Rogue Nights (The Rogue Series Book 6)

by Talia Hibbert

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “I’m just good at turning it on when I have to. And you were right—it’s good to be out. In real clothes, away from my own head. This is perspective I really needed, so thank you.”

  “No problem. And I dragged you here and got you roped into work, so let me buy your first drink.”

  “Okay, but I’ll get round two.”

  “My round two’s going to be soda.” I laughed. “I need to be able to drive you safely home.”

  “My heroine.” She faked a swoon with her hand on her heart. My heart sped up at how damn adorable she was when she joked around. “Designated driver tonight and moral support tomorrow? I’m going to owe you.”

  “No, you’re not. It’s just what friends do. That’s all.”

  “Beatrice…” Her tongue swiped at her perfect lips, making my insides quiver. “You really want to be friends? Is that just guilt talking? I didn’t mean to go off about high school earlier—”

  “You needed to set the record straight, and honestly I needed to hear that. You were right. I made some wrong assumptions about you. But despite my really crappy way of showing it, I did always like you.” My throat closed around the admission, making the rest come out a bare whisper. “So, yeah, I’d like to be friends, find out who we both are now.”

  “You liked me?” Her mouth did this crooked grin thing that had my breath catching. Like in the car, this felt like a moment with a capital M, something I’d remember—

  “You ladies planning to order?” The bartender looked up at us with bored eyes and a twisted bow tie. Somehow, for the second time that night, we’d reached the front of the line without my realizing it.

  “Oops.” I quickly ordered a white wine for myself and Kira got a cosmo.

  “No jokes about how I drink like a sorority girl,” she said as she accepted her drink.

  “Well, if the heels fit…” I smiled up at her, loving this banter, this unexpected side to her.

  “We’re going to have to go shoe shopping for you.”

  “We are?” I blinked.

  “Well, you said you wanted to be friends. And friends help friends.”

  “My shoes are fine.” Warmth spread across my chest at the thought of a future where we might actually be friends, go to a mall together, spend time beyond tonight together. “But it never hurts to look.”

  “That’s the spirit.” She clapped me on the shoulder, and my skin sizzled even through my sleeve.

  “The first returns are coming in!” A male voice near us exclaimed and the whole room started to vibrate, everyone talking in low murmurs as attention shifted to the TV screen. Kira dropped her hand from my arm quickly, and I missed the contact more than I should have.

  “Oh.” A collective gasp swept through the room. The initial numbers were…underwhelming to say the least.

  “It’s only like five percent of the votes.” Kira bent so I could hear her, and I could smell the perfume she must have spritzed on when she was getting changed. Heavy on the lavender undertones but something glitzy about it too, more upscale than old lady-esque. But even the sexy scent and her nearness wasn’t enough to distract me from my growing sense of doom.

  “This is supposed to be our night.”

  “It still can be.” She squeezed my arm. “Have faith.”

  “Ha. I don’t go on faith. I go on months of us working for this. I’m honestly not sure what I’ll do if our candidates don’t pull through.”

  “You’ll deal,” Kira said firmly. “You’ll get back in the trenches, keep working. Because that’s what you do. And that’s what I admire about you. Always have. When you have a cause or goal, you throw your whole self into it.”

  Her admission made me bite my lip hard enough to sting. She admired me? Disbelief warred with pride in my gut. “I don’t know about that. I keep trying at college and not succeeding. I’ve had a string of jobs like my current one—working phones and making copies. I just this year got my own place and the dog. I’m not really goal-oriented. Not like you.”

  “Sure you are. Maybe college just isn’t your thing. And anyone who talks to you about politics can see that you’ve got passion for it. I still remember you campaigning hard for gender-neutral language in the dress code at school. Your day job doesn’t have to define you.”

  “Yeah.” I shifted my weight from foot to foot, not sure what to do with the compliment. I had friends I’d known for years who didn’t understand me half as well as Kira seemed to. “Someday I’d like to be paid for activism work, but that’s probably a ways off.”

