I sigh, utterly disgusted with myself, as I push off from the door. The ache is so sharp in my heart, and all I can think is: what the hell is wrong with me? This is stupid, ridiculous.
I'm not in some romance novel; this is life. And life doesn't give you a gorgeous warrior woman you're desperately attracted to on another world...usually, and it certainly doesn't give you a relationship with said gorgeous warrior woman. That's not how life works.
And I've known that and been perfectly okay with that fact my entire existence. I found and fell in love with women the “normal” way: at bars, at restaurants, at the gym. And I did fall in love with those women, though it scares me that I never felt as strongly about any of the women I slept with, dated for so long, the way that I feel about Attis.
The way I feel about Attis...
I bite my lip hard and shake my head, glancing around the room again as I try to stop thinking. The room itself is very small, with wood paneling that the seventies would have been proud of, a rough wood floor, and roughly hewn bed frames. There are two beds, though they're more narrow than twin beds, but that's okay—there are two of them, and that will alleviate any awkwardness that might have been created by having to share a bed.
Oh, God, who am I kidding? There would have been no awkwardness. At this point, I'm reacting to Attis like a hormonal teenager would. I probably would have thrown myself on her the minute she slid into a bed we shared and tried to make out with her.
Dammit, seriously, I'm driving myself crazy. I run my hand through my hair, biting at my lip again and sinking down on the closest bed to the door. Wonder jumps up next to me and begins to knead the blanket with half-closed eyes, purring louder than a tiger growls as she blinks sleepily at me.
“This has been a really weird day, babe,” I tell my cat, rubbing gently behind her ears as I get lost in thought again. Wonder turns and affectionately sinks her fangs into my hand, but I keep petting her, and she removes her mouth. It's just like old times.
Except it's not like old times at all. I just saw the ghost of a woman hang herself off the beam of a tavern in another world.
Yeah. Really not like old times at all.
The door to the room begins to open, but then the lock catches it, and I rise quickly as a soft knock comes at the door.
“Josie?” asks a low voice. Attis.
“Sorry,” I tell her, crossing to the door and throwing back the lock. I open the door for her, but she doesn't cross the threshold, only places her arm at shoulder height on the door frame and leans against it, watching me for a long moment with her glittering, amber eyes, and such an intense expression that I'm instantly weak in the knees.
Thoroughly disgusted with myself, I try to straighten, try to lift my chin and not give a damn that her intense, smoldering expression does anything to me. I return her gaze, and I hold it with the same strength that I used when I got the job at the radio station, the same strength that I used when I debated Deb for a prime-time slot for my radio show.
I've got strength in spades, and Attis doesn't have to affect me if I don't let her.
She sighs for a long moment, her frown making her lips downturn. “Did...my friends say anything to you? Were they rude?” she asks me quietly. I stare at her with wide eyes; then my instincts kick back into gear, and my mouth starts talking before my brain catches up.
“No, no, nothing at all. They were great,” I tell her, pasting on the big smile that I always wear when I'm announcing the good news on the radio—not the bad stories, but the type of stories that you'd smile at, like the one about a puppy being rescued from a burning building. I take a deep breath, let my radio personality take over. “So, what are you going to do to get rid of that ghost?”
That's when Attis pushes off from the door frame and steps inside of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
“Ah, yes,” she says with a small grimace. “Sadly, I'm not exactly certain how to remove the ghost, but then...I'm sure I can figure it out.”
I stare at her for a long moment, mouth open. “For real? You don't know what to do?” I fold my arms tightly in front of me with a frown. “Then why the hell did you say you could do it, if you don't know how?”
Attis glances at me with one brow raised, her lips downturning at the corners into a deep frown. “Josie, it's not that I can't do it,” she tells me sharply. “It's that I've not tried. Those are two very different things. I'm sure I can do it. And, anyway, that's what a mercenary does. You take a job so that you can put food in your belly and have an occasional soft place to rest your head. Most of the jobs I've taken, other than exterminating large beasts or ferrying noble folk from one place to another, I'd certainly not done before, but I simply had to figure out for myself.”
