He smiled back, slightly puzzled, extending his hand as I neared the top of the ladder. “Don’t forget the current,” he instructed me, his voice full of caution. I nodded, preparing myself before our skin connected in a warm sizzle. He hauled me up to standing with the ease of his crazy strength.
“Hey,” I managed. We were standing only inches apart, which made it difficult to concentrate. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, despite the damp weather. Our hands remained linked; the electric hum traveled up my arm, mixing with my nervous adrenaline to create an almost unbearable firestorm in my veins.
I started to take a step backwards, but his other hand shot out and caught my hip. He slammed our bodies together with a sudden jerk that forced the breath from my lungs. His mouth closed over mine, and the tension churning through my body spiked dangerously before my muscles began to melt in their usual response to Dothan’s kisses. I drank in his scent—musky cologne and fresh hay—as my fingers found their way under his T-shirt to dig into the hard planes of his back.
A roll of thunder shattered the silence, and I started at the unexpected noise. Dothan pulled me even closer, resting his chin on the top of my head. “You okay?” he murmured.
“Yes. Just a little jumpy today,” I answered into the curve where his neck met his shoulder. My ear was pressed against his throat, and his pulse thudded with mine, two runaway trains.
He moved our bodies apart to look into my eyes. “Did something else happen?” he asked, his voice sharp with concern.
“No, no. Nothing happened.” Unless you count the constant feeling of being watched by unseen eyes. “Leftover nerves from last night, probably.”
Dothan released my hips and linked our hands together. “Let’s get you sitting down,” he said, leading me toward a row of hay bales.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and I could hear the horses below, shifting with agitation. We sat down side-by-side, and Dothan pulled my left hand onto his lap. “Nail polish?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting as he noticed my dark plum fingernails.
A flush prickled my cheeks, matching the tingling in my hand. “I…uh…couldn’t really fall asleep last night,” I admitted with a shrug. “So I watched TV for a while and painted my nails.” I’d hoped the deep color would make my ragged, short nails slightly more attractive. I pulled my hand away self-consciously, but he held fast.
“Hmm. I had trouble falling asleep last night too.” He ran his thumb along my knuckles, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “I had some…interesting…dreams.”
My blood exploded into flames, scorching my skin with fiery heat. I stared down at the rough wood planks of the floor, struggling to come up with some sort of reply as joy and embarrassment warred within me in response to his words. The first few raindrops tapped across the barn roof, and Dothan’s soft laughter floated above the sound.
“Sorry,” he murmured with a grin, lifting my hand to his curved lips.
I risked a glance up. He didn’t look the least bit sorry as he brushed my knuckles with a kiss.
“How about I take you out tonight, on a real date? Although I can’t promise we won’t end up in the same place as last night.”
He was too good at this. Years of pent-up teenaged hormones had apparently turned him into an outrageous flirt. I was sure my face was a lovely shade of crimson, but I shot him a withering look anyway. “I happen to have plans already,” I replied haughtily. “Sam and I are doing a birthday sleepover tonight since she’s busy tomorrow.”
“Birthday?” His eyebrow arched inquisitively. “Whose birthday is it?”
Oh, crap. This was somewhere I did not want to go. My first birthday without my mother was not a subject I wanted to discuss, and I’d been very deliberately avoiding the topic. I shook my head, dropping my gaze again as a thick knot swelled in my throat.
“Jamie? Is tomorrow your birthday?” Although his voice was gentle, the underlying firmness of his tone suggested he was not going to let it go.
Sam had been relentless, too—unilaterally ignoring my request to let the day pass without acknowledging it as my birthday. With my severe lack of friends this year, however, Sam’s efforts were at least curtailed to a girls’ night at her house with pizza and movies. Nathaniel had been a bit more willing to accept my wishes; I’d be spared a celebratory dinner, but he’d insisted on working the Sunday hours for me so I could at least have the day off.
