Page 12 of Scrooged for the Holidays
Regardless, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of her and her Scrooge-ish attitude. I’ll also enjoy watching her evolution during the nights she spends with us.
I tap the side of my head, the corner of my lips tipping up in a smile. “All in here.”
“That’s not helpful,” she deadpans.
Oh, yeah, I’m definitely going to enjoy my time with her. “It will be,” I say, “once I tell you what we have.”
She taps her long red fingernails that match the color of her lipstick on the bar top, eyeing me up and down. I can feel that she’s attracted to me, but that’s not new. Most people are attracted to Nephilim because of our angelic nature and the good looks we’ve been blessed with. Our kind and the welcoming auras we possess also tend to draw people in—well,mostof our auras. Sam’s—even Remi’s—is a bit intense. It’s another reason I’m usually the first one to welcome people who find their way here.
Speaking of auras…
Remi wasn’t kidding when he said hers is gray. I can’t see them as well as he and Sam can—the grace I’ve been given allows me to feel auras more than see a bright visual. But Greer’s is powerful in its nothingness. The bleakness of it radiates from her like a beacon.
Even though we’ve just met, it’s easy to understand why the magic of Elysian Pines brought her here. There’s something that Greer, aka Ms. Scrooge, needs to see and understand. Because whatever path she’s on now isn’t a good one.
“Let me guess.” She sits up straighter in the stool, her chest pushing forward. She’s in a well-tailored suit that’s black with a peek of succulent cleavage at the top. “You have burgers, burgers, and more burgers.”
I chuckle. “We do have a burger. But we also have a chicken Caesar salad, fries, chicken tenders, fishtacos—”
“Fish tacos? We’re not even close to the ocean, and it’s the dead of winter.”
“What, you can’t eat fish in winter?”
She blinks at me. “You can, but I don’t like to eat fish unless it’s fresh and wild caught.”
I nod, my cheek twitching as I try not to laugh. “Then don’t eat the fish.”
“Is that all you have?”
I smirk, the desire to call her a princess on the tip of my tongue. “No, we don’t have only fish tacos. I told you what else we have.”
She sighs, clearly annoyed that I’m being smart with her. “Fine, chicken Caesar salad and french fries please.”
“Garlic parm, truffle, or regular?”
“What?”
“The fries. We have three kinds.”
“A retro bar has truffle fries?” she asks, blinking.
I lean on the bar top, and I don’t miss the way her gaze travels to my hands. When I flex them, I feel the energy of her attraction pulse out. She’s a hands girl. I note that, even if I’ll never get to use them on her body.
I clear my throat, and she looks back up at me with a sweet flush on her round cheeks. “I said I had them, didn’t I?”
She clenches her jaw. “Truffle, then.”
I tap on the bar top, and the sound makes her sit up a bit straighter. “Coming right up. Would you like an espresso martini?”
Her eyes narrow. “How did you know that’s what I drink?”
Greer looks like an espresso martini kind of gal. I may not be completely human nor live in a normal town, but I’ve been around a long time. I also have a phone and a social media account or two, and I watch movies like anyone else. When you don’t require a normal amount of sleep, you have to find something to do. Moreover, she’s not the first person to comethrough here and order chicken Caesar salad, fries, and an espresso martini.
“Just a guess. Would you like one?” I ask.
Greer studies me carefully. In a way, her gaze reminds me of Sam’s. It’s intense, and there’s something simmering in the multicolored depth of her eyes that says there are layers to her. Layers Remi, Sam, and I will work on peeling back.
“That would be great, thanks.”
