“Really.” He envisioned stainless steel faucets and cork floor tiles. New storm windows and weather stripping. Cut glass light fixtures. DIY heaven. “It has character and potential.”
Poetry peered around as though seeing the suite from his perspective. “I guess it does.”
Jenny rolled her eyes but said nothing. For once. Poetry placed her sleeping cat on the floor next to the refrigerator beside his food and water dish, fashioning the towel into a makeshift bed. Jenny paced the floor, grimacing and touching various surfaces. “Can I get you guys something?” she asked. “Perhaps some…” She opened the door and stared inside for a long pause. “Water?” She sighed and went to the cupboard for glasses. “I need to do some grocery shopping.” A shrill beeping interrupted. Jenny checked her purse and yanked out her cell phone. A grunt of satisfaction puffed from Jenny’s lips as she viewed the screen and accepted the call.
“Gary…” Jenny transformed from obnoxious houseguest to instant sweetheart. “I’m so glad you called.” Trepidation crept down Adrian’s spine. He’d talked to Gary that morning and knew about their blowout. He’d made plans to go for beers with him and Ranjan so they could get ‘the bitch’ out of his system. That was before she rang his intercom. So that’s why Jenny was staying here. Duh.
“No, I’m safe,” Jenny was saying, “thanks to Poetry and Adrian.” Adrian heard a muffled version of his friend’s voice over the crack of an ice cube tray. “Yeah, we were less than a block away. It was like that thing in L.A. with the black guy. It was so frightening.”
Adrian detected a hint of artificial tears in the end of her sentence and bit his lip to hide his exasperation.
Poetry didn’t bother. She glared at the ceiling and blew her bangs into the air. She handed both of them a glass of water. “Aw, you’re so sweet,” Jenny said. “I’m just fine.” Another long moment passed between Adrian and Poetry while Jenny continued her conversation without them.
Poetry peered around at everything except him as they sipped. “Well, I’d give you the grand tour, but this is really it.” She motioned at the few walls. “Not much to see.”
Jenny shot a visual snarl and gave them a wide-handed shushing gesture. “I’m at Poetry’s place.”
Adrian crammed his hands in his pockets. ”How about your work?” he asked. “Would you show me?”
“Really?” Poetry’s face lit up. “You actually want to see my art?” “Sure.” Great way to get away from Jenny’s manipulative sweet-girl voice…which got louder with every sentence.
“I missed you too.” “If I have to listen to another cutesy squeal from her, I’ll be sick,” he said.
Poetry guffawed, and received another filthy glare from her friend. She leaned close to speak in a whisper. “Jenny has that effect on people.” He motioned toward the exit as Jenny gave them her back and put a finger in her free ear. “Lead the way.” Poetry brought him to the main floor. “Watch your step,” she said.
They meandered past tables littered with metal parts, half-finished projects, and tools he couldn’t guess what function they served. Adrian’s skin began to bead from the heat of the ovens. In the dim lighting he noticed the sheen of sweat on Poetry’s neck and breathed in her iron musk. Over the collar of her uniform he could make out shades of sunrise pink and blue. He stared so intently that when she stopped he nearly buried the back of her head in his chest.
“This is my bench. This is where I work.” “Interesting.” It looked clean enough, no shaving piles or scraps like the others, but it had an organized chaos that Adrian figured only Poetry would understand. Boxes of beads jammed next to spools of leather and wire, stacks of papers and photos stuffed in cubbies.
“What’s this?” he asked. “What? This?” Poetry picked up the chain and held it up for Adrian to see. “It’s a necklace I’m working on.”
The metal appeared to be darker, like pewter, and half the decorations were almost black. They resembled roses. “May I?” he asked as he pulled the unfinished piece from her fingers and brought them to his eyes. Yes, they were roses, and well crafted ones at that. It almost appeared as though she’d placed the petals individually. “Nice work.”
“Thanks. Do you recognize them?”
“Yeah, they’re roses.” She smiled. “They’re modeled after the ones you gave me.”
He handed her project back. “You mean the one I gave you at Louisiana Purchase.” “Yeah, and the one you sent here.” What? “Say that again?”
“You know,” Poetry seemed to shrink as she balled the jewelry in one hand. “The other one you left here. At my door.”
