Page 50 of The Trouble With Spells
He shrugged, but didn’t respond.
“Callum, trust me, everyone can see your eyes and they are stunning.” Snorting, I went back to looking for a pair of pants for him to wear. “It’s not like you’re wearing dark sunglasses.” Finding a pair of black jeans, I handed themto him. “We can get changed at my place. I don’t have anything suitable for clubbing here anyway.”
“What time do we need to leave?” he asked from where he had dramatically flopped down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It went without saying that the only reason Callum was even entertaining the idea of going out to a club, in Boston, was to try to help me. It was obvious he would rather stay home and do literally anything else.
Bending over him, I kissed his cheek. “Like six or seven. I’d rather avoid some of the evening rush hour if possible.”
“Oh my God, what time are you planning for us to go to this club?”
Biting my lip to hold back my laughter, I leaned up on my elbow to stare down at him. “Nine or ten. Any earlier and there won’t be that many people there. We have a better chance of finding him if we go later.”
Though, to be honest, I felt the chances of us actually finding the guy were pretty slim. And I was fine if we didn’t. Callum’s family would be back on Sunday. Another few days wasn’t going to make that much difference. Besides, I felt relatively safe tucked away inside the Turner house, bound to Callum. Spending my days with Callum, watching him interact with the customers that came in, even helping him fill the online orders, was occupying my time. I knew it wouldn’t satisfy me long-term, the need to practice law lived inside me like a living thing. But for now, the short break from work had been nice.
Surprisingly, I hadn’t missed work as much as I thought I would. In fact, I had hardly missed it at all. I would skim my emails daily, but the urge to respond to most of them was sadly lacking.
Derek had been texting me steadily, keeping me updated on anything moving on the Marcone case. He’d let it slip that Shelby wasn’t happy about it being assigned to her in my absence. She felt it was way too high profile for her and was doing her level best to stall any warrants from being signed off on until I was back in the office, and she could hand it back to me.
Marcone was dangerous and needed to be taken off the streets and locked away. But Shelby wasn’t the lawyer to do that. Honestly, I doubted I would end up being the lawyer to do it either. Marcone’s dirty hands were in all the pies; drugs, prostitution, gambling, and suspected human trafficking. If we managed to bring any charges against him that actually stuck, it wouldn’t surprise me if the Feds swooped in and took all the credit.
Shaking off thoughts of Francesco Marcone, I focused on Callum’s frowning face, pushing back a lock of hair that had flopped onto his forehead. “We don’t need to do this,” I told him softly. “We can drive into the city, and I can pick up some clothes, and we can come back. Maybe have a nice dinner somewhere. But we don’t need to go looking for this guy.”
His green eyes were troubled through the glass of his lenses. “No, I think we really do need to do this. It’s just…”
“A feeling?”
He sighed, “Yeah.”
“Okay, but if we don’t find him, we just wait until Daphne gets home. Deal?”
Still looking uneasy, he reluctantly agreed, pulling me down for a sweet kiss.
Chuckling softly, I kept a tight hold on Callum’s hand as I bypassed the crowd waiting to get into the nightclub I frequented way too often.
His eyes were wide as he took in the scene, almost as wide as they had been when I’d led him into my condo. We’d both been changing, after I had stuffedsome clothes in an overnight bag, when I had asked what he thought of my place.
He took a minute to answer, finally landing on,“It’s nice. A bit…cold.”
Looking around my modern home, all sleek lines, and grays and blacks, I realized he was right. My place was shiny and expensive, but it lacked something the Turner household had, with their eclectic pieces of furniture and colorful throw blankets tossed everywhere.
“That’s a long line,” Callum mumbled, clinging to my hand tightly. He looked sexy in the black jeans and green button up, his hair messily styled, and I didn’t miss the appreciative looks that fell his way.
“We’re not standing in it,” I told him, a bit smugly. Nodding at the bouncer, he opened the roped-up area and we passed through, outraged shouts from the crowd behind us erupting. At his stunned expression, I winked, “I have some magic of my own.”
“Mmm,” was all he said as I paid for our covers and pulled him into the main area of the club. It was pretty packed for a Thursday, the dance floor crowded, tables full. But, as I’d explained to Callum, this particular queer club was popular and packed most nights.
“There’s a lot of people in here,” Callum’s hand tightened on mine, and I stopped perusing the dance floor, looking for a familiar face in the crowd.
Turning to him, I pulled him closer, “You want to get a drink? Or we can try to find a table, away from the crowd.”
“A drink would be good,” he nodded.
Callum was three whiskey and cokes in, when I shook my head at the bartender, making a motion with my hand across my throat.
“Wha’s that ‘bout?” Callum slurred, leaning all his body weight against me. Safe to say, I didn’t think he drank hard alcohol very often. Since I was driving, I had stuck to water. I still hadn’t seen a glimpse of my one-night stand.
“That was me cutting you off,” I grinned down at his upturned flushed face. “Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”
“Liquid courage,” he shouted in my ear to be heard over the bass thumping from the DJ booth, even though he was close enough I could hear him just fine. “Still don’t unde’stand why non..no…none of these people don’t wanna stay home.”
