by Casey Morgan
As I said, I’ve never been the greatest or smoothest pick up artist. I tend to be blunt. Sometimes eloquent, but mostly straightforward. Committed to myself and my feelings, once I’ve had them, so it was no surprise when I leaned up into her long red hair and whispered in her ear, “I want you. I want to have you as my final drink of the night.”
Of course, she was surprised. Nervous with that admission of mine, given how many other things I had had to drink. But I really felt that way. Holding her the way I was, it felt better than anything had the right to feel.
But here was someone new, a bartending ballerina in my mind, who was making me feel things I didn’t know I’d be able to feel again. Butterflies in my stomach as if I was asking a girl to the middle-school dance.
“Don’t be afraid,” I told her quietly, watching her push away slightly. “I won’t take what you won’t give willingly. I’m not a bastard.”
I wasn’t. Unlike my ex-friend, Carl, I actually cared about people. So, even as I moved to pull her back toward me, to tell her again how much I wanted her, I was careful. Respectful.
“Just a little sip?” I asked, leaning in to kiss her. My lips brushed her chin.
“You’re going too fast,” she said softly. Regretfully, as if she felt like she had to say that in this situation, whether she wanted to or not, whether she felt that way or not. Her dark eyes and face echoed this, as she moved away.
But, if she were hoping to escape attention by doing so, she only escaped mine.
Immediately upon breaking free of my hold, she was scooped up by Travis. The way he swooped in, bracing her from her near-trip-and-fall, and spun her into the perfect dancing position, made me jealous. Also awestruck.
For someone I’d known to be full of attitude—feisty aloofness at best and unsure, clammed-up quietness at worst—he was a regular Romeo at the ball. And, as far as I was concerned, legitimate, frustrating competition. Something Alex looked like he agreed with me on.
Chapter Seven
Travis
The moment that Gwendolyn was in my arms, I never wanted her to leave. It just felt right to me, which, by all accounts, should have been so, so wrong.
Usually, with this kind of dancing, I spent more time worrying about getting the steps right. Getting the moves down; the way they were supposed to go, but not now. Not here.
I was strangely relaxed. Strangely at peace, dancing with Gwendolyn. In no particular way, but gliding with her like she was something worth gentleness. Worth diving deeper into, which I definitely wanted to do.
As my luck would have it, the moment I had this thought, the perfect slow song came on over the jukebox. A jukebox I didn’t even know was there until the music came on, and swept under my feet like a bit of movie magic.
I slid one hand down her back, testing my boundaries and hers. Nothing. I then moved my hand to her waist and then hips. Still nothing much. A shy, I-know-what-you’re-doing-and-I’m-not-sure-I’m-into-it-but-I’m-not-going-to-say-anything-yet smile. Not the encouragement I was looking for.
So, I continued my dancing path with her, careful to avoid the tables and chairs. I also avoided the glares I got from Alex, standing by the magic jukebox. It was him who had given us our current dancing rhythm, and yet he wasn’t getting to enjoy it.
Sweeping my medium-length black hair back with a toss of my head, I said, “Sorry if you’re not enjoying yourself. I’m not much of a dancer. This kind of dancing, anyway.” I was trying to come across as debonair and ineffectual. “I’m more of a club and rave kind of guy. Not all this slow dancing stuff.”
I tried to make it sound like I had the makings of a cool, bad boy. A guy Gwendolyn would enjoy running off with tonight and having sex with, even if that wasn’t her plan, because I was just that appetizing. That thrilling.
Though I worked to exude this kind of aura, and flash her a 1950s-heart-throb grin (something I thought she might find irresistible, and comforting, since she looked as unsure as I felt), Gwendolyn didn’t immediately flirt back. Not at the level I wanted her to. She didn’t make a move to come closer or wrap some fingers around my neck or something.
I twirled her around, hoping to change my current train of thought. A train of thought currently crashing into all of my fears and insecurities.
Oh my God, Travis. What if she is just tolerating you dancing with her? What if, this whole time, she’s just waiting for a way to break away from you? To break it to you that you really suck at trying to pick any woman up? That you really aren’t as suave as you’re trying to come across?
I stiffened, trying to push those thoughts away. I succeeded somewhat. But only because I forced my attention to go back to Gwendolyn’s face. Her large, warm brown eyes. They reminded me of reddish, golden-brown almonds. Her lips were a darker pink too. Like a raspberry, instead of a rose or cherry blossom.
If she was really bored out of her mind, she hid it well. She looked like she was enjoying studying my face, more than dancing. Watching me try to impress her, more than any actual convincing I might be doing.
“I’d like to take you home with me,” I said.
I didn’t know what compelled me to say it. I didn’t know where my filter was, or who threw it out, but I blamed it on her eyes, their hypnotic, compelling quality.
“I’d like to show you a dance I’m better at, Gwendolyn.” Saying this, I leaned in closer. Smothered the grunting and eye rolling my brain was doing at my corny pickup line. “I think you’ll find I’m a lot more surefooted. A lot more graceful there than here.”
Gwendolyn hummed pleasantly, but it was nowhere near sounding intoxicated or enraptured with me or my suggestion. Rather, it was observational. Like she was evaluating my offer for what it told her about me, not about what I was offering.