“But...but...” I spread my hands. “I mean, this is a getting rid of a ghost. Like, an honest-to-goodness ghost. Even the Ghostbusters had problems getting rid of honest-to-goodness ghosts,” I tell her, and when her eyebrow rises higher, I realize that I don't want to have to explain what the Ghostbusters are, or what movies are... I shake my head. “I just don't think it's as easy as, say, killing a cannibal werewolf,” I tell her, gesturing to my coat.
“Killing a cannibal werewolf, as you so succinctly put it,” she tells me with eyes that are beginning to flash, “was hardly a moment of apple picking.”
I actually laugh at that, the humor surprises me so much. Her intensity is gone, and she's chuckling a little, too.
“I mean, how do you even go about beginning to get rid of a ghost?” I ask her. Then I lower my voice, “It's actually a ghost, right?” I gesture down to my Scooby Doo shirt, visible under the open coat. “I mean, it could be someone pretending to be a ghost, couldn't it? And—”
“Why would anyone do anything so preposterous as pretending to be a ghost?” she asks me, eyes wide, and I realize it's a genuine question.
“Uh...lots of reasons,” I begin, remembering all of my favorite episodes of Scooby Doo, but then I fall silent. I am being far too dorky. “Okay,” I tell her, rocking back on my heels. “Are you going to do, like, a ghost exorcism or something?”
“You keep using words,” she says, her mouth twitching at the corners as she tries to suppress a smile, “whose meaning I can only guess at. But this one, in particular, has me quite stumped.”
“Exorcism equals getting rid of ghosts. Banishing them,” I tell her with a small smile.
“Exorcism. That's a much more succinct way of putting it. I like it. I may have to start using that word,” she says, and then she gives me a small, quick wink. If I wasn't holding her gaze, I never would have noticed it.
And, again, whether I want it to or not, my heart begins to beat just a bit faster inside of my chest, even as I try to take deep, even breaths, even as I command my heart to steady. I think about anything, everything else: I think about hot dogs on the street corners of Boston, and how now—when there's absolutely no way in this world I can get one—I'm craving a damn hot dog so badly that I can't stand it. I think about the radio station, and I wonder what Carly did when I didn't show up to the meeting. I think about...
Attis. And how she's close enough to kiss, her beautiful mouth turning into a slow, soft smile as she stares down at me, her amber eyes warm and soft.
“Are you thirsty?” I blurt out, and then I take a step backward, my hand going to the roughly made ceramic pitcher of water that stands on a small table in the corner of the room.
“Not particularly,” she tells me, her eyes amused as she glances around the room, her gloved fingers going to the leather bands at her sides that keep the armor tightly pressed against her body. She begins to undo the leather thongs. “Which bed do you prefer?”
“It doesn't matter to me,” I tell her, realizing that she's about to start undressing. Sure, I saw her naked this morning, and that memory will be burned in my mind and heart forever.
I turn away from her, swallowing hard.
Good God, when did I become such a pru
de? I go to the gym; I'm in the locker room, and when I'm in the locker room, yeah, I look at the ladies, but I'm never a blushing idiot about it. I like to think I'm pretty damn suave and stealth about it, actually. My last girlfriend was a woman I asked out in the locker room, and though we only lasted for a few weeks, I was charismatic and my usual charming, sarcastic self when I talked her up, even though she was just wearing a sports bra and a thong.
But now here's Attis. And Attis apparently turns me into a tongue-tied, red-faced idiot. And she's the one woman that I really don't want to be a tongue-tied, red-faced idiot around.
The leather thongs at her sides fall away as she unties them with deft fingers, and then she's lifting the chest piece and back piece of her armor up and over her head, letting it thud gently onto its side on the bed.