I acquiesced with a sigh. “Yes. Tomorrow’s my birthday. But it’s going to be a difficult day for me, so I really don’t want to make a big deal of it.” My hand was still tucked inside Dothan’s; the tingling physical connection somehow made me feel even more vulnerable. I pulled away with a stubborn tug, but Dothan held fast.
“I get it,” he murmured, rubbing my palm with the rough pads of his thumbs. Overhead, the rain picked up strength, beating against the roof of the hayloft in an echoing cadence. “No one understands the pain a birthday can bring more than me.”
Oh, God. He was right. A new crack opened in my heart as I considered our mutual grief. While I was awash in the fresh agony of my first birthday without my mom, Dothan had been sentenced to a lifetime of remembering his birthday as the date his mother died bringing him into the world. “I’m sorry. I forgot about your mom.”
“No, I’m sorry. There’s a lot more to the story, but I shouldn’t have brought it up. I just wanted you to know I understand…my intention was not to make you feel bad.”
“There’s more?” I balled my free hand into a fist as my fingers itched to scrape against the ragged cuticles of my thumb.
He shook his head firmly. “Now’s not the time. Tomorrow’s your birthday. I didn’t know your mom, but I’m fairly certain she would not want you to spend your birthday alone. So if you have any free time tomorrow, let’s do something low-key. I can easily get a few hours off.”
Warm tears gathered behind my eyes, threatening to fall not only for what we’d lost, but also for what we’d gained. Not only did Dothan understand me, he loved me. My vision blurred as a wave of gratitude rose and broke in my chest. But I didn’t want to cry—for a number of reasons, one of which involved the mascara I’d swept over my eyelashes. Biting down on my lower lip, I cast about wildly for something to say that would allow me to avoid an emotional breakdown without straying too far from the topic at hand.
“You’re right,” I managed, my voice wavering slightly. “And spending some time alone together sounds perfect. But really, I don’t want to make a big deal of it. Seventeen seems like such a nothing number anyway. Not like sixteen or eighteen. Those are big deal birthdays.”
“Trust me, being eighteen isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile, but something in his voice flared like a warning signal.
I dragged the toe of my boot along the floor, searching for the right thing to say. Overhead, a gust of wind whistled through the eaves and sent a sudden downpour lashing against the side of the barn.
“I don’t think I’ll be riding today.” I pressed my mouth into a disappointed line, and my tender lips sent me a reminder of all they’d been up to. “So… does your eighteen mean the same as mine will?” I blurted out before another blush could set in. “I mean, are you eighteen human years? Or are there like, angel years?”
Damn. The heat rushed up toward my ears anyway as another wave of raindrops pounded the roof.
He chuckled, ducking his head to catch my downcast gaze. “No, I’ve been alive for eighteen human years.”
Ghost materialized from a dim corner, slinking lazily across the loft before springing up to squeeze next to me on the hay bale. I scratched the dusty white fur along the top of her head with my short, plum-colored fingernails.
Dothan shifted, scooting over to make room for the cat. Transferring my right hand into his left, he slipped his free arm around my hips and pulled me with him. “Angels aren’t immortal. They do eventually die of old age.” His thumb slid under the wide waistband of my riding br
eeches, exploring the curve of my hip beneath the fabric of my shirt. “Although they live much longer than humans, so I suppose you could think of angel years differently in terms of aging. I don’t know how old Nathaniel says he is, but I’d wager he’s over one hundred.”
My breath had caught in my throat as his fingers moved over my skin, but it came out now with a sudden rush. “Wow. One hundred years old?” I shivered slightly, both at the idea of Nathaniel’s age and the sensation of Dothan’s touch. “And Nephilim? Does the same thing hold true?”
“According to Genesis, the Nephilim live one hundred and twenty years. But it’s hard to say for sure, since I’m the only one.”
I knew that already, but the enormity of that fact settled over me now like a gloomy fog. Ghost arched under my palm, her rumbling purr joining the music of the downpour. “Why are you the only one?” I asked quietly.
He shrugged, his hand tightening on my waist. “Nephilim are an abomination. In fact, the Bible points to the eradication of half bloods as one of the reasons for The Great Flood. We’re unnatural. I’m a monster.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a grim smile.