“No…” Adrian cringed as the blood drained from her face. “That wasn’t me. I’ve never even heard of this place before today.” Adrian had no clue who sent it, and obviously neither did she. Her ex was probably out of the clink by now. The asshole couldn’t have found her yet, could he?
“Sorry.” He realized how dumb that sounded. He never knew what to say to this girl.
“Don’t be.” She deposited the necklace on the counter with distinct and abrupt loathing, and curled away from him. “It’s not your fault.” Adrian licked the salt from his lips. Between the lack of noise and the unnatural temperature, his comfort level bottomed out.
“It’s very nice,” he said. Poetry shrugged as she picked a roll of silver wire from a ledge. “Thanks.” She pivoted to face him but her eyes were on the shining thread in her grip.
“I’m thinking of trying something different,” she said. “I don’t know exactly what…” She peered up at him, and even with the dim lighting Adrian didn’t miss the dilation of her pupils. Big as dimes. Her breath stirred gooseflesh on his neck as she strode forward; her scrutiny awakened long quiet sensations and tickled nerves in his gut.
He watched her gaze as they wandered over his features. First his eyes, then his lips. It lingered along his jaw as though she longed to touch it. Her mouth parted, and Adrian became aware of her reaching hand…
A door slammed, jarring Adrian from his trance. He heard Poetry inhale as he spun toward the sound. “Poetry, come up here and get changed,” Jenny said. “Time to go.” “What?” Poetry asked.
Jenny skipped toward them, at risk of cracking her skin with her smile. “Gary and I are going to work things out.” She faced Adrian. “You don’t mind driving us, do you Adrian? Seeing as how you’re meeting him too?”
“Wait.” Poetry tossed the spool and waved her reluctance. “Why do I have to come with you?”
“Because you’re my best friend, silly. If he has his buddies with him I’m taking mine. I need someone on my side.”
“Oh, no…” Poetry said. Adrian gave her a pleading stare and cleared his throat. He did not want to spend the night listening to Jenny pout. Poetry got the hint. A smirk crept up her cheek. “Okay. Since you put it that way,” she said, her twinkling eyes never leaving his. “Just let me wash up.” Adrian released the air in his lungs. Thank God. He’d have something else to do other than referee for Gary and Jenny. If he knew Ranjan, he’d find ways to excuse himself from the drama, leaving Adrian to endure it. At least Poetry had some personality. They might actually find something to talk about.
Stranger things have happened. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
This beer is going down way too good. Poetry tried to savor a mouthful, to take pleasure in the subtle hint of hops before gulping it. Why did she agree to come? Oh right. Because I’m Jenny’s best friend. Another swallow and another nasty thought wormed into her mind.
Best friends don’t abandon you at the first sign of trouble. She reflected on that. Of course, Jenny had tried to warn her. Several times. And she’d been right. Kevin was the worst thing to ever happen to her. Beside her, Jenny and Gary alternated between words of adoration and biting criticisms and blame.
Poetry was getting drunk but refused to feel bad about it. She deserved alcoholic tranquilizing after her terrifying run from Jasper Ave. She had a tendency to think of Edmonton as a really big small town. Riots didn’t happe
n here. Not like say, Vancouver. It freaked her out to see it firsthand.
She glanced at Jenny. What had happened to her? Did she even remember it? She’d been like a beast, snarling and scratching to join the violence. Yet here she sat, the same old Jenny, crazy only for guys in pricey suits and stepping into a relationship at breakneck speed.
Adrian looked worse, and he hadn’t even been there. He kept fiddling with his cell, nervousness etched creases between his brows. She couldn’t figure out why. He’d shut his phone off.
He caught her staring. “Are we having fun yet?” Poetry smiled as she took another sip of her lager. “Sure. Who needs reality TV when the drama’s right here?”
Adrian chuckled and she caught a whiff of his beer breath. “I think Ran’s got the right idea,” he said, pointing his chin toward a dark corner. “Looks like he’s having a good time by himself.” “What’s he playing?” “Arkanoid.”
“Are you serious?” Poetry could picture the grainy screen from the mother of all ping-pong games with its rolling capsules of goodies. “I didn’t know any of those were still kickin’ around.” As though to emphasize her point, a series of loud pops resounded accompanied by grunts of frustration from Ranjan.
