Page 2 of Into Orbit
She’d try to feed me; it was what Anna did. I fought my way through the line, wondering when I’d eaten last. A broad-shouldered man taking up far too much space glared at me when my elbow found his rib; I stared back at him, one eyebrow raised, until he crumpled like a used tissue and pretended he’d never scowled at me in the first place.
Coward.
After a month of constant worry, no sleep, and no sex, I may have been spoiling for a fight.
That was an understatement. I was a warehouse full of gunpowder, and I was praying for someone to throw a lit match.
‘You said you wouldn’t do this, Maeve.’ Anna plonked a basket full of chips down in front of me with athumpthat was audible even over the noise of the crowd and the pop-punk blaring through the speakers. ‘You said you’d stay home.’
Home, where it was empty and silent and where Tessa was still present in a hundred tiny ways.
‘I know, but –’
‘Do I need to call your mum?’
I blinked at her; she lifted her chin defiantly in response, the tiny woman in an apron a thousand times braver than the limp-dicked fool in the bar line. Everything about Anna – from her tiny stature to her delicate features – screamedfragile, but her doll-like appearance hid a will of steel.
I narrowed my eyes. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
Anna pushed her blonde braid over her shoulder and set her jaw. ‘I will. If you’ll listen to her, I will.’
I gave a mock pout. ‘I’m twenty-eight years old. I don’t need you to tell on me.’
Anna leaned forward, getting up in my face. ‘Yes, you do, Maeve.’ She held my gaze. ‘You’re not thinking straight.’
I gave her a grin. ‘I never thinkstraight, Anna.’
She rolled her eyes, completely unimpressed by my obviously hilarious pun. ‘You’re being rash and impulsive,’ she said. ‘You’re not making considered choices. You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating. When was the last time you went to a cross training class? To the pool? And Maeve, I say this with all the love in the world, but when was the last time you washed your hair?’ She reached out and took my hand. ‘Please eat. I’ll get you a drink and make you something better than chips to take away. Thengo home. I’m asking you to take care of yourself.’ She paused. ‘Actually, I think I might bebegging.’
‘Yes, Anna,’ I said meekly.
She made an exasperated sound and threw up her hands. ‘That’s what you said last time.’
She got me a drink – I was eyeing off the whiskey shelf, but she gave me cranberry juice instead – then disappeared back into the kitchen, throwing a sternstay therelook over her shoulder. I took a sip of my juice, studied my chips, then a movement caught my eye in the mirror behind the bar.
A woman was staring at my reflection.
I stared back.
She was dressed oddly, but I’d never minded odd. Her torso was wrapped in what looked like a breastplate, but it seemed to be made ofbark, its seams held together by thick thread somehow made to resemble tiny vines. Beneath the breastplate was a simple, long-sleeved white top – too warm for late summer on the Australian eastern seaboard – and her legs were encased in high-waisted leathers. Around her neck was a beaded chain of polished wood, and the rings on her elegant fingers showed the mottled marks of bark knots.
It wasn’t her clothes I stared at, though.
She was beautiful as hell, with waist-length hair that shone silver under the dance floor lights. Her features were sharp, her face made of symmetrical planes and angles, balanced out by small, full lips that sat in a natural, sexy-as-fuck pout. Her skin was browner than mine, and her eyes were a deep, warm hazel that flashed forest-green when the lights changed. Between her heart-shaped face with its elven features, her slender curves, and her silver hair, she was a Tolkien fan’s walking wet dream.
Okay, she was mine, too.
Her lips parted.
Maybe I will go home, after all.
I gave her my best heavy-lidded smile, then leaned back in my chair, my stomach stirring with interest as her gaze didn’t shift.
Yes. A night with her wasexactlywhat I needed.
I took up a chip and bit into it, making a show of licking the salt from my lips.
I had never been accused of subtlety.
