“Tamara?” Her name, spoken in the ambassador’s voice with an Azellian lilt, populated her stomach with butterflies.
“Uh, sorry?” she asked, looking up.
“Is it usual for the hostess to take drink orders?” he asked, a smile tugging at his generous mouth. His rich brown eyes were bright with an emotion she wasn’t sure how to interpret.
“Uh, no. Not usually.” She coughed. “I’ve, uh, hostessed a few times. Usually we just seated people. It might be different here, though. Every restaurant is different.”
“And it might be because of you two,” Greg commented dryly, making a face at his friends. “One of these days, we’re going somewhere where I get more attention than the two of you. And not as a Healer.”
Alarin grinned, leaning back against the chair and stretching luxuriously. “Ah, but that doesn’t work so well, does it? As we tend to garner attention in those places too.”
Greg scowled. “Great, just remind me that my two best friends are just as attractive to men as they are to women.”
“He’s a Raderth, he can’t help it. They have to be the center of attention,” the ambassador said mildly. “Besides, I thought you were a Healer. And if I remember correctly, aren’t Healers supposed to be primarily celibate?”
Greg snorted. “Tell that to some of my fellow Healers. There’s a new one who just finished his training. He could rival you, Mer.”
The ambassador glanced at Tamara. He cleared his throat. “Um, well. My reputation has been rather dramatically exaggerated.”
“There’s a saying,” Alarin chimed in, green eyes bright, “if you go to the oasis, you find water.”
“Humans say where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Tamara said, enjoying the teasing. It made the ambassador seem more human somehow. Although she avoided the news most of the time, even she’d heard about his exploits in the online entertainment outlets, mostly with some starlet or another. To have him here, being teased by his friends and faintly embarrassed about it all, really changed her view of him. He seemed more accessible like this—in his rolled up shirtsleeves, his tie hanging loosely off his neck, his shirt open and revealing a hint of the body underneath, with a smile hovering at the edges of his mouth.
The hostess appeared right then, preventing the ambassador from responding immediately. “An Arnold Palmer, two margaritas, and a strawberry daiquiri. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“We’re fine for the moment, thank you,” the ambassador said, adding one of his blinding camera smiles. Having seen him more relaxed, Tamara abruptly realized she could tell the difference. It was subtle but there, like the difference between a painting and a photograph. The camera smile wasn’t entirely real, although most people probably didn’t notice. “You’ve been very helpful, but I think you might be needed at the front desk.” He motioned to the front door, where a couple waited to be seated.
The hostess was wearing too much makeup to blush; however, her ears turned bright red. “Oh, thank you! Let me know if I can help you with anything at all.”
“Thank you, we will.”
“And that’s probably why you have the reputation you do,” Alarin commented as she walked away, stumbling over her feet and catching herself.
“Will you get off my reputation?”
Alarin grinned. “Feeling a bit self-conscious, are we?”
“Feeling jealous, are we?” the ambassador shot back.
“So what happened today that was so stressful?” Greg interrupted the good-natured bickering.
The ambassador shrugged and turned his attention to Greg. “Just some humans giving trouble about the fact that Azellians are living on Earth next to their precious daughters.” He grinned at Alarin and Greg, and Tamara realized that he wasn’t as upset as he’d appeared earlier. “I think it bothers them that we are actually attractive to human eyes … myself and my reputation with the human media notwithstanding. I didn’t mention the fact that they might need to worry about their sons, Greg. Humans can be a bit odd about the whole same sex attraction thing.”
“Tamara warned me,” Greg replied, reaching out to sip his daiquiri. “Mmm. This is tasty. What’s in it?” He licked his lips. “Wow. Like a dessert. You sure it has alcohol in it?”
“I forget what’s in it, but yes, it most certainly does. It contains an alcohol called rum, I believe.”
“I’ve heard about human alcohol in what little human medical training I’ve had so far,” Greg sipped the drink again. “It apparently causes all kinds of trouble. Mmm. I’d better watch it.”