  “You’ll get there.” Her eyes flitted away from mine. “Look. More numbers. They’re picking up.”

  “Thank goodness!” Yes, yes the numbers were going up, and so was Kira’s appeal to me. More even than her movie star looks or yummy smell, I liked how she seemed to get me on some deep, basic level. I could lecture myself all night about not getting a crush on her again, but the quiver in my muscles as she moved nearer to me said it was already too late.

  5

  The returns kept coming in as we made our way to the food. The gap would narrow for a few rounds of coverage, then widen again as more and more numbers were reported. It made my head spin trying to keep up. The buffet was basic fruit and veggie trays and some simple appetizers and desserts, but I’d skipped dinner, so I loaded up my plate, mindful of the fact that I was dining with a doctor and couldn’t make a meal of cookies. Not that being a doctor seemed to stop Kira from getting brownies for herself.

  “You know what I missed most in college and medical school?” Kira asked as we found some chairs at one of the round tables lining the back of the room.

  “Sleep?”

  “Ha. That too.” She broke off a piece of brownie and popped it in her mouth, chewing and swallowing before continuing. “Cooking. I did so much of it in high school—both my parents were always too busy to bother with a real dinner, and I was addicted to cooking shows. I had so much fun making new things for us. And now I’ve finally got a great kitchen of my own, but cooking for one isn’t much fun. Maybe that’s why I enjoyed Gwen’s place so much—we cooked together a lot.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that she could cook for me anytime, but I didn’t want to sound too much like I was desperate or giving her a cheesy come-on line. So instead, I confessed, “I can’t really cook. My mom loves it, so there wasn’t a huge need growing up, and Dale and Alice always liked kitchen chores more than me. Now I subsist mainly on frozen meals and the occasional takeout.”

  “That’s criminal.” She shook her head, curls bouncing as her lips curved into a knowing smile. “So cooking lessons and shoe shopping. I can handle this. We’ll start with making lunches for work days—I’m really into mason-jar salads lately.”

  “Hey now, I’m not sure I signed up for the ‘make Bea over’ plan!” I protested with a laugh.

  “I’m just trying to keep busy.” She shrugged. “It might be a good distraction.”

  Damn. My back muscles tightened as I had to remind myself that that was all I could ever hope to be for Kira—a temporary distraction. A project. But honestly, I liked the promise of more time with her too much to object too loudly to her plans.

  “I’m here to serve,” I said lightly.

  “Good.” Her smile beamed its way past my unease. She pulled out her phone which was in a pretty berry-colored case that matched her lipstick. “Let’s see what the statistics site is saying. That stats blog—I trust them more than the local news.”

  “I knew I liked you.” I leaned in so I could see her screen, trying not to get too swept away by her scent again. The stats site indicated Simone’s race was narrower than what the TV news was reporting, predicting her chances of victory to be slightly higher than her opponent. “That’s good right? Shows she has a chance.”

  “She does. And now I’m really wishing I had volunteered more myself—all of you guys here have such good energy. This is the hope we need in this
country right now. It reminds me of the campus groups I was involved in before my parents issued their ‘thou shall not get arrested’ decree.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Eh. It is what it is. I can understand where they’re coming from—they just want me to stay safe. I’m their only kid, and they’ve got good reason to worry. My dad got pulled over just last year while driving his BMW. Cop hassled him about whether it was really his car. Man owns two companies, has more patents than I can keep track of, and that’s how he’s treated? Yeah, I get why they’re nervous for me.”

  “Man. That’s just not right. And that’s why we need to keep fighting for change. Even if you don’t want to be on the front lines of protests, there’s plenty you can do.”

  “You’re a good recruiter.” Kira polished off the last of her brownie. “Tell you what, you let me teach you how to make yourself some salads, and I’ll let you tell me about volunteer opportunities.”

  “It’s a date,” I said without thinking. But it wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Kira was still mourning her breakup, and even if she weren’t, she could probably do far better than my awkward self. And on that depressing note, I pushed away my food and dug out my scarf project.

