, loving the loud pounding bass that overflowed any other thoughts in my head.
We exited the club hours later, the closing beats of the music washing over me. My ears were ringing and the sounds of the busy street, even so late at night, were far away and muffled. Ben's shirt clung to his chest soaked in sweat, his hair still sticking up in every direction. I laughed at him as he ran his hands through it.
"You're just making it worse," I said quietly, turning to face him. I reached my hand up and brushed his hair down, trailing my fingers through the back. He watched me for a moment as I worked and I realized then how close we were. My arm was inches from his face and I noticed for the first time the light hand he kept at my waist. We hadn't stopped touching since we'd first set foot on the dance floor.
I stopped combing my fingers through his hair but neither of us moved.
“You look tired,” Ben said. He lifted his hand from my hip and traced a finger along my cheek.
“Thanks.” I tried to sound humorous despite my sudden discomfort. A little voice in my head kept reminding me: You can't do this! You're not the kind of girl that dumps a guy and jumps right to his best friend! I shut out the words. “You know, I always heard that’s just a nice way of saying ‘You look awful.’”
“Of course I don’t mean that. You look like you’ve had a long day.” He stepped back from me and I felt the palpable tension drop away.
I hesitated at his tone, at the odd familiarity in it. Whatever had been there, whatever had come up while we danced, was gone. "I did.” A long day, preceded by too many long weeks.
“Can I take you home?” His voice was still low, but the tenderness had slipped away.
“When you put it that way…” I wanted that tension back, that stirring tightness in my stomach. I couldn't help myself. A recurring theme for the night, it seemed. I'd had too much to drink and was still reeling from the beating energy of the club.
His gaze swept over me, a look in his eyes I could finally name. He wanted me. "Allie."
Blood pounded in my ears. I didn't know how to respond to him, didn't know what we were doing. Every part of me longed to slip into his arms again, until I knew I would never forget the feel of his embrace. Dancing with him had set me on fire; I'd never felt anything like it. But... that little voice warned me that I couldn't let myself do that. Whatever this was, or whatever it was going to be, I just didn't know if it was the right time. I linked my fingers through his and stepped close enough to whisper: "I wish I knew what to do, Ben."
He brushed his thumb across my knuckles. "Try not to think so hard."
A shiver rushed through me at the caress of the wind that swept between the tall buildings. I needed the alcohol out of my system before I could process what was going on. "Walk me back to the hotel."
He didn't look at me as he slid the jacket from his shoulders and draped it over mine. We crossed the street in silence.
I took a chance and watched him out of the corner of my vision. He looked unsettled, maybe even upset, and I wondered if his conscience was as mouthy as mine. My thoughts drifted back, to how it had felt minutes ago, pressed close against him, feeling the heat of his body through my thin, silk blouse. I shivered and the silky lining of his jacket slid against my shoulders as we walked.
The sounds of the city melted into the background, leaving us with the company of the salty air drifting on the wind and the clicking of my heels over the pavement. My mind hung on the sound, clinging to the rhythm, as I was lulled into a comfortable haze of margaritas and quiet. The past few weeks had worn me out. After telling both Harding and Ben about everything going on with my vision and the headaches, I'd become even more aware of the auras that popped up at the strangest times. Between my own brain playing tricks on me and my grandfather's brain doing a real number on everyone, I had wanted this weekend with Laura desperately. A text had finally come through while we'd been in the club. She wouldn't be in until mid-morning. Even though the night with Ben had totally been worth her change of plans, I still felt like I was wandering in the woods without a light to guide me. The boozy fog in my brain lifted as we got closer to the hotel and I made myself the promise that I would try to get a better bearing on my life when I returned home.
"I feel so useless. Like everything is out of my control. The auras are still making me crazy, my grandfather is becoming more of a stranger to me every day, and my best friend is so busy she can't leave for a holiday weekend. I haven't even gotten up the guts to ask you how you're really doing because I'm not sure I can really handle the answer. I don't know what I'm doing here." My words drowned out the methodical beats of my heels as we crossed the street in front of the hotel.
He chuckled a bit. "You definitely don't need to worry about me. I'm doing okay. It's not exactly the greatest place to be right now, trying to figure out what the hell is going on with my best friend and what's happening between us. I wish I could fast forward through this part. Get past all the weirdness."