The ambassador sipped his yellow-green drink. “Oh, this is really good too. And this is why I come here. They’ve got really good food and drinks as well as a beautiful view. Don’t worry about the alcohol content. There’s only one drink that our metabolism can’t burn off in seconds and that’s a Geneva Slider. It still takes quite a few of those to get us drunk, but we can at least get a small buzz off one. These drinks won’t do it, though. They’re only flavored water to us.”
Alarin sampled his margarita, his tongue touching the salt crusted on the edge of the glass before he sipped the drink. “Oh, this is refreshing … you’re right.”
“How’s your drink, Tamara?” Greg asked. “It’s a what? An Arnold Palmer, I think you called it?”
Tamara nodded. “It’s half lemonade, half iced tea. No alcohol.” She looked at the men’s drinks. “I’ve had a strawberry daiquiri before, but I’ve never tasted a margarita. You said they are tart?”
The ambassador slid his drink over to her. “You want a taste?” he offered.
Tamara flushed but she reached for the drink, the sleeve of his suit jacket brushing the table as she picked it up. She studied the drink and the salt on the edge of the glass. “Do you taste the salt first, then drink?”
“Completely up to you. Try it both ways. See which one you prefer.”
Tamara touched her tongue to the salt the way she’d seen Alarin do, then sipped the drink. A shiver raced through her as her tastebuds exploded. Tart was right. Tart and salty. She licked the salt again and took another sip, feeling the warmth of the tequila race through her stomach, spreading a delicious lassitude through her muscles. “Wow, that’s good.”
“Do you want one? We can always order one for you,” he asked as he reclaimed his glass and took a sip of his own. A shiver moved its way down her spine. Had she just shared a drink with the Azellian ambassador? No, she’d just shared a drink with Merran Corina. It felt better saying it that way, even if he was a guy and she’d never shared a drink with a guy before.
“Actually I’m not twenty-one … and even though the hostess didn’t check IDs, the waiter might,” Tamara pointed out. “I’d better not. I’m pretty hungry and I’d rather not get kicked out.”
“Then you can just share mine,” the ambassador—Merran—offered, shifting the drink so it sat between them in easy reach, but still close enough to his plate that it was clear it was his. “I can always order another one.”
“Thanks,” she said, reaching over to sip his drink again. The ritual of licking the salt, then sipping the drink was quite fascinating to her. It was half of the fun. The buzz she got from the alcohol was the rest. It helped her relax, allowing her to shed some of her shyness.
By the time the waiter showed up, she was feeling much more relaxed and a whole lot better, the lassitude and heavy feeling in her muscles quite pleasing. “Can I start you off with some appetizers?” the waiter asked as he looked around the table, his eyes coming to rest on Merran, who nodded.
“Yes, we’ll start with the nacho plate. But we’ll place our orders now, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly,” the waiter said. He looked at Tamara expectantly. “What can I get for you, Miss?”
“I’ll take the, um, fajita plate, please. Chicken.”
“You, sir?” he turned to Merran who was sitting to Tamara’s left.
“The enchilada plate, please.”
“Cer
tainly. And you, sir?”
Alarin ordered the chicken mole.
“And you?” the waiter looked expectantly at Greg.
“Do you have any vegetarian entrees?” Greg glanced over at Tamara, giving her a wink.
“The stuffed burrito is vegetarian, as is the fajita plate without chicken. Are you vegan? The fiesta salad can be made without the cheese.”
“Vegan?”
“No animal products at all. That means no cheese and no refried beans, which are cooked with lard,” Tamara explained, wanting to take another sip of the addictive margarita but not daring to do so while the waiter stood there.
“Ah. I’ll have the fiesta salad, but you can leave on the cheese. I’d like to try something new.”
That got the waiter’s attention. “You’ve never had cheese?”
“No. We don’t have cheese where I’m from.”
The waiter blinked. “Where’s that, may I ask?”
“Azelle.”
“Wait a minute. You’re the Azellian ambassador and the Azellian exchange students, aren’t you? Oh, how exciting! Welcome to Earth!” The waiter gushed, suddenly looking much more animated. “How is your stay so far?”