  “You knit at parties?” Kira raised an eyebrow, confirming my worry that I was probably too terminally awkward for her as anything more than a distraction.

  “You don’t?” I was back to being flip and defensive. “It keeps me sane. I hate waiting around. And I’ve been doing it so long that my hands go stir-crazy without something to do.”

  “If I were slightly more buzzed, I’d tell you that your hands need better occupations.” She winked at me, and my whole body tensed. Was she flirting with me? Or having me on? Or maybe she’d simply had too much of her cosmo before the food hit her stomach.

  “I like this one,” I mumbled, knitting faster, needles clicking as I tried to regain my inner balance.

  “How’s that work? You keep flipping the yarn front to back?” Kira set her phone down, and I slowed my motions, so I could show her. Whether she was truly interested or merely bored waiting for the next set of returns, I was always happy to talk yarn.

  “Back to knit, front to purl.” I demonstrated a few stitches. “It’s really not hard. Here, you try a knit stitch.”

  “This is the part where I try it and next thing I know my bedroom’s covered in fiber, right? Should I invest in cashmere now?” Accepting the needles from me, she brushed her fingers against mine, maybe a beat longer than she needed to. Electricity zoomed up my spine. Her fingers were long and elegant with classy light pink nails, and I wanted her fingerprints all over me. I had to force myself to breathe normally, focus on the knitting lesson.

  “Dude, if you’ve got a cashmere budget, I’m moving in right now.” I couldn’t seem to stop myself from joking around with her, even as I told myself I should tone it down, not skirt the line between light and easy and flirty. She bungled the stitch, so I gently took her fingers, guided the motion for the next one. We weren’t holding hands, not really, but this was still as close as I’d been with another person in weeks and weeks, and my pulse sped up.

  “I got it!” Kira beamed as her third try worked. “I mean, I doubt you could sign me up for a yarn bomb or whatever, but this is more fun than I would have thought.”

  “I want that on a T-shirt. ‘More fun than she thought.’ It’d probably get me dates.”

  “Maybe.” She gave me an arch look as she made another stitch, all on her own this time. “Wait. I’m probably screwing up your pattern.”

  “Nah. Keep going. At the risk of looking like a total dork, I’ve got a backup project of a sock to work on.”

  “Because of course you do.” Kira laughed right as the room buzzed, attention shifting back to the monitors.

  “She’s ahead!” I crowed. The only thing that made me happier than Kira taking to knitting was seeing Simone’s name in bold on the screen.

  “Now for her to hold the lead.” My friend Maya took an empty seat at our table. “If she can hold it or, even better, grow the margin, she’ll probably address the crowd soon. They’ve already called a few state races in our favor, and those candidates should be arriving soon.”

  “This is so exciting.” Kira wiggled in her chair like a kid at a concert waiting for the show to start.

  “I know, right?” Maya leaned in, and it was all I could do not to growl a warning. Not that Kira was mine or anywhere close to it. Feeling possessive was about as useful as a third leg, but there I was feeling all glowery at someone I considered a friend. “Our state’s first out representative. We just have to cross everything.”

  “Crossed.” Kira laughed, head tipped back. “I need another drink while we wait. Either of you?”

  “I’m good.” I motioned at my half-full wineglass. “Maya?”

  “Yes, please. Could you get me a sparkling water with lime?” Maya fished some bills out of her purse. Then when Kira was out of earshot, she turned to me, “So what’s the deal? You keep looking at me like I’m about to steal your lunch money. Is she a date?”

  “No,” I groaned. “Not a date. She just broke up with her girlfriend.”

  “Ah. And you want to be the rebound?”

  “No. Not hardly. Been there, didn’t get the T-shirt. Being the rebound sucks.”

  “Smart.” Maya opened her mouth like she was about to add some more advice, but the room hushed as one of the candidates made his way to the podium. He gracefully declared victory in a rehearsed speech that lasted through Kira’s return with the drinks. A few other candidates came to the stage as the polls started to stabilize for their races even as other races like Simone’s remained tight.

