Austentatious

by Alyssa Goodnight

  “Not at all, señor.” The request became a pleasure as Sean slid a few bills into the guitarist’s palm. Pocketing the tip, the trio began their tableside rendition of Elvis’s smoothly persuasive ballad.

  “Let’s kick things up a notch, shall we?” His eyebrow winged up in challenge as mine dipped down in confusion.

  And then, as the thrill of the trumpet subsided, the voice beside me rose to take its place.

  11

  It’s Now or Never

  My eyes widened, first in shock, then in panic, but I didn’t turn to look at him. This was so utterly unexpected that I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t wired for a serenade. If anything, the very thought of one made me cringe. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate and admire the sentiment and bravado that went into such an undertaking—I did—I definitely did! It was simply that the very idea of it was over-the-top, unnecessary, and just plain awkward. Still, out of politeness, I forcibly subdued my panic and shifted my gaze to my booth companion.

  He was staring back at me, daring me to hold his gaze. Somehow I managed it.

  He sang the refrain while I drowned slowly in the deep darkness of his voice. The words didn’t even register. It wasn’t until he raised a single eyebrow that things started to click, causing me to raise a rather panicked one right back. Was he literally asking me for a kiss ... for more? Tonight? No doubt he realized that I was way out of my element here, but what he may not have realized was that I was not the type to trade a kitschy Mexican dinner and a public serenade for a sexual romp.

  One innocent little kiss probably couldn’t hurt anything ... Although, in all honesty, both times this man had put his lips on me, my world had tipped and twirled in reaction. And it had yet to right itself. My presence here tonight was proof of that.

  Watching him, I could easily imagine how he’d looked when he was younger—too perfect for his own good. Time, I’m guessing, hadn’t changed him all that much; life had just sharpened his features, changing mischief into character, innocence into charm, and sweet into sexy. His confidence had probably always been there, behind everything. And why shouldn’t it be? Those eyelashes alone had probably saved him from trouble more times than he’d care to admit.

  So, as he sang about my exciting lips and inviting arms, I pondered his and mourned a future absent of sexy little get-togethers. As I watched him, his eyes falling closed on the soulful parts and then flashing open again to gauge my reaction, alternating between serious performer and teasing charmer, playing both roles with gutsy flair, butterflies invaded my heart.

  His arm was slung over the back of the seat, and he’d turned into me, seemingly at ease with this whopper of a PDA. The King, believe it or not, had nothing on Sean MacInnes. The song may be a classic, but I’d always felt it belonged to another generation. But now, hearing it sung in the slightly scratchy, very sexy voice of the man cuddled up next to me, it had taken on a whole new dynamic. I’d never felt this kind of pull, this shivery sort of wonder, and for just this one fleeting moment, it was perfect. This, I imagined—I truly hoped—was Romance.

  As the song ended with a warning of last chances and a brassy flourish of trumpet, I smiled and applauded right along with the rest of my fellow diners. Impressive talent with an equal dose of daring—watch out, world. Tread very carefully, Nicola James.

  After the applause had died down a bit and the mariachis had drifted away, I oh-so-casually reached for a chip, trying to ease us back to normal.

  “Investment bankers rarely do that,” I commented.

  “Excellent.” For some reason, this had him grinning. “I take it my grand gesture left you unconvinced?” he prompted. I was having trouble reading him, but he seemed slightly disappointed by this—or hurt, maybe.

  “What? No! You were unbelievable! I’m definitely getting your CD!” I didn’t think it necessary to admit that I’d not only bought it already but broken it in as well. I honestly had no idea how to play this. At least my gushing merited another grin.

  “I suppose it’s not a total loss, then. I made a sale, right?”

  “Exactly.” I smiled at him and realized he was waiting. He was waiting for me to acknowledge that he’d been singing for me, waiting for me to register the words, clearly waiting for a kiss.

  It’s now or never.

  One night of romance. I’d known this all along, but I’d assumed Sean was looking for a bit more than that. A painful little hole opened up in the vicinity of my heart, but I ignored it. This was good—perfect—we were on the same page. This would make things much easier.