I saw Attis put this armor on this morning, but watching her take it off is even more intriguing and captivating and utterly sexy, if you could believe that. I purposefully turn away again (my gaze keeps being pulled back to her like a gravity, and I have to concentrate on not concentrating on her), and I sink down onto the edge of the other bed, which Wonder now leaps onto, too, kneading the blanket on this one to make it acceptable for her to sit upon. I pat her head absentmindedly, scratching under her chin as I sit up straighter, stiffening. I just heard the leather and metal skirt that Attis is wearing hit the floor.
“Are you really so modest, Josie?” asks Attis again, her words low. I can hear the smile in her voice. I bristle, but then I grit my jaw, shake my head.
“No,” I tell her, the word sounding a hell of a lot more petulant than I wanted it to sound. “Of course I'm not,” I continue, rising and turning to face her, crossing my arms as she stands there in her leather pants and shirt, her hip jutted to one side and angling toward me. She places her hands on her hips, lifts her chin defiantly.
“Right,” she tells me, and then a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth again as she reaches down, curls her fingers around the hem of her shirt, and smoothly pulls the fabric over her head.
“So. Kell,” I say hoarsely, desperate for a change of subject to turn this situation around, so that it starts to have some semblance of normalcy—despite the half-naked woman rummaging around in her pack.
I try not to stare at her like some hormonal teenager who never gets laid. “Kell,” I repeat, licking my dry lips when she flicks her gaze my way. “How do you two, uh, know each other?” I stare purposefully at Attis, and I probably look really intense right now as I try very, very hard not to stare at her chest. I hold her gaze like an unhinged person, desperately taking deep, calming breaths.
I probably look like I'm hyperventilating.
“We used to be knights together, she and I,” says Attis, pulling a black shirt out of the pack. She turns it in her hands, the fabric sliding over her long fingers like silk. “We went through the training together to become knights, and because of that, we're very close. It was difficult, the training.” She shakes out the shirt and then pulls it on over her head, tugging it down over her chest and smooth stomach. This shirt is much more form-fitting than the poet's shirt she was wearing before, the fabric taut over the muscles of her arms.
“Is Kell still a knight?” I ask, before I realize that that might be a pretty insensitive thing to say, but Attis simply nods, pulling her hair through the neck hole of the shirt so that it brushes the tops of her shoulders again. Her hair shimmers in the candlelight, the deep red of it shot through with strands of gold.
“Yes. Most of the women at the table you just met are my comrades, and they're still knights. There are a few who have taken the mercenary path, like myself. But mostly, they're knights.” She glances up at me now, tugging her shirt down as her warm, amber eyes narrow. “I must ask, Josie—did Alinor proposition you?”
Wow, that question came from left field. “Alinor?” My mouth is still too dry. “No,” I say, leaning away from her as I uncross my arms and bury my hands in my coat pockets. I should probably take the coat off, but it's not as if this room is warm. There's a small fire in the fireplace in the corner, and when I say “small fire,” I mean small fire. I'll probably wake up tomorrow morning with a frost-bit nose.
Attis takes a step toward me, but then she pauses as if she's run into a wall. I glance up at her just as a look flashes across her face; I'm not able to interpret it before she frowns. “If Alinor had propositioned you,” Attis says, one brow raised artfully, “what might you have said?”
I frown as I look at her. This is a...pretty odd line of questioning, one I really wasn't prepared for. But then, I'm used to dealing with this kind of stuff, right? The radio show never goes quite as planned, and it's always (always) best to simply be honest. “Alinor's nice and all,” I say quickly, my heart thrumming against my ribs as I hold Attis' gaze. “But...she's not my type.”
Attis sighs for a small moment; then she shakes her head, tilting away from me. “Ah,” she says.
“Ah?” I persist, because there's a turning in my stomach, and for some reason, I really want to know why she's asking me this. I feel, for a moment, that I gave the wrong answer.
“She's a good knight, Alinor,” says Attis, avoiding my gaze as she gently places the chest piece and back piece of her armor on the floor, leaning them up against the wall.
