Beyond the Gates of Evermoore

“Send him one,” I said. I pushed another of France’s colorful bills forward, an orange one this time. “Know what? Send her one too.”

The drinks arrived, and they drank them. The guy didn’t even look up. He kept smiling, laughing, even flirting with the girl next to him. It was absolutely infuriating.

I should’ve moved on. Should’ve been thankful for the help in the alley, and not blown up whatever the guy had going on. I owed him that much at least. But being ignored — that just didn’t gel with me. It wasn’t my thing.

“Hey,” I said, grabbing the barkeep. “Send them some shots also.”

When the shots showed up they drank those too, toasting each other like they’d ordered them themselves. As far as the girl knew, maybe they had. She seemed nice enough, but totally oblivious.

He however, knew exactly what he was doing.

It turned into sort of a game: me staring hard at the guy who’d saved me in the alley, so much I thought he might burst into flames. And him doing his best to ignore me. So far he was winning. And I really, really hated to lose.

I decided the change tactics. I wanted patiently until the girl put her drink down on the bar. Then, as she worked to tie her hair back with a headband, I balled my right hand into a fist…

…and unclenched it by flicking my fingers outward, rapidly.

The glass sailed into her lap, splashing her drink everywhere. She jumped back in surprise, leaping from her bar stool, wiping with both hands at her chest.

That’s when the guy from the ally finally looked at me.

It wasn’t a dirty look, but it wasn’t a good one either. There was curiosity there, but also something else. It was almost a look of… well… of knowing.

That part made me uncomfortable. Here I was, screwing around when I ought to be laying low. Making a scene instead of melting into the crowd.

Getting worked up instead of relaxing. The little voice inside my head was relentless. Causing trouble when I really should be avoiding it…

The brunette left for the restroom, presumably to clean up. Her would-be suitor glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was gone, then stood up and made his way over to me.

He took the stool next to mine, turning right in to face me. His leg was touching my leg. His eyes — sky blue and every bit as beautiful as he was — locked onto my own.

“So…”

It was all he said. He dragged the word out, letting it trail off into nothing.

“So…” I went right back at him.

Verbally we were at a stalemate, but not at all when it came to body language. The pretty boy from the alley was definitely leaning into me, his hand practically brushing the outside of my thigh. His looks got even better up close. He had high cheekbones and smooth, unblemished skin. Full, soft-looking lips that made for a very kissable mouth.

“Where I come from,” I said matter-of-factly, “the men buy the women drinks. And not the other way around.”

He had an elbow on the bar now, his blonde hair pinned over one ear. It shimmered like corn silk. It looked too good to be real.

“And where I come from,” he said in a perfect American accent, “when someone owes you one, you usually pay up.”

My mouth almost went tight. I stopped it just in time.

“Oh? Is that right?”

“Sure is.”

He didn’t have a New York accent like mine, or one from anywhere in New England. It wasn’t southern either. Midwest maybe? Further out?

“And what makes you think—”

“Because I saved your ass in that alley,” my hero jumped in. He leaned in closer. “Who were those guys, by the way? Did you know them?”

He studied my expression, waiting on my answer. Waiting to see if I lied or not. That part was interesting.