A bubble of laughter rose in my chest as I considered the utter ridiculousness of the beautiful boy across from me referring to himself as a monster. But I could see the genuine pain in his topaz eyes, and I swallowed it down before it could escape.
“Don’t say that about my boyfriend,” I chided him, a thrill running through me as I dared to label our relationship.
A real smile broke through as he shook his hair out of his face. “I almost feel normal around you, Jamie. You were the first human to make me comfortable enough to let down my guard a little, even before you knew the truth.”
Joy hummed through my veins, mimicking the low current radiating from Dothan’s touch. Beside me, Ghost’s rough purr vibrated in accompaniment. “I’m glad. Normal’s overrated, anyway. I’ll admit your social skills were a bit rocky our first few encounters, but now you certainly don’t seem like someone who tried to isolate themselves for eighteen years.”
“Well, it’s not like I wanted to be alone. I had my dad for company and conversation. Plus books, television, and movies.” He lifted a shoulder. “I even joined an internet book group and took classes online. Mainly I just couldn’t let anyone get close enough to start asking questions I couldn’t answer. Or witness the things about me that are so different.”
“Like I did.”
“Right.” He dipped his head, nuzzling my neck. “I just couldn’t seem to stay away from you.”
I gulped. “Well, I’m very persistent.” Goosebumps rose along my arms.
“‘Difficult to resist’ is the phrase, I believe,” he murmured, his breath warming my ear.
“Dothan?” a deep voice called from below.
I jumped, sending Ghost flying from the hay bale in a flash of white fur. Dothan’s hand flattened against my waist, steadying me before he helped me up.
“Up here, Mr. White,” he called down as he strode toward the opening in the floor. “I’ll be right down.”
Were we caught? I looked at him, wide-eyed, my heart stuttering erratically. Did it matter? I could see no reason why we couldn’t be a couple, at least from Mr. White’s point of view—but fooling around on the job might be an issue.
Dothan’s lips pulled to one side as he shook his head at me. “It’s fine,” he mouthed.
He crossed back toward me, his boots thudding on the wooden floorboards. His hands cradled my face as he dropped a quick kiss onto my swollen lips. “You were just hanging out with Ghost, hoping the storm would pass,” he whispered. “Decide what you want to do tomorrow.” He winked at me before descending the ladder.
I sank back down onto the makeshift bench, pressing my hand into my chest. Clearly, my nerves were shot. I needed rest. And a sleepover at Sam’s tonight was unlikely to result in a good night’s sleep.
My fingers moved to my mouth unconsciously, and I winced in pain before I realized I was tugging on a hangnail with my teeth. I shook my hand out as I pushed myself back to standing. The double doors used to load the hay bales from outside were bolted shut, but I wandered over, treading lightly on the balls of my feet.
I’d make a terrible criminal, I decided as I reached for the metal handle with shaking fingers. Rotating it up, I slid the bolt back gently. The right-hand door swung inward a few inches, and I peered out, careful to stay far away from the sheer drop-off where the edge of the floor met the sky.
Gray light filtered in. The rain had tapered off to a thin drizzle, but dark clouds churned menacingly. A good day to get caught up on my homework, at least for about five minutes, until I hopefully fell asleep.
I could hear male voices coming from the tack room when I finally climbed down the ladder. Fishing a peppermint from my pocket, I trotted softly down the hall toward Beau’s stall. I offered him the candy from my open palm, gave him a quick scratch behind his ear, and scurried out to my car.
Chapter 26
“So…full,” I moaned, collapsing on the extra bed in Sam’s room. I pulled my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and settled it on my stomach, which was full of pizza and cake. Sam turned her attention to her backpack, so I snuck a look at the waiting text: “I miss u.” My muscles clenched as I typed “me too” and hit send.
Sam spun around, her eyes falling on my phone. She looked at me quizzically, and my skin heated. “It’s already 8:30,” I said nonchalantly, as though I’d been checking the time. Technically, my statement was true. But I scratched at the collar of my short-sleeved turtleneck sweater self-consciously. I’d decided a more concealing top was in order for dinner with Sam’s family, but the thick material suddenly felt coarse and prickly.
