Page 20 of Quiver

A nice pair of dark-wash jeans hug my ass nicely, and I match it with a pale pink button-up. I stare at my light gray vest before shrugging and pulling it on. It makes my eyes stand out.

Sue me for exploiting an asset.

I pull on plain white sneakers and admire myself in the mirror. Even I can admit I look good. My hand grazes over my freshly oiled curls, tugging on one and watching it bounce back into place, and I offer my reflection a tentative smile.

Beau was only willing to tell me our destination after I insisted on meeting him there. I call on my magic, dropping myself across the street from the modest brick building.TheThomas County Community Centeris hand painted on its facade in faded white lettering. In the front, Beau paces the sidewalk and stares at his phone, chewing on his lip.

Nervous.

He’snervousfor our date, and that realization eases the swarm of butterflies in my stomach. It doesn’t eliminate the fluttering, but settles it enough to give me the courage to approach him.

My heart almost can’t handle how adorable he is, wearing a black polo and jeans that cling to his ass like they were molded from it. When he glances up, he does a double take before breaking into a warm smile.

“You look amazing!” Strong arms wrap around me and hug me against his chest, his chin resting against my head as he holds me there. It’s intimate and comfortable, much more so than is logical when he’s a near-stranger.

When he finally releases me, a pleased flush burns on my cheeks and ears. “I’m not overdressed?” A couple walks inside hand-in-hand, both of them wearing jeans and t-shirts. Suddenly self-conscious, I cross my arms.

“You look very handsome,” Beau insists, bumping me with his shoulder, loose fists twitching at his sides like he's unsure if he should touch me again or not. My arms unfold, fingers reaching for his, but someone calls his name, and I yank my hand back.

A blonde woman bops over, every curve on her body bouncing in a way that's somehow enticing and cute. If I tried that, it would look like an overworked bowl of Jello trying to bust loose from its mold. She flashes Beau a giant toothpaste-ad-worthy smile and leans forward, intimately close.

“How have you been?” she squeals, pulling him into a hug. Something ugly flares in my chest when he returns her embrace, and I shuffle between my feet, forgotten.

“Great!” He pulls away from the hug quickly, but she lingers in his arms. “How’s your mom?”

“Oh, she’s good. Still finding trouble, if you can believe it.” His laugh is loud and relaxed,easy, and it hits me then—how out of place I am here. Not only am I awkward and butterfingered, but I’m not even human.

I’mdifferent.

I’ll always be different.

“Of course I can,” he chuckles, “your momma has always been trouble.” She reaches out, squeezing his hand and holding on.

Like I had been about to.

Like Ididn’t.

A dismissive glance shoots my way, her eyes taking a very judgmental journey over my pink shirt and vest before flitting away, as though she can’t figure out why I’m standing here.

Stupid, I think.

Idiot.

This? This is exactly what I was afraid of with Beau. The closeted baby bi shows up on a date with another man on his arm, feeling like he can take on the world. Then reality hits, and everything is hugely different.

SuddenlySandrais here, with her perky tits and child-bearing hips and hermomma,who wants her to wrangle a guy like Beau. She’s here, serving as a reminder of how simple things could be.

Without me.

Her soul is darker than his, but she isn’t a bad person. If I were summoned and found them as my targets, I’d probably make the match.

Beau’s gaze snaps to mine as I take a step backward. Understanding plays out in real time on his face as he pulls his hand from her grasp—respectfully, because he’s a gentleman—and reaches for me. He doesn't grab me, though, just waits for me to close the gap between us. Hesitantly, I slide my hand into his, and he smiles as he threads our fingers together.

“Sandy,” he says, and I stifle my frustrated groan, becauseof coursehe has a nickname for her, “this is Azrael.”

Her smile is clearly fake, a thin, tight line stretched across her face, but he doesn’t appear to notice. Innocent, naïve man, believing the rest of the world is as kind as him. “So nice to meet you,” she says, before returning her gaze to Beau. “Is he a new friend?”

His eyes narrow as he senses her judgmental vibes, and I try to pull away, wanting to shield him from criticism. A chillingly pleasant smile spreads on his face as his grip tightens, pinning my hand with his. “My date, actually.”

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