Page 8 of You Can't Fight Lightning
I snatched his card and put my back to him. “That’s nice. They’re having the scrimmage game out back, right through there.” I pointed toward the door that led to the softball field behind the bar. “If you want a refill, let Janny know. She’s working outside.”
“And your name is?”
As I clipped the card and his tab to our tab clothesline with a clothespin, I looked at the mirror behind the bar.
His eyes locked onto mine like a bomb seeking a target. The blue of his eyes blazed like a gemstone in the darkness of the bar. I couldn’t move. I was frozen, captured in his eyes.
What the hell?
I shook my head and turned to face him. He might make my heart—and other parts—do flip flops, and my blood rush to every inch of me. But I was not getting involved with anyone.
No matter what magic hoodoo he did with his eyes.
Z hadn’t moved. “What’s your name?”
Had his voice dropped?
My lady parts thought it had.
My entire body flushed at his simple question.
Holy.
Shit.
“Roxy.” I was short and terse. Without meeting his eyes, because good lord, I grabbed a bar towel and did some unnecessary and very focused wiping of the bar. I didn’t give a last name. You never did in a bar. Because you couldn’t be sure some weirdo wouldn’t follow you home.
He didn’t reply immediately.
I kept my eyes on my bar towel.
“It suits you.” His words were quiet, rich, and sincere.
Then those beautiful hands picked up his drinks, and he was gone.
There was a scent of storms with him, that followed behind him like a cloak flowing in his wake. It was the fresh scent of ozone and sage after the rain.
That was odd. I didn’t think it was supposed to storm today. In fact, when it did storm, everyone was thrilled, even as it caused havoc for those on their bikes. Rain was like gold here.
Only when I heard the door that led to the back of the bar did I look up. I let out a breath. “God.” The word came out in a whisper. That had been rough. I thought I was good on avoiding the male sex of the species, but that guy went roaring past all my boundaries.
I doubted he was even aware what he’d done to me.
I planned to keep it that way.
Twenty minutes later, Janny came in. “I need seven ambrosias.” She gave me a list of the tabs to add to. “And a vodka tonic, a gimlet, and six waters.” Janny had arms of steel. She could carry all these drinks with one hand.
“Aren’t people supposed to be playing?”
I’d come here at the end of the bar tournament softball season last year. It had been a rush, a whirlwind, but I didn’t remember a lot because I’d come to Bisbee after the year anniversary of Cameron’s death. Seven years, and I’d lost my two loves. I was only thirty-four. I remembered last spring. That thought had been in my head twenty-four/seven, like an evil mantra.
It was then, when I’d started to come back to the land of the living, that I’d realized what it was.
I was cursed.
More like, I was the curse. Love me, and you end up dead. It was that simple, and that awful.
I meet Wade, we have two wonderful years together, and then he got sick. Just when I get back to some kind of normal, I meet Cameron, and within less than two years, he’s gone as well.