“I'm sure,” I say quietly, utterly mystified. “Attis,” I say then, pushing through the discomfort as I take a deep breath, “why do you ask?”
She faces, chin raised, gaze unwavering.
“Do you like women, Josie?” asks Attis, pinning me down with her flashing amber eyes.
O...kay. That cut to the chase.
“Yes,” I tell her with a shrug. “I do.”
I've always been perfectly open about who and what I am. And considering that Kell hit on me down in the tavern, and apparently Alinor is into the ladies, too, and that Attis was once lovers with a woman named Hera...I'm fairly certain that, blessedly, lesbianism is kind of a thing here, too.
But when I tell Attis “yes,” something crosses her face again.
And then she crosses the room.
That wasn't the reaction I'd been expecting, especially considering that Kell kind of just gave me a stern talking to about Attis' deceased lover and how Attis really doesn't have time in her life right now for anything related to attraction. But Attis is standing in front of me now, her amber eyes darkening as she gazes down at me.
Her lips are parted, and she's gazing at my mouth...which makes every single inch of my body start to tingle, like electricity crackling over my skin. But as I stare up at Attis, as I feel the warmth of her body so close to mine begin to warm me, too, I remember what Kell said, and the memory into me like an enormous, frozen wave of water: There must be a reason that she has you with her. She isn't altruistic, Josie.
God, it hurts to even think about it, but I have to. What if the reason I'm here with Attis now is only because I'm some sort of traveling booty call?
What if Attis is letting me go with her to Arktos City so that she has someone she can do whenever she feels like it?
As Attis stands over me, as she bends her beautiful head toward mine, her dark red hair sweeping over her shoulder in a soft shush of sound, my breathing quickens, my heart beating so fast, the blood roaring through my veins, that I'm starting to feel a little lightheaded.
Okay...so what if Attis wants me around for a traveling booty call? Would that really be so bad? I mean, it's not as if I'm a stranger to the concept. After I broke up with Alexandra that one time, we were friends with benefits for, like, an entire year. And, let me be perfectly honest with you, that was pretty damn spectacular. We were both too busy, at the time, for a relationship, and we were pretty good friends, and, hell, we were attracted to one another. So, we thought, why not? And it really worked for us, until Alexandra decided to enter the dating pool again. And then we stopped our amorous relations with absolutely no hard feelings.
So, I know I can do this; I know that I c
an have sex with a woman without necessarily entering a relationship with her. I could probably do it, no problem, is that's what Attis wanted.
But...I don't want it, I realize.
I don't want “friends with benefits.” I don't want sex without attachment, as amazing as it would probably be. I don't want lack of feelings, lack of emotion and emotional investment and commitment...
Not with Attis.
I want...something else entirely.
Wow. I didn't realize what I wanted until right this moment, right as Attis bends down toward me, right as I realize that we're about to kiss, her warm, full lips close enough to taste if I just lean forward, just a little.
I want something more, something so deeply impossible that I've tried not to think about it so much that it hurts to try to push it out of my head now.
I want to have a shot with Attis.
Like, a real shot. Like, a falling-in-love shot, a relationship, a shot at all of those great, getting-to-know-you firsts of dating, of learning the intimate dance of sharing your personal space, your hopes, your dreams, your body, your heart with someone else.
I want a shot at something we have absolutely no chance of ever having.
And anything else would be heartbreaking, knowing how I feel about Attis. I've finally allowed the severity of my feelings for her to come crashing down at me, even as she holds me in that gorgeous, intense gaze, as she leans toward me with her warmth, with her gravity pulling me toward her. I'm incapable of stopping this.
But I have to stop this.
I've never felt this way in my entire life. I thought I had—twice. I thought I'd fallen in love two times before now, but this lifting in my heart, this intensity and pull and gravity...I've never felt this before, not ever.
I've just met Attis, and from the very first moment I saw her, I knew. There was something between us that I've tried to deny, have tried to deny for about twenty-four hours straight, and there's no use denying it.
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