  “Do you think we’re in for a long night?” I asked Maya, who was studying her phone. “Are we still within the recount margin?”

  “No.” Kira held up her own phone before Maya could answer. “Stats site now has her at ninety-five percent chance of victory. Apparently a lot of the remaining precincts skew our way.”

  “Thank God. I need to go find Bryce, tell him.” Maya excused herself, giving me a warning look as she passed. Yeah, I got the message. No pointless crushes. My brain understood without issue, but my heart was too happy with the Simone news to care about little things like logic and ill-advised crushes.

  “She’s doing it. She’s really doing it.” Relief washed over me, leaving me feeling a little lightheaded. “Simone’s going to Washington.”

  “Yes, she is.” Kira reached over and took my hand. This was no glancing pat or incidental contact while knitting, but a deliberate hand-grab, holding on. My shoulders lifted, insides as light as a balloon, almost like Kira’s hand was tethering me to my chair. “And you did it. All your hard work.”

  “Yeah.” I grinned at her, not letting go of her hand. And she didn’t pull away either, managing to drink her cocktail one-handed. The room was super crowded, anticipation swirling about a probable victory, but it felt like Kira and I were in our own little bubble of happy feelings and endless possibilities. The tide really was turning, and not just politically. I swore I could feel our past receding, who we’d been back then washing away in favor of something fresh happening right here, right now. And maybe it was only friendship, but little thrills kept racing through my body nonetheless.

  6

  I’d had a number of political victories in my life—getting the dress code changed in high school, getting a company to stop environmentally hazardous activity, attending inspiring rallies and marches, working for local candidates in more recent years. But nothing compared to the moment Simone triumphantly took the stage, wife at her side holding their sleepy kid who had made a valiant effort to stay up to see victory. On the TV, moments earlier, the opposing candidate had been sputtering about mail-in ballots and recounts, but all major networks had called the race for Simone.

  “We are a wave that will not be denied,” she said to loud cheers. She was the last candidate to address the crowd, and the atmo
sphere was a New Year’s Eve party and Super Bowl celebration rolled into one. With each victory speech, the drinks had flowed, and now the crowd was primed to let loose. And Simone totally owned her moment, seeming to absorb energy from all the applause, radiating it back to us. “I am not one voice, but thousands. All of you. Every volunteer. Every vote. I stand here not only because of you, but for you.”

  “I’ve got chills,” Kira whispered, leaning in so close her breath tickled my ear.

  “Me too.” If it wasn’t for wanting to hear Simone’s speech, I might have melted right there on the spot.

  On stage, Simone was wrapping up. “Tomorrow we get to work. And make no mistake, there is work to be done. But tonight, we celebrate.”

  With that, the speakers blasted out the Motown oldie that had been her campaign song, and balloons rained down onto the stage. Simone stepped back from the microphone, doing a little shimmy with her wife that would undoubtedly make the news photographers happy. Speeches done, the crowd got serious about celebrating, many people dancing along with the song. Signs waved as the cameras rolled, but it wasn’t long before the TV stations packed up, leaving the revelers to dance and drink with no signs of the party shutting down.

  The buzz from my wine had long since worn off, but I had fun simply watching everyone else let loose after weeks of hard work. But the hour was late, and I was about to suggest leaving when Kira let out a happy squeal as a new song started.

  “Oh my God. Senior year. Tell me you remember this one.”

  “You know I do. I still hear it in my dreams sometimes.” It was a pop hit that had been everywhere ten years ago—played out by graduating classes all over the country and even picked up by the Olympics as a theme song. Covers of it still cropped up on reality shows all the time.

  “We should dance, right? Let’s dance!”

  It was hard to say no to her enthusiasm, so I trailed behind her as she made her way to the cluster of people dancing near the speakers at the front of the room. Unlike me, she had the song’s dance moves down, every movement coordinated and graceful.