Page 9 of You Can't Fight Lightning
It was me.
I was the curse.
Like a poison blowfish, or something.
It wasn’t just fear and the unwillingness to lose my heart a third time.
I was tired of killing the men I loved.
If there were any other men out in the world that I might fall in love with, they all deserved to live long and happy lives.
With someone else.
Who wouldn’t kill them.
Janny laughed, bringing me back to the present. “That’s not how this works, hon. They come, they drink, they play ball. Must be doing something right. We’ve won the whole thing seven years in a row.”
I was pouring drinks without even thinking about it. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Hey, did you see that tall, dark drink of water? He is something else, isn’t he?” Janny leaned over the bar. Her eyes were sparkling. “Too bad he doesn’t seem the least bit interested.”
She flipped her high ponytail over her shoulder.
Janny was tiny, maybe five feet tall. Red hair, green eyes that she whispered were contacts, and a great figure.
Or as Janny said, “Fabulous girls.” Usually while cupping her chest suggestively. She had no problem getting men to take her out.
“I did.”
“What’s his name? Did he tell you?” She’s dancing back and forth on her toes as she leans against the bar.
“Z.”
“Z? That’s it? Z what?”
“Just Z. That’s all he told me.” I wasn’t about to tell her or anyone else what he’d done to me. How he made me feel. That was a no go.
“Well, I’m going to see if Z wants some company tonight.” She loaded the drinks onto her tray and gave me a grin. “It’s my evening project.”
I didn’t say anything. A surge of jealousy—pure, unfiltered, raw jealousy—went through me, making me stand up taller. I gave Janny a smile with gritted teeth and added all the drinks to the tabs. I noted that Z, listed on his card as Z. Olimbos, ordered another ambrosia as well as a gimlet. That was an old-fashioned drink. He didn’t look old enough to like this kind of traditional drinks.
Olimbos was Greek. At least, that what’s I thought the name was. Greek. I rubbed at the tattoo on my arm, thinking about Greece. And the way he looked! Z looked like someone’s—okay, my—dream version of a movie star — “Stop.” I had to say the word out loud, to make sure my brain heard it. I shoved his card and new tab back into the clothespin and tried to put him out of my mind.
Chapter Four
Z
This was fun. I sipped my gimlet. It wasn’t as good as Euryale’s, but it wasn’t bad. I probably needed to order better gin.
The ambrosia had been excellent. Whatever the maker put in it, it was delicious. Not our ambrosia, of course, but still delicious. I could drink it all day.
And out here in the desert sun, it was easy to drink. The field had bleachers on either side, both of which had a wooden awning built over them. I could see why. It was hot here, hot as the blazes of the eternal flames. The shade was welcome, but it wasn’t enough. I set my drink down next to me and shrugged out of my jacket.
I felt the woman next to me stir, her interest wafting off her like a perfume.
I didn’t look over. I only had eyes for the woman in the bar, the bartender who did her best to slam a door in my face. Roxy.
Never, in all my existence, had I felt the way I did when I saw her. Never. And it’s fair to say I’d gotten to know a good number of truly extraordinary women. You might say that I was a bit overzealous in my pursuit of women.