  I looked over at him, hoping the hurt didn’t crack my smile, and realized he was still looking at me with raised brows. Oops.

  “I guess you’re hoping for that kiss, huh?” I’d tucked half of my lower lip under my teeth and was squirming with nervous uncertainty.

  “Right,” he confirmed with a smug smile as he settled back against the vinyl and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “That was your motivation for such a grand gesture? A harmless little peck on the cheek from me?” I took a sip of water to cool the feverish flush that was running rampant over my skin.

  “Come now, don’t sell yourself short.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped me, but his expression didn’t change.

  “All right. One kiss—you deserve it. I even liked your version better.” As his smile widened, I added, “Although, if Elvis himself had been serenading me, it might have been a different story.”

  “His loss,” replied my charming date. He truly did deserve a kiss. Maybe I did too. So I leaned in and let my eyelashes flutter closed.

  He stayed very still, so the placement of the kiss was at my discretion, and I decided to heed a lesson from the master. I very carefully touched my lips to the corner of his very talented and somewhat spicy mouth. Hints of the beer he’d had earlier mingled with the fiery pico de gallo and the tartness of the lime to give him an exotic taste, but beneath the subtle flavors, his lips were a long, smooth line that quirked into a smile well before my lips were willing to let go.

  When I finally sat back, I couldn’t help but lick my lips. And I knew, even as I did, that it wasn’t the best idea. Sean was watching me, and as our gazes locked, I wondered how much he knew. I suspected he knew that I viewed this as a token kiss, imagining only one more—a good-bye kiss at the end of the evening—in our future. He likely also knew that deep down, beyond the protective layers of good sense and rational thinking, I wanted much more than one more kiss. What he might not have known was that I was willing to sacrifice supreme (but fleeting) enjoyment for the greater good ... for The Plan. I didn’t relish having to admit it.

  With teeth-clenching effort, I shifted my eyes away just as Sean broke the silence.

  “Thank you. Thank you very much,” he said, in a cheesy Elvis impersonation.

  Not long after, as we stepped into the brisk evening air, it was my turn at cheesy. “Elvis has left the building.” We shared a smile.

  Neither of us, it seemed, was through with the evening, so we found ourselves eating single scoops of ice cream outside in fifty-degree weather, amid fifteen-mile-an-hour gusts. It was insanity. But the really good kind.

  Settled back against the well-worn slats of a wooden bench and propping his shoulder against mine, Sean was surprisingly, perhaps even moodily, silent, scooping up bites. I took my cue from him. He finished first, set his cup and spoon aside, and tucked me into the curve of his arm. Or at least he tried. I was proving a little difficult—think Han Solo frozen in carbonite, with a cup of ice cream in one motionless hand and a white plastic spoon in the other. I couldn’t help but wonder, what was the protocol here? A sensible girl finds herself in a far-from-sensible situation, and her date makes a move only minutes before the night—and the romance—must necessarily come to an end. And ... go!

  “Do you ... want a bite?” I asked lamely, twirling my spoon slightly.

  “Where?”

  My girl parts suddenly s
tarted clamoring for attention.

  I didn’t answer—I had no answer—and given the evening’s dynamic, I wasn’t sure an elbow to the stomach was appropriate, which is how I would have dealt with Gabe. At that point, in that position, I wasn’t even sure I could move my elbow.

  “Oh,” Sean wondered aloud, “did you mean a bite of ice cream? I assumed not—isn’t sharing a spoon akin to double-dipping?”

  Someday I was going to find my footing with this man, but right now, I was so out of my depth my ears were popping. Not to mention my eyes.

  “You’re right. My fault. And since I don’t want you to think I’m a tease, I feel like I should offer you something, so where would you like your bite?”

  Now his eyes popped. I smiled and scooped up another bite.

  He let his thumb slide down the back of my neck, and this time my shiver had nothing to do with ice cream or the temperature. Turning to object to such cruel and unusual punishment, I was totally unprepared to be ambushed. But with only a few inches between us, there wasn’t time to object. And to be honest, I wasn’t sure I had that much willpower.