“Uh-oh,” Adrian said. “That sounds like the one with the extra balls.” “The light blue?”
“Can’t remember, but it always kills him. I don’t know why he picked it up.” Ranjan let out a loud groan and the game buzzed in triumph. He glowered at the screen before downing the rest of his drink. He spared their table a nod and retreated to the bar.
Poetry heard him order an ‘Apple Jack’ from an exotic beauty Poetry hadn’t noticed last time she’d come to the Rosemount.
“What’s an Apple Jack?” Adrian asked. Apparently he’d overheard as well.
“I don’t know,” Poetry said with a shrug. “It’s Jack Daniels and apple juice and I think maybe cinnamon,” Jenny said. Nice of you to acknowledge us, Poetry thought. She held her tumbler toward Poetry. “Wanna try it?”
“No, thanks.” Poetry eyed the unpleasant shade of Jenny’s brownish cocktail. Gut instinct told her she wouldn’t like it. “I’ll stick to beer.” “They’re good,” Gary said. “They kind of have this sweet and sour thing going on.” He drained his glass and signaled the waitress with a spin of his finger, ordering another round.
“But as I was saying, honey,” Gary said, focusing on Jenny. “It’s the principal of the thing-“
“Is that all you care about?” Jenny asked, her voice reaching shrill levels.
Poetry went back to gazing into the bottom of her mug, tuning out the circular bickering. It sounded too much like high school. The Rosemount seemed quiet tonight. Either Tuesday’s weren’t busy here or the loving couple’s side show chased away the rest of the customers. Their group remained the only people in the place.
Gary and Jenny barely paused to breath between subjects and moods and Ranjan chatted with the woman behind the counter. “You want to play?” Poetry faced Adrian. His eyes were on the corner Ranjan vacated. “What? Arkanoid?” “Sure. Why not?” The server arrived with two Apple Jacks and two Kokanee.
Poetry couldn’t help but stare. The girl’s eyes had the upward tilt of a cat and shone like the purest jade. The waves of her silken hair made Poetry finger her dry strands self-consciously. She wondered if the girl was part Asian. She had pale luminescent skin. Stunning.
No wonder Ranjan gave up Arkanoid to sit with her. Even Adrian, who struck Poetry as being too cool for ogling, sat with his mouth hanging open until the super model sauntered away.
Poetry sucked in her gut. “You ready to get your butt kicked?” she asked, stealing his attention. Not that she was jealous or anything. “I don’t think so,” he said, pushing back his chair. “I’ll be doing the butt-kicking.”
“Whatever.” She pawed through her purse for quarters on her way to the low video box. She found handfuls; she’d get more for laundry later.
“My quarters,” she said as she scooted her chair to the glass top. “So I get to go first.”
“No problem,” Adrian agreed, awkwardly rolling his seat to the other side. “I like to know what I’m up against.” Arkanoid twittered to life and Poetry got comfortable. She cracked her knuckles just for show and positioned her hands on the wand and the red button like a pro gamer. Time to make the ball sing.
Sure enough, the controls in her skilled hands did their thing as she spun the knob and sent her silver bar across the screen. Another pill tumbled toward it, and Poetry chose the navy-colored oval. A hum sounded and her ark grew in size.
“Good one,” Adrian said, sipping his beer. “Did you play this a lot?” “Some. I used to play it in the Wizard’s Castle at West Ed.”
“Me too. I hung out there when I was a kid. Funny we never ran into each other.” “Nah. I only went when my dad gave me his change.” They shared a silence that Poetry found surprisingly nice, listening to the beep and chime of the game. Poetry blinked against the dryness of her eyes while piano music played in the background and Jenny’s voice had returned to a melodic metronome.
“Is that where you met Jenny?” “At the mall? No.” Poetry’s brow tensed. The game sped up. “I met her at work. We’ve both been at Denny’s for two years.” “Oh, yeah.” He maintained his nonchalance. “You and your posse seem inseparable,” she said with a toss of her head. “Where did you meet them?” “We went to U of A together.” “Same fraternity?” “No. Fraternities are for sheep.” Poetry grinned, unsuccessful at squelching her approval. “I agree.”
