Page 25 of A Winding Wave of Magic
I scowled back at her. “You don’t want him. He’s a bike guy. His pant leg is still rolled up. And he has an earring and a chinstrap and I bet he takes at least fifteen supplements a day, probably won’t eat nightshades, and…yep, those glasses are definitely just props.”
A hand landed on my neck, fingers touching my bare skin. Instantly, my mind was flooded with Reina’s irritation. And pity.
You’re looking for reasons for me to be alone too, now?
“Stop that,” I snarled as I batted her hand away. “I didn’t ask for that any more than I want you reading my mind right now.”
“And I didn’t ask for you to judgemypreferences.”
I slumped. “Sorry.”
“‘You can’t live unless you live,’ right?” she asked softly.
The pit in my stomach grew into a chasm. The man at the end of the bar smiled. Something in the back of my eyes pricked, but no tears came.
“Right,” I whispered.
Reina slipped into the crowd to meet her prospect. When she accepted his handshake, I looked away, no longer wanting to intrude.
“Can I buy you another drink?”
I turned to find the man who had been watching me earlier now sitting near my elbow, chin perched on one hand. This close, he wasn’t quite as handsome as I’d originally thought. His brown eyes were a bit dull, like someone who spent too much time watching reality television, and his jaw was soft around the edges, as though he enjoyed his beer a bit too often.
Reina’s pity echoed through my mind.
“Sure,” I replied. “Why not?”
9
RESCUED AGAIN
It is you that are the lonely bird through the woods; and that you may be without a mate until you find me.
— ANONYMOUS EIGHT-CENTURY POET, “THE GRIEF OF A GIRL’S HEART”
The man gestured for the bartender to pour me another glass of whiskey with a splash of water.
“You like the good stuff,” he said, maybe a little nervously when he realized they were pouring the top shelf selection. It was just Jameson—this bar didn’t have the greatest selection—but still, it was a bit better than the well offering.
“It’ll do,” I replied, then held up the glass to cheer with his. “Sláinte.”
His bright white teeth gleamed against his ruddy skin as he grinned. “I’m Alex. Nice night, isn’t it?”
With some effort, I managed to smile back. “Certainly is. Although a bit cold,” I replied as I caught his gaze flickering to my gloves. “I’m Cassandra. Do you…come here often?”
“Oh yeah. These guys have the best selection of local brews in Portland. Their house IPA rocks.”
Well. I was right about the beer.
He commenced the game of dating geography that I’d only experienced a few times myself but had reheard hundreds through others. Where was I from, what did I do, why was I in town? I parroted the questions back, hardly listening as I focused more on the shape of his lips and well-formed shoulders. The more I drank, the better looking he seemed to get.
“So that’s when I started being really strict about grass-fed beef because you never know?—”
“Hey,” I interrupted. “Do you want to dance?”
Alex flashed another bright, vigorous grin that further loosened the steel vise that always seemed to latch around my stomach in situations like these. “Sure.”
I followed him out to the dance floor, where even more people were now spinning around. I hovered on the periphery as we began to sway vaguely in time to the music. Alex had a fairly decent sense of rhythm, if somewhat subdued, and the shanty was admittedly catchy.