"I've made a mess of everything."
Ben shook his head. "No, you haven't. Things are messy right now, the way they always are when something big happens. It'll get better."
"You mean it will start to feel normal?"
"Maybe."
We arrived at the building and Ben watched as a drunk couple sauntered past us. "Can I walk you up?"
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” I replied. Maybe it could be my mantra. Repeat until my lime-tinged fog abates. Reconsider in the morning.
“Why? I don’t bite,” he said, grinning at me.
Oh, but what if I want you to? I sifted around for another excuse and alighted on the most probable. “It’s not me I’m worried about. Laura's text said the guys were supposed to check into another room, but I'm not sure I really trust that."
He frowned. "Then don't stay here at all."
"Where exactly am I supposed to stay?" I asked, tucking my hands into his jacket pockets.
"With me. We'll grab your bag, and you can crash at my place."
I weighed the pros and cons in my head for about thirty seconds. The hotel room upstairs was beyond amazing, but I didn't trust Seth and Kyle to have found another room. "Stay here. I'll get my stuff."
Chapter 14
I WAS AWAKENED at noon by a hard knocking. I rubbed my eyes, confused for a minute as to where the noise was coming from before realizing it was the bedroom door. Ben and I had taken a cab back to midtown and I'd been so exhausted that after changing clothes, I'd collapsed into his bed without so much as turning on a light.
I opened the door, belatedly wondering if my pajamas were at all appropriate for the situation. The harsh light of day cast all my ideas and revelations of the previous night into doubt. What if I embarrassed him?
If he cared, though, he didn’t mutter a peep about it. His only response was to hold up a drink carrier from Starbucks and a white bag.
“I picked up bialys.”
I moaned, the smell of onion and yeast already invading my senses. My grandmother used to make bialys when I was younger, for very special occasions, and they were one of my favorite things. I hadn’t had one in ages. “You went all the way across town?”
“Of course,” he replied as as we walked to the kitchen. He began toasting the bialys. "I don't require as much beauty sleep."
I sat on one of the tall stools, drinking the hot Brazilian roast he’d brought. As the smell of toasted onion filled the kitchen, my stomach growled. "You're my hero."
I was definitely feeling awake by the time the roll was in front of me. The first bite was exactly as I remembered: perfect. It brought back memories of a steamy kitchen on cold winter mornings, the pungent scent of raw onions settling over me as my grandma began the long process of chopping and frying the filling for the bread. The dough would complete its rise before I awoke, and it was always my job to make the craters for the golden onions and toasted poppy seeds. I closed my eyes and smiled. Perfect, indeed.
“These are amazing,” Ben said, after he’d taken a few bites.
“I haven’t had them in forever. Thank you so much.”
“It was my pleasure. I’m the lucky one to have company for breakfast."
His words reminded me to check my phone. There was a voicemail from Laura, letting me know she was finally at the hotel. I sent her a few texts, letting her know where I was, and that I wanted to meet up with her later.
“So,” I began, clearing my throat. “Did you have something in mind for today or are you taunting me with baked goods before handing me off to Laura and the boy toys?”
“I have no plans of handing you off to anyone,” he answered, his tone a bit too serious for the casual atmosphere. I raised my eyebrows in response and he shrugged. "We can meet up with Laura later."
I got a weird little flutter when he said 'we'. Aside from the obvious relief of not having to deal with Kyle for the rest of the weekend, I was dying for more time with Ben.
"I guess I’ll go get dressed. Any guidelines for me? Can I wear shorts or is this going to require a dive suit?”
“No, no dive suit. Don’t wear stupid shoes though,” he replied as he began cleaning up the remnants of our breakfast.
“Stupid shoes? There’s no such thing.”
I spent the entire time I showered and dressed trying to figure out his plans for the day. By the time I joined Ben in the kitchen, I had narrowed it down to three guesses.
“If I guess correctly, will you tell me?” I asked, leaning next to him against the counter.
He nodded. “Sure, why not?”
“Are we going sailing?”
“Sailing? Did you forget who you were talking to?”
“Right. Afraid of water.”
