Page 35 of The Spider & the Storm

“You're not supposed tolook, you freakin’ moron,” he whispered harshly. “She's been staring at you since we walked in here.”

I snorted, returning my attention to my dinner with a disbelieving huff. “Yeah, okay.”

Melanie's blue eyes flicked toward the table Luke had been referring to. “Oh, no. Shedefinitelylikes you,” she whispered in a teasing tone, reaching out to nudge my wrist. “And you know what? She looks like your type.”

“Yeah,” Luke agreed, bringing the straw of his Coke to his mouth. “Like she spends all day sucking the blood from her victims while deciding what color shirt to wear tomorrow—black or blacker.”

I couldn't help my smile as it reluctantly spread across my face, knowing my cheeks were burning scarlet. Melanie wouldn't have lied. She might've crossed a couple of lines recently—making decisions that weren't her business to make, even if they were for the better—but she didn't lie. Luke might’ve just to tease me and feel bad about it later, but not Melanie. And the thought of a girl actually staring at me and maybe even liking what she saw …

I didn't know how to deal with that.

It had never happened before.

“So?”

My eyes lifted from my cheeseburger to meet Luke's taunting gaze. “Huh?”

He glanced at Melanie, incredulous. “I dunno what to do with this kid.” Then, he looked back at me and nudged his chinin the direction of the table behind us. “You gonna talk to her or what?”

My jaw fell open as I shook my head incessantly. “What? No, I'm not gonna talk to her.”

Luke didn't look amused. “Seriously?”

“That'd be weird!” I glanced at Melanie, begging her with my eyes to back me up. “Right?”

But she didn't seem to agree. “Well, I don't know. I guess it'd be one thing if she wasn't the one interested, but …” She shrugged helplessly, dodging her eyes quickly toward the other table and back again. “She looks pretty interested to me, Charlie.”

“Oh God,” I groaned, dropping my burger and thrusting my hands into my hair. “I can't just …talkto her. What would I even say? I don't—”

With an impatient groan, Luke took a hefty bite of his sandwich before dropping it back onto the plate. Then, he stood up and began sauntering in the other direction before I could finish talking.

“Where are you going?” I hissed, turning in my seat to stare at his broad back. “Luke! What are you—”

My older brother stopped, and that was when I saw her. A girl, about my age, with shiny black hair pulled into a fancy, long braid cascading over one shoulder, dressed in a black sweater and black jeans and black boots. Her eyes were rimmed heavily in onyx, and her lips were painted a deathly shade of pale.

Melanie was right; she was my type. And really freakin' cute.

“Excuse me. I don't mean to bother you, but my name is Luke Corbin,” my older brother said, pressing his hand to his chest before thrusting that same hand in the direction of our table. “I couldn't help but notice that you were staring at my freaky little brother, Charlie, over there, and because he's too shy to say something himself, I'm here to ask what your name is and if you’d like to give him your number.”

Her eyes looked about as surprised as mine, and then she looked at me. My heart hammered wildly, attempting to jump out of my chest and up my throat. I swallowed repeatedly before turning away, horrified and completely embarrassed, and looked across the table at Melanie.

“I hate him,” I whispered—and why the hell was my voice so high?

Melanie smiled apologetically, but there was also excitement twinkling in her eyes. She found this amusing. She found it adorable. But, Jesus Christ, I was so humiliated and freaked out, and why would a girl want me to have her number anyway? She would probably go back to her friends and laugh about the loser at Friendly's in the Type O Negative shirt. Maybe they'd look up our house number and prank call a few times, come up with some ridiculous plan in which they'd torture me for a while with promises of dates and long walks on the beach or something, and then they'd forget all about me.

Girls didn't want guys like me; they wanted guys like my brother. Confident. Cool. Good-looking. I wasn't any of those things. I was the loner with the sketchbook, dirty jeans, and a brand-new shrink who apparentlydidn’tthink I was psychotic.

What a catch.

A moment later, Luke wandered back over to the table and dropped a napkin in front of me. “Her name is Amanda, and that's her number. She says to call tomorrow night when she's not at work.”

I stared at the napkin and the handwriting scribbled onto it. It was bubbly and neat, so much nicer than mine, and she had written the firstAin her name as a star. Something pinched in my chest, something maybe close to excitement, and I felt the good kind of nerves you got when you were about to do something you'd always wanted to do.

Luke dropped back in his seat across from mine and lifted his sandwich to his mouth, resuming his dinner. “Oh, and, hey, Charlie?”

“Huh?” I looked up, stunned and bewildered.

“You're welcome,” he said with a smirk and a wink, then took a bite.

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