“The night is young,” Sam responded, waving a white envelope at me. My name was written in big, loopy letters across the back, and an iridescent bow shimmered in the corner.
“Aww, you didn’t have to do that. You already got me something.” I pointed at the decorative bag on the nightstand; inside, my favorite scented lotion was accompanied by a gift card for Somerset Saddlery, a tack shop I visited whenever possible.
“It’s a card,” Sam pointed out, rolling her eyes. “Besides, it’s not from me. It’s from the team.”
Sam’s team got me a birthday card? I did sit with them every day at lunch, and we were friendly…but this was unexpected. My chest tightened as I ripped open the envelope. At least twenty signatures covered the inside of the card, some with accompanying notes. “‘Enjoy the bubbly’?” I asked, reading one of the girls’ comments out loud.
Sam darted into her bathroom, returning immediately with a dark green bottle of champagne in her hand and a triumphant smile on her face. “This is from them, too,” she explained. “I had it in an ice bucket in my tub.” Beads of water dripped down the sides as she set it gently on her desk. She slid her bottom drawer open and pulled out two fluted glasses.
Tears pressed against the backs of my eyes. I glanced back down at the card, the scrawled signatures blurring as I fought back my emotions. So pathetic.
Sam caught it immediately. “Don’t get too flustered, it’s not like a fine vintage or anything,” she joked. “Although, they all pitched in enough to cover a brand that hopefully won’t make us puke.” She carried it back into the bathroom, turning on the fan and then the faucet. “Now, for the scary part,” she called.
I propped the card next to the gift bag on her nightstand and joined her. Pieces of gold foil glittered on a tissue next to the sink. Sam crumpled the evidence and deposited it in the trash below the counter. “I have no idea how to do this, really,” she admitted, twisting at the wires wrapped around the cork.
“I’m going to suggest aiming away from the mirror.”
“Right.” She pointed the top of the bottle into her shower stall, and we both turned our faces away, scrunching our eyes as though shrapnel might scatter around the room. “Here goes nothing.”
The cork flew into
the tiles with a small pop that hardly warranted all the devices being used to cover the sound. A thin stream of gauzy vapor floated from the top of the bottle.
Giggling quietly, Sam poured the champagne into the two glasses, cursing when the bubbles fizzed up beyond the rim.
I ran for a towel. “It’s a good thing you’ve got soccer, because I’m not sure you have a future as a bartender.”
She scowled at me as she lifted the glasses so I could wipe up the mess. A mischievous smile turned her lips back up when I handed her one of the champagne flutes. “To Jamie,” she announced. “Happy birthday, BFF.” She clinked our glasses together and we took cautious sips.
“Let’s sit down,” Sam said, gesturing to the floor. We sunk down onto the light pink carpet, carefully balancing the full glasses. The bedroom door was locked, but it felt safer to hide in the corner while consuming alcoholic beverages. Sam reached up and pulled the bottle down to the floor with us.
I leaned back against the wall, enjoying the sweet sparkle of my birthday drink. “This is great, Sam,” I said sincerely. Outside, the rain had returned to tap against the windows.
She flashed me a smile. “I’m glad. I just wish the stupid party tomorrow wasn’t on the same day as your birthday. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
“To a church service celebrating your grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary? No, thanks.”
“But I need the moral support! I have to read a Bible lesson,” she complained, wrinkling her freckled nose.
I’ve had more than my share of Bible lessons recently, I thought, coughing as I tried to suppress a hysterical giggle. The effort produced a forceful hiccup.
Sam rolled her eyes. “I know,” she said, clearly misunderstanding my crazed reaction. “And you’re welcome to make fun of me while I’m reading, as long as you don’t make me laugh out loud in church.”
“Pass.” A relaxing warmth settled through my bones as I tipped back the rest of my glass.
“There’s a fancy brunch afterward,” she added hopefully. “Probably even more champagne.”
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