"Hey, hey, hey. I never said I was afraid of water. That's just absurd. Drowning, however, well. Who's not afraid of drowning?" He winked and nudged me in the elbow.
I grinned and nudged him back. “Right, right. Excuse me. Drowning, then.”
“So we’ve established that we’re not going on a boat. What’s your next guess?”
I pretended to think for a moment, placing my forefinger against my cheek. “Are we going to a play?”
“At one o'clock on Saturday afternoon?”
“Well, it could be some kind of community theatre thing.”
“Yeah, like a ballet recital.”
I play-slapped him on the arm. “You could help me out here.”
“Why should I?”
“Because you’re a nice person?”
Ben laughed at me and shook his head. “You’re really terrible at this.”
We left his apartment and walked for several blocks before Ben turned onto a narrow dead-end street. At the end of the road was an old brownstone, its only entrance a door covered in bizarre flyers. I inspected the flyers as he opened the door for me, surprised to see advertisements for psychic readings and hands-on, miracle healings.
"Where on earth are you taking me?"
"Well, I figured I should indulge your side-interest in this paranormal stuff. I have a friend who knows the owner of this shop." As we entered the vestibule, I saw the name of the place: Paranormal and Supernatural Studies, Book Store and Library.
"Creative name," I commented as we went through a glass door on the right side of the foyer.
We were greeted almost immediately by a short man in a pin-stripe suit. "Hello, I'm Christian Michaels. How may I help you?"
The main room of the bookstore appeared to be the old living room of an apartment. There were two cushioned chairs perched in front of the window, and stacks of books lined the walls, some on shelves and others piled haphazardly on the floor. The odor was thick, comprised mostly of musty paper and the musky perfume from the large, spindly plant in the corner of the room. A single desk sat in the far corner, a simple ledger lying flat on the surface.
"Mr. Michaels, I'm Ben Elridge." He walked forward, hand outstretched, as the man came out from behind the desk.
"Ah, Mr. Elridge. Yes, yes. I was informed of your potential visit."
His words distracted me from gazing at a low shelf loaded with thin pamphlets covering all manner of strange subject matter. Mr. Elridge? Had some publishing friend recommended this shop? Even though I'd known Ben for a long time, this was a good reminder of how little I knew about parts of his life.
"This is my friend, Allie Stuart."
Mr. Michaels raised his eyebrows and bowed his head to me. "Welcome to my store, Ms. Stuart. Is there anything in particular I can get for you?"
I smiled, feeling silly. "Ah, nothing in particular, no. This is sort of a surprise for me. I wouldn't even know where to start." I laughed nervously.
"Well, then the first question is an easy one. Are you a skeptic or a believer?"
I blinked, surprised. "A skeptic, I suppose."
"Lovely. I too, am a lifelong skeptic." He motioned for us to follow, leading us through a curtained archway. Rows of shelves lined a large room; the only hints of the apartment it had once been were the faded lines in the ceiling, marking the repairs after the walls had been knocked down. "To the left of the main aisle, all shelves house books on the supernatural. On the right are books on the paranormal. The shelves that line the outer walls contain what we call 'Inspirational'."
"Inspirational?" I raised my eyebrows.
"Encouragement to believe. Long treatises to convince you of the inconceivable."
I grinned, suspecting that, given the chance, I would grow to appreciate Mr. Michaels' sense of humor even more. He left us then, apparently not the type of proprietor to hound his customers.
I turned to Ben and clasped my hands together. "So, what do you recommend?"
He beckoned me to follow and we delved into the paranormal shelves. "A friend of mine is an author. He comes here to research for his fantasy novels."
After several minutes of looking, I pulled out a book entitled Paranormal Practices: Encouraging Your Extra-Sensory Abilities. "This cannot be real."
"I'm assured that many people think it is."
Remembering Emma Hayes' story about her sister, I flipped through the table of contents, looking for the section about Telepathy and Empathy. Maybe these books would reveal something my internet searches had not.
A couple of hours later, a familiar voice jolted me from a book on European vampire legends, and I looked into the face of Nate Carter. "Allie?"
"Carter! What are you doing here?"
"I come here every week. Michaels puts back the best for me."