“Really great, thank you,” Greg said, looking pleased at the attention. Tamara glanced at Merran, who shrugged, and Alarin, who grinned.
“Since you’re trying new things, you have to try the guacamole dip with your nachos,” the waiter continued with enthusiasm. “I’ll bring you some as soon as I put in your orders.”
“Thanks, that would be lovely.”
“And it’s just at the end of happy hour, so it’s buy one get one. Would you like another of the same?” He looked around the table.
“I’ll have another dairquiri, sure.” Greg said.
“Another margarita for me,” Alarin said.
Merran nodded. “Margarita for me, too.”
“Nothing for me,” Tamara said. “Thanks.”
“Great, I’ll be right back with your appetizer. I’m Glen, by the way. Just holler if you need anything.”
They watched Glen walk away. “Well, you got your wish there, Greg,” Alarin commented. “A lovely young man with eyes just for you.”
Tamara reached for the drink at the same time as Merran did, his hand sliding over hers as she held the glass. His fingers were warm. “Oh sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back. “Go ahead.”
“You first,” he replied, leaning back.
“No, it’s your drink.”
He gave her a smile that made her entire body tingle. It wasn’t that fake camera smile he’d given the hostess, but one that lit up his whole face. “I like watching you enjoy it. Go ahead.”
Her head spun. Did he just flirt with me? Her hand shook slightly as she reached for the drink. Fortunately, the glass was empty enough that it didn’t spill. This time, as she tasted the salt and sipped the drink, she was very aware of his eyes on her. She placed the glass down on the table carefully. Is this what being drunk feels like? She wondered. She hadn’t had that much, had she? She definitely felt different, though, so totally relaxed she didn’t care that Merran had watched her mouth the entire time she’d gone through her salt-lick-drink ritual. Did he just lick the same spot I did? She sank into the chair and his coat as Glen came out with their new drinks. Her mind wandered momentarily as she wondered what he would taste like and whether or not he was a good kisser.
Merran leaned back too and stretched, his shirt gapping as he did. “Now this is nice. Much nicer than arguing with argumentative and anxious fathers.”
Greg raised his eyebrows. “Any more alliteration you want to throw into that sentence, Mr. Poet-man?”
“I don’t know if I know any other words that apply. Well, I do know one. It isn’t particularly nice for mixed company, however. I’ll let you fill in the blanks.”
“Arrant? That’s not a bad word,” Tamara suggested, feeling like her brain was working underwater, muffled by a delicious sense of lethargy.
Merran grinned at her. “You’re right. Although I’m not sure I would have used that one exactly,” he said as Glen came out carrying a huge plate of nachos and sides.
By the end of the meal and several shared margaritas later, she was feeling very relaxed, somewhat sleepy, and completely content to just listen to the lively conversation around her. When it was suggested that they get up and walk some of the meal off, she followed, enjoying the pleasant sense of dizziness and disconnection. She didn’t remember much of the next hour, grateful for the warmth of Merran’s suit jacket, and then later, his arm around her as they sat on a bench listening to the rush of the Platte River, Greg on her other side and Alarin just beyond Greg.
“Is she drunk or sleeping?” a voice said just above her head, as she realized she was lying with her head on someone’s shoulder and had completely lost track of the low-voiced conversation. “How much did she have?”
“Not that much. She’s just exhausted,” Greg replied, his voice clear and close.
Warmth spilled through her and she recognized Greg’s touch. She squirmed a little. “That tickles,” she mumbled.
“Wait a minute, you feel that?” Greg asked, shifting so he crouched in front of her. She realized she was lying against Merran’s shoulder, his arm across her shoulders.
“Yes, shouldn’t I?”
“No. Not unless your psi’s active. Hmm. You’re still heavily shielded. No change there.” Greg ran his hands in the air over her body. She shivered, feeling the sensations quivering through her body. “But you feel what I’m doing to your aura, don’t you?”
