Love Spell

by Crowe, Stan

  “See what you made me do?” she screamed. “What if there had been someone behind us? Huh? We would have been rear-ended, and that would have ended your little joyride real fast!”

  Clint blinked, and smirked. That was more like it. “Yeah, about this joyride. Can we put it on pause and grab a bite?”

  “No!”

  He blinked. “Where are we?”

  “Driving to Seattle!”

  “Duh.”

  “What is your problem?”

  He shrugged, and gestured at a large grain silo in the middle distance. “We’re headed north on the Five. Through farmland. How long was I out?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject!”

  “I already did. Twice. Right after you did your little brake test maneuver.”

  “We could have been killed!”

  He spread his hands. “Kind of the running theme for today. Did you miss the memo?”

  She harrumphed. “You are so immature!”

  That was worth an open laugh. “I haven’t heard that phrase since high school. Or in that tone of voice either. Remind me how old you are?”

  He noticed her freeze at the mention of high school, and squinted, hoping to catch some clue. She gave none.

  “And just why, exactly, is this my fault?” she shot back.

  “Which part?”

  “You know which part! You were the one who accused me in the first place!”

  “You really don’t have to yell, Self. I’m not even three feet—”

  Her backhand was surprisingly fast. Clint’s head rebounded off the headrest, and tiny fireflies danced before his eyes.

  “Do not call me Self!”

  “Ah, man, Sully. That’s twice now you’ve gone and touched me. See? That is why it’s your fault.”

  Though he knew he was goading her for the fun of it, the fury in her eyes, the white in her knuckles as they knotted around the steering wheel, the way her whole body trembled even while she sat statue-still in her seat actually made him wonder whether he’d taken things too far. If nothing else, fears of her condition getting increasingly worse with the second Touch—the way it had with every other girl—were valid. Still, he was right—she was cute when agitated.

  Her voice started to a throaty growl, and sharpened as she spoke. “I’ll keep hitting you until you quit screwing around and tell me why it’s my fault that my car is smoking ruins, I’m now a criminal, you seriously upset my mother, and why we are now fleeing the state for our lives.”

  He sighed and chewed on his lip. “Look, we already handled that back in town.” Then, softer he added, “I was talking about the way you feel about me.”

  “The way I feel about you?” She gasped. “How do you think I feel about you? You think you’re some stud who can waltz into a girl’s life and she’ll go ga-ga over you? Are you seriously that arrogant to think that girls just melt at your touch,” and she feigned swooning, “and that you’re God’s gift to women? If you think—”

  “Let me ask you this,” he interjected. “What did you feel when you hit me? Or even the time earlier, when you grabbed my shoulder?”

  Sullivan came up short. “What do you mean?”

  “It wasn’t a very complicated question. Use your P.I. skills. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You want me.”

  “You’re imagining things,” she huffed, glancing to the left. “The