The incessant chime of the computer ball couldn’t compete with the crescendo of Jenny’s whining. Like a dentist drill. Poetry darted a glance over her shoulder to check on her…
…Only to hear the deep zipping noise of her loss. “Damn.” “Too bad.” Adrian straightened his spine and positioned his hands. “My turn.”
Poetry settled in, her eyes on the screen and her ears trained to hear Jenny and Gary’s repetitive griping.
“They sound like they’re already married,” Adrian said. “At the rate they’re going, it wouldn’t be a shock if they did run off to Vegas.”
He smirked. “The two of them kind of dove in head first, didn’t they?” “They definitely should’ve taken things slower.” “Relationships are like Kendo,” Adrian said.
Poetry frowned into her mug. The foamy head of her beer bubbled against her upper lip. “How so?”
“Everyone’s quick to learn the basics, but you spend years practicing to master them. It looks simpler than it really is.” Poetry knew nothing about Kendo. But she remembered the stance he’d used at her apartment, the graceful fluidity as he slid on the balls of his feet. His posture remained perfect and the hands holding the improvised weapon never shook or wavered. He did it so naturally it made her forget he’d wielded a broomstick. He obviously understood more than just the basics of his sport.
Another dull zoom and a sigh from Adrian when his ball crashed. “Wouldn’t it be easier if we could practice our romances before we got into them?” Poetry said.
“You mean just going over it, from the same level until we got it right?” The mostly empty lounge echoed with their laughter and it gave Poetry’s heart a lift. She’d needed that and her stomach ached with a pang of wistfulness. How long had it been since she’d shared a joke? Just appreciated the moment?
She and Adrian let their chuckles subside while wiping mirth from their eyes. Poetry expelled a happy sigh as she shifted in her chair. Quiet had fallen between them again. The game waited with lights flashing for the next play.
“Poetry.” His sudden seriousness made her look up. His baby blues held no trace of humor. “That’s not such a bad idea.” “What? Dating drills and mock affairs?
“Precisely,” he said, and Poetry felt her smile fall. “We could see each other as procedure and give feedback and critiques.”
Poetry sat back, dumbfounded. ”Adrian, how many beers have you had?”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE Strife ran a hand through her back-to-black hair. Her stomach churned. Confidence returned with natural beauty, but things weren’t going quite as well as planned. She could call her chemically induced riot a success. With the city’s water system compromised, violence would continue. But the civil upheaval chased new recruits away from the taverns. Things were stagnant all over Edmonton. Mass hysteria buzzed in her blood, but most people were frightened into remaining at home. At least she’d made the right decision in coming to this establishment to apply her trade. Ares was correct about their chosen haunt and would be pleased to learn Strife had acquired the targets.
Still, she glanced around warily. Her hands shook a little. Perhaps he lurked in the shadows, spying on her and would appear when everyone left, just to remind her he owned her. The expensive art on the walls stared back. No manifestation tickled her senses. She was not ready for her master yet. Not only were the chosen humans avoiding her potion in favor of beer, but Adrian and Poetry appeared to be getting along quite well.
The other couple was clearly influenced by the drink. Their constant waves of lust, happiness, and pettiness created a nausea rivaled by a bad day at sea.
“I’ll have another if you don’t mind.” The Eastern Indian perched in front of her shot a flirtatious grin in her direction. “Sure thing,” she said, gifting him with a dazzling smile. “Glad you like these so much.” Better put in extra spice. After three Apple Jacks he was a little drunk, nothing more. His aura remained calm, his face personable.
“How’s it going?” The other female approached from behind him with Aphrodite’s champion, clapping both hands on his shoulders affectionately. “You loaded yet, Ran?”
“Working on it,” he said. The women strolled past, apparently for a ‘girl trip’ to the washroom. The handsome brown-skinned man turned his attention back to Strife and flashed another glimpse of perfect white teeth. “Friends of my friends.”
“I see.” Her heightened hearing picked up on the girls’ conversation, not that she could make out much more than echoes. The one with the streaked hair did most of the talking. Or rather, whining. That must be Poetry’s stupid friend, Jenny. Not that Strife cared. Not unless she could use her. She considered that option and dismissed it. Too self-absorbed to be serviceable.
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