“Is that what I’m feeling?” she asked, enjoying the sensations, too relaxed to be spooked by it. “I guess so.”
Greg looked up at Merran, then at Alarin. “Any suggestions?”
“How about taking her home and putting her to bed? This might or might not be an Awakening episode, but you’re right, she’s exhausted.” Alarin joined Greg, crouching in front of her.
Merran shifted her off his shoulder and propped her up. She sat up on her own power but swayed a little. “You two will have to bring her home, since me showing up at the university with a tipsy underage girl won’t do my reputation any good.”
“Wait,” Tamara said, pulling herself together enough to remember she still wore his jacket. “What about your coat?”
“Drop it off at the embassy later,” he said, getting to his feet. “Tomorrow or Sunday would be fine. The regular staff won’t be there, but I will be. This has been a lot of fun, but I’ve got to go.” He leaned over and took her hand, kissing the back of it gallantly. “Thank you for the lovely evening, Tamara. See you later, Alarin, Greg.” He strode off. She got up, Alarin and Greg stepping in on either side of her, and they started toward campus.
When she woke the next morning, it was to a pounding head and dry mouth. The sun streaming in her eastern-facing windows was already making her room hot, the air conditioning insufficient to handle the load. Sitting up, she made a face at the taste in her mouth and looked around her dorm room. Although the memories were a bit fuzzy, she did clearly remember going out to eat with Alarin, Greg, and … Merran. She felt a blush crawl up her cheeks. Had she really shared drinks with Merran? Had he really flirted with her over a margarita, or had he just been nice and she was imagining the whole thing? His jacket hung neatly over the back of her desk chair, mutely testifying to at least some of what she remembered. He had told her to return the coat today, hadn’t he? Swinging her legs off the edge of the bed, she padded over to her cell phone. No text messages and no calls, but she remembered Merran telling Greg and Alarin to get her home and for her to drop off the jacket over the weekend. She also remembered him kissing her hand, which didn’t answer her questions about whether he was just being nice or if he had really been flirting with her, but it made her feel better about the whole thing. She rubbed her forehead. The lingering headache this morning felt more like the remnants of a sick migraine than it did anything else. Had she re
ally gotten drunk enough to pass out? On shared bits of two margaritas? She didn’t remember much about the walk home, but exhaustion could have accounted for that.
She still hadn’t answered her own question by the time she’d showered, dressed, eaten, checked in with her parents, and picked up the coat, intending to head over to the embassy to drop it off. At least the headache had disappeared. She felt much better as she walked up to the embassy gates.
The guard in the guardshack greeted her politely. “I have something to drop off for Ambassador Corina,” she said, holding up the coat. “I’m Tamara Carrington.”
“Let me see if he’s in,” the guard told her, stepping back into the booth and coming out a few moments later. “If you’d like to go on up, he’ll see you, Ms Carrington.”
It gave an odd little thrill to realize that the ambassador of Azelle would agree to see her personally. She kept her suddenly volatile emotions under strict control as she walked up the curved, treelined drive and the wide marble staircase that led to the front door. The last time she’d been here was for the embassy party a week ago. It had been brilliantly lit, with what had felt like thousands of people inside, although she’d been told it was closer to a hundred. The doors had popped open at her approach. Today, they did not and she had to pull the door open herself.
It opened easily, revealing the almost silent interior of the large atrium-lobby area at the entry of what had once been a very expensive, luxurious mansion. The sun lit most of the room, indirect sunlight spilling in from the large semi-circular window high above the entry doors that highlighted the interior marble so it almost glowed. She hadn’t appreciated the beauty of it last week, but she certainly did now. Elegant and stately, yet somehow inviting and peaceful, it felt oddly welcoming. She relaxed, feeling a subtle tension drain out of her body that she hadn’t even been aware of earlier.
She heard voices. Looking around, she noticed one person coming down the wide stairs opposite the front door. “So we’re going to need to rework some of the background on that agreement,” Merran’s voice said in English. She recognized his standard business suit and tie. “Why don’t you call Janille during the week and get that set up?”
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