As I moved my hand back on to the middle of her back from her hip, I studied her. Searched her face and body language for any sure-fire clues at how she felt about me. What that offer told her. But I couldn’t make anything concrete out. She looked slightly interested. Warmed by that idea, but not enough for me to make a move.
Her eyes held sweetness and patience for me. Interest for my eyes and lips as well, but she’d been giving all of us the same kind of attention. The same kind of eye, stolen smiles and glances.
For that reason, it was a nightmare. I couldn’t decipher whether I should make a move or not. Whether she was giving me smiles and glances because she actually liked me, or because that was how she did business? Was that how she made sure one-time customers became regulars?
My stomach and back clenched at that thought. I didn’t like it one fucking bit. Not only because that would mean she was just playing me—all of us for our money. I wouldn’t blame her if she did, but it wasn’t just that. It was the fact that I would have to believe she was a manipulator, a faker. And I just couldn’t do that with her. She seemed too genuine and sweet for such an awful label.
Those lips and eyes of hers, were too pure. That smile and giggle coming out of her mouth now…too adorable to be the work of a con artist.
Initially, I didn’t think I’d moved. I didn’t think I’d decided to do anything in response to this. Only observe it in my mind and heart. And then, there I was. Kissing her. Pressing my lips on hers, deciding that this was the only way I was going to find out how fake or real this sweet, delectable hostess was.
And, and seconds, I had my answer.
She melted, relented to my lips, gave up the sweetest little puff of breath into my mouth, that was it. I knew there was nothing fake about the way she was looking at me.
Following my instincts, I dipped her. I twirled her into a more all-consuming taste of me. Which was going swimmingly in the direction of my fantasies, of her melting into my arms, and then my bed sheets, later.
Until I dipped and twirled her right into David’s arms.
Fuck.
Just as soon as I’d had her, I lost her— to my supposed “friend”. I supposed all was fair in love and war, and Davi
d was clearly putting up as much of a fight for Gwendolyn as I was.
Chapter Eight
Gwendolyn
Ever since that pack of beautiful, mysterious human men came gliding in here, ordered a few drinks, and started making offers to dance with me, I’d not been myself. In fact, I’d been stunned.
Was this the fates’ answers to my prayers? Had these humans been sent to help me complete the Seeding Spell and save Love’s Hollow? Could one of them get me pregnant in time to complete the spell during the Harvest Festival? And if so, which one?
I’d been flirting with the five humans. Giving them more love and attention than I ever gave regular customers. Particularly men, as I’d learned in the past to never give my heart to a patron.
Mostly from hearing horror stories from Grandma. Warnings she used to give me when I was a young teenager and becoming sexually aware; wondering why and how everyone got boyfriends before I did, and what they all had that I didn’t.
Grandma always used to say that there was a special guy out there for me somewhere, but I wouldn’t find him at the other end of a beer mug. Anyway, I’d better not, she’d said, anytime I brought it up. Not unless I wanted to spend my life competing with sour mash and barley malt for his affections.
But for some reason, I hadn’t put my usual distance, or my walls up around these men. If anything, I’d been more inviting, more playful than I had any right to be with a group of humans obviously flirting with me, kissing me and stealing me from each other’s grasps. A fact I was still dizzy from, both emotionally and physically.
Even though David — the other blonde man who’d given me his business card — had taken me away from the dark-haired Romeo, I think his name was Travis, who was desperate to jump into bed with me. I could still feel Travis’ lips on mine.
Travis’ eyes were on me now too, but that’s because he was busy scowling at us, at the back of David’s expertly cut and combed head. Seeing this, I couldn’t help but imagine the dark-haired one sulking. I could imagine him actually stomping up here like an angry werewolf and decking him. Taking David down, before he took me in hand, and spirited me away.
Travis would then made good on his promise to show me what an excellent lover he really was. Though I hadn’t known what to say to his forward suggestion, I liked how adorably frustrated he looked when he asked to take me home.
One of them— Robert— didn’t seem to have any interest in me. But then I would catch him looking at me when he didn’t think I was paying attention to him. I liked that look of lust that appeared in his eyes.
I liked it just as much as I found myself admiring David, as he swept a bit of my hair behind my ear. He used that motion as an excuse to tilt my head away from his companion and competition.
David was beautiful. Just like the rest of them, but in an exacting, professional way. Like he could’ve acted in movies as a colonel, a Highland tribe leader. He was muscled but clean-cut, but also soft and vulnerable. Looking at him as I was now, I kept thinking he belonged in a fashion magazine or an art book. His features were so strong and chiseled they deserved to be framed and appreciated deeply.
Unlike his drinking buddies, David did not immediately make a pass at me. Instead, he waltzed me back through some tables and chairs, right in front of the first man who’d gotten his dance. The long-haired one. Eric.
Probably to make him jealous. It wouldn’t surprise me if that was David’s one and only reason, but my reaction to it was even more surprising. I actually enjoyed getting to be in his arms while this other guy watched. While the other human men thirsted after every motion of my legs and hips, the way Eric had thirsted after all different types of drinks and food.