  His teeth—those perfect, straight white ones he’d been flashing since the beginning—settled gently into my lower lip for a playful little nip before his lips took their place.

  I could feel myself melting slowly out of the carbonite and into him. Incompatibility shamelessly forgotten, I let myself sink into this really stellar kiss, let myself imagine the what-ifs ...

  And that’s what did it.

  I suddenly realized I had to stop while I still could.

  We pulled away at exactly the same moment, and I reached my hand up to touch my lips, careful not to meet his eyes. I needed a distraction, a diversion, anything to avoid a second kiss and the complete annihilation of clear thinking. I didn’t think I could handle a second fall into a pool of mind-numbing lust and manage to surface coherent. I was struggling enough as it was.

  “So ... ?” I said, not meeting his gaze. “How’d we get from a mushroom to this?”

  His answer was immediate. “Through dumb luck, dogged pursuit, and winning charm. You’re so adorably in control, it just makes a bloke want to frazzle you. So here we are. Frazzled yet?”

  I figured trying not to blush would be like trying to rein in all that Machiavellian charm, so I gave in to the inevitable, “Yeah, I’d say I’m well and truly frazzled. But I’m confident I’ll bounce right back.”

  Then again, that could just be the bravado talking.

  “Very sporting of you, Ms. James. And now, I have a question of my own.” I could feel the air between us shifting from silly to serious, and I tensed slightly in anticipation. “Just what exactly do you have against a man in a band?”

  Whoa. Did not see that one coming. I supposed my choices were to lie outright or get pegged as a self-important clod.

  Tell him the truth! my conscience demanded. Square hole, round peg, nothing personal.

  I was poised to do it, but I felt my resolve weakening. I was already more than a little seduced and falling further and deeper under his spell. I could hear that little devil on my shoulder again ... Maybe I could stand to be a bit more flexible, a little more adventurous. It’s for a very sexy cause. I glanced at Sean, who was still waiting for my answer. Got lust, Nicola?

  I gave my head a firm shake and started over. I could feel my pulse pounding out the passing seconds, but I couldn’t think through the storm of sensation. This should really be it—the moment of reckoning—but if I was really, painfully honest with myself, I could admit that I didn’t want this thing, whatever it was, to end.

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out, and this entire situation, in all its awkwardness, suddenly seemed undeniably, almost tragically funny. Thus Sean, waiting patiently for an answer, instead found himself faced with a maniacally giggling buffoon.

  I sobered up quickly the second I realized that such a reaction might seem just slightly offensive, given our current situation and the question posed. And this time, I had no problem getting an answer off my tongue.

  “Nothing. I have nothing against a man in a band.” I added a little dismissive shake of my head to punctuate. “I’m very impressed, and honestly, I’m thrilled for you. And flattered you took the time to stalk and bribe me.” The last, I have to admit, came off a little flirty.

  “So you’d have no problem then saying yes to another date?”

  “No. Yes,” I heard myself answering. “Yes to the date.” Fidgety with nerves, I stood and walked the few steps to toss away my trash. So much for sensible.

  Sean followed, and the triumphant look on his face was very flattering indeed. “How about lunch tomorrow?”

  How I remembered Brett amid the fog of infatuation and the haze of lust, I had no idea, but I did, just barely. “Meeting,” I countered, trying to look apologetic as we slowly made our way back to the parking lot.

  “Fair enough. How about dinner and a film downtown tomorrow night?”

  “Are you by any chance referring to a South by Southwest film screening?” I asked.

  “I am.”

  “Do you already have tickets?” I asked him, fully aware that they could sell out quickly.

  “I have been known to occasionally plan ahead,” Sean informed me with a superior smile. “Shall I pick you up at work?”

  We were standing between my sensible little car and his dangerous-looking motorcycle. “How about I meet you,” I countered, eyeing the shiny bike.

  He smirked; clearly I was an open book. But judging from the way his body began leaning toward mine, he didn’t plan to challenge me. His hand tightened on mine, mine tensed in his, and I braced myself for the thrill of yet another kiss.

  It shuddered slowly through me, leaving me limp with appreciation and sighing at its end. This kiss was way more dangerous than the others, probably because he’d clued in to the fact that I was, ever so cautiously, caving. I couldn’t seem to help myself—around Sean it was like I was no longer “master of my domain.” Figuratively speaking.

  Fairy Jane was no doubt smirking to herself over the burgeoning success of her twisted little matchmaking scheme. I didn’t think anyone could argue that I wasn’t taking the romance at least somewhat seriously. Take tomorrow, for example: lunch with one guy, dinner with another. I was seriously in over my head.

  12

  In which agreements are reached

  Stopped at a light on Fifth Street, I realized I should probably head straight home, make myself some hot chocolate, and hunker down with my magical journal and its logic-defying key. I should be curious and eager to do some sleuthing—and I was. But right now, I didn’t want to read about Fairy Jane’s interference in other people’s lives—I wanted to deal with her meddling into mine. I needed some girl talk, and not the kind I was used to getting from next door.

  Glancing at the clock on the dash—quarter after ten—I was pretty confident Beck was still up, either studying or defying the engineering stereotype in some way or another. I reached for the phone. She answered on the first ring.

  “Beck! Hey, it’s Nicola.”

  “Thank God! I left you a message hours ago, after I got your spazzed-out message, and I can only assume you have a very good reason for blowing me off?” The implication was obvious. “I’m ready to forgive. So anytime you’re ready ...”

  I grinned, then bit the inside of my mouth. “Oh, I’m just calling to check in, see how your classes are going,” I lied.

  There was a beat of silence on her end of the line, and I could hear funky music from unidentifiable instruments. My imagination ran wild, and I pictured an apartment with lots of jewel-toned floor pillows and dark wood, the air swirling with smoky incense. My nose wrinkled up a little.

  “O-kay,” she said. “Things are good. I aced two exams this week—Control Systems and Lasers. Is that enough foreplay? Ready to get to the good stuff?”

  “What?” It came out half-shocked, half-amused.

  “I’m guessi
ng you called with something more interesting than the day-to-day dramas in the College of Engineering, so as your very devoted mentee, let me just give you permission to gloss over my less-than-exciting life.”

  My smile widened as I took a moment to revel in my life’s recent juiciness.

  “Okay then. Way to go on the exams,” I said, trying to legitimatize our mentor / mentee relationship just slightly.

  “Thank you. Now spill it. Or do you want a face-to-face? Because I’m totally up for it if you are. I’m actually a little burned out on studying, particularly while Talitha is trying her—well, belly, I suppose—at belly dancing. With all those little coins clinking and fabrics shimmying, it’s unbelievably distracting.”

  “I’ll bet. Well, if you’re positive it wouldn’t be interrupting something more important, then in-person would be great.”

  “Awesome. It’s Glow Bowl night at the Texas Union.”

  My eyebrows came together in uncertainty. “Glow Bowl night?”

  “Come on! It’s the perfect place to gossip—no one will overhear a thing.”

  Somehow I found myself agreeing to that, and ten minutes later, I was descending underground, into the din. Between the music (that rock / rap combo stuff), the crack of pool balls, the smack of bowling pins, and the animated conversation, I felt confident my secrets would stay with me. Beck would be lucky to pick up the general gist.

  It was just now occurring to me that I wasn’t exactly dressed for bowling. I didn’t even have a pair of socks. Eyeing the line of worn bowling shoes getting sprayed with aerosol deodorant on the counter, I suppressed a shudder.

  When I noticed Beck waving from a lane to my far right, I tried not to react. While it had recently become somewhat socially acceptable, I would never be caught out in pajamas—particularly the sock monkey variety—paired with a thermal tee and a ski vest. Although I had to admit, with her hair cocked out in twin ponytails, the pink streaking through, she looked cute and enviably comfortable. Like she belonged down here. Me? Not so much. News flash from the UT Student Union ...