Page 58 of Rebel Spell
“Oh shit, yeah.” Lucas rubbed his hands together and leaned forward.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Diego dismissed.
“Then meeting new women will be good for you,” Sebastian replied with a knowing grin.
Lucas’s mouth curled up with mischievous satisfaction. With the way that Sebastian and Lucas stared at Diego and then me, it was clear they suspected something going on between us—and it amused the shit out of them both.
Chapter 13
Nova
Diego and I had decided to enter the club at different times the next evening, so it didn’t look like we were together. I walked in first, to the sound of Fiona Apple’s “Criminal” playing, which didn’t help with how sneaky I felt going about this stunt. Round black tables were set around the club with framed numbers. I fought the urge to leave. This strange, rushed way of meeting people was not for me. I preferred a slower introduction rather than getting thrown into a situation of meeting several men in one night. Would I even remember their names or any details about them?
It didn’t matter. I was here to help find clues about what happened to Gianna.
Right. I did not have to look at this as an attempt at an awkward precursor to dating. This was a mission to find answers, not a potential partner.
Glancing around for a guy who might fit the description of who she’d spoken to, I came up short. Oh well, it was still early.
After I stepped up to the registration table, a woman gave me a name tag and a list of tables for my schedule that evening.
“Got it.” I attached the name tag and headed to the bar to get a drink. Tonight definitely required some liquid courage. I ordered a Blue Monday and sipped it as I meandered.
When Diego entered the room, I couldn’t help but stare. Rather than his usual dark colors, he wore a lighter gray sweater that fit him well, showing off his lean torso. I wasn’t the only one who noticed him. I crossed my arms and clenched my teeth. On realizing how jealous I was reacting to the other women scoping him out, I forced my arms back to my side.
Diego caught my gaze, and my mouth felt dry. Heat rose in my cheeks. What was it about this vampire that stirred such a potent reaction in me? Wild vibrations simmered beneath my skin, heating me up with a warm and pleasant tingle.
Time to focus on the task. I glanced at my card. My first round was at table three, a meaningful number for a witch.
The host introduced himself as Michael. He had a winning smile and surfer-blond floppy hair.
“Welcome to Danger Zone. I hope you’re as excited about tonight as I am.”
Some of the attendees cheered or raised their drink.
“All right. At the start of the next song, you’re going to go to the first table noted on your card. After two songs play, you’ll hear the bell. That means it’s time to move on to the next one. After four rounds, we’ll have a short break. Then we’ll have the next four.”
Eight rounds or sixteen songs. That shouldn’t be too grueling.
“At the end of the night, make sure you note who you’d like to meet up with again on your card before you drop it in the box at the registration table. Tomorrow, you’ll receive an email with matchups, and you can contact one another if you’d like.
As 3 Doors Down’s “Kryptonite” began, Michael announced, “It’s time to head to your first table.”
I took a hearty sip of my cocktail and headed to table three where I sat opposite Gerald. He had sandy-brown hair and hazel eyes. He was pleasant enough. When he learned I lived in New York, we spent much of the time discussing what we’d seen on Broadway. I didn’t feel any spark, but it wasn’t a bad conversation at all. More like someone you might chat with at a party to avoid standing in awkward silence. When the second song ended, we wished each other a good night and moved on.
That wasn’t so awful. At my next table, I met Angus, a burly guy with a full beard who I guessed might be a shifter. The way he looked me up and down left little to the imagination of what he was interested in.
No, thank you.
The next two table mates weren’t as blatant. Steve worked in a music store by day and played guitar in a band on weekends. Roger wore black-framed glasses and worked in a college library. Once again, no sparks with these two, but the conversations weren’t awful.
Michael took the microphone again. “Congratulations, you made it through the halfway point. Since nobody has left in tears or vomited in their lap, I’d say we’re off to a good start.”
During the break, I headed into the restroom. When I returned, Diego sat at the bar with a beer in front of him.
I walked over to him. “Hey, stranger. How’s it going so far?”
Diego growled. “Painful.” He drank some beer.