Even with Eric’s long chestnut hair and soft eyes (things that made me think he might be into meditation, yoga, or organic microbreweries), he could drink. But he drank with dignity. He had come at me with a refined flirtation, which I was more than happy to encourage, as it meant I got to be around him—all of them—more.
And that’s when I had a series of disturbing, revealing thoughts that night. Not for the first time, I wondered what the hell was the matter with me? How could I feel so comfortable and safe with these human men?
And then I was all alone with them. There were no more patrons besides them. They put the “closed” sign up, and the cook and dishwasher had left some time ago. By all rights, I should be worried. I should be afraid at what four human men could, would, and might do to one witch — me — in a bar, late at night, and with no one else around. No one left to care.
They could do all sorts of things to me. Scary things, said my conscious, logical mind. There are five of them and only one of you. They could really get up to some bad stuff, lady.
But I couldn’t convince myself to become afraid, no matter where my logical mind started to take me, I couldn’t see any threat anywhere. Just more adorableness everywhere. Preciousness in each pair of eyes, each pair of lips, not violence.
They all had adorable things about them. The other blonde, David’s younger brother, he looked like the type to enjoy a good practical joke, while at the same time being practical and reliable. As we glided passed him by the jukebox, I saw his face war between amazement and irritation.
He showed appreciation of me and my gracefulness, and jealousy at not being the one in the lead. My cheeks flushed, imagining him fighting his brother for me. Putting me between them for a sexy, adorable tug-of-war.
From there, I added in the other boys, the hippie and the bad boy and their quiet, reserved friend Robert, imagining that they too had some interest in me. Some desire to fight. Now I was being pulled in five separate directions, and oddly enough, I didn’t mind.
In my head, I actually enjoyed being so loved. So protected. Treated like a precious, small-batch distillate. Something of great value to be worshiped and savored.
But, as I imagined myself pulled from one man to the next to the next, much like what had already happened tonight, I couldn’t imagine myself with just one. I couldn’t imagine myself ever choosing one over another.
These guys were like Swiss chocolate. You couldn’t just choose one. You might want to. You might think you should, but you really couldn’t. How was I going to pick one to father my child?
Without meaning to, I moaned aloud. I whined at this impossible, frustrating choice.
If I had to choose, I could never make that choice! How could I?
My eyes caught each of them, one after the other again. They’d all come around me and around David, who pulled me closer. Whether to protect or possess me, I didn’t know and didn’t care.
I would never be able to choose between them! They are all so sexy and unique. Special in their own way!
I didn’t want to choose, though! Even if I have to. Even if I should, because it’s right and fair to have one partner, one mate not four, that seems like a crime. A travesty to force four out while only accepting one! I couldn’t do that. It would just be too cruel.
Boring too, added a part of myself swelling with heat and hunger at the four pairs of eyes watching me.
What if you didn’t have to choose? What about that?
I let that thought go as soon as I thought it.
But it didn’t matter. Whatever censoring job my brain tried to do, David obliterated it the moment he opened his mouth to ask me a question. The moment he leaned into me and whispered into my ear, “Which one of us do you want?”
The way he asked, it was much deeper and huskier sounding, much wilder and hungrier than I would’ve expected from a guy that looked as clean-shaven as he was.
Oh, fuck me! Was I that fucking obvious? Have I just been eye-fucking all of them the whole entire goddamn time?
Furtively, I looked at the assembled audience. At each of the five faces, fearing, loving and dreading the way I felt when admiring all of their different traits and characteristics. Also, I wondered if they’d heard David’s question to me. Whether it they were waiting for an answer as m
uch is he was. Breathing down my neck and that sexy, impatient way that he had.
He coaxed me to look up at him, asking me the same question with his eyes this time, casting them around the circle at the same time. The way he did so, it was like he was thumbing through my options, observing them with me.
I couldn’t answer him. Maybe not now, maybe never. Just like I couldn’t answer myself. Didn’t want to answer myself.
So, David answered for me, “All five of us? Is that what you want?”
As this series of questions slid across my ears and down the front of my blouse and bra, I definitely didn’t trust myself to answer.
So, I didn’t.
But then I started panicking. Freaking out that my silence was more of an answer than my silence before was.
Oh my God, my God, oh my God, what does he think of me now?
He probably thinks I’m a fucking pervert. He probably thinks I’m the biggest, most well-hidden kink freak out there! I felt myself warming, sweating and boxing him with my erratic heartbeats, but I couldn’t stop any of it.
As if to confirm my suspicions of what he thinks of me, David chuckled just as the thoughts faded from my head. That was also the moment the music faded from the room, and the moment he let me stand there in the center of all of them, just like in my thoughts.
Chapter Nine
Gwendolyn
But the fates were kind. Before I had time or space to worry about just how open-minded I’d been with all of my thoughts and feelings, Alex came swooping in. He took me for another little jaunt over to the jukebox to finish shutting it off, he said, “David can be intimidating, but don’t worry about him. You’ve got me now.”
He kept one hand on me, while using the other to mess expertly with the equipment, bring down switches and turn knobs to kill the power. And briefly, I thought about those hands touching all of my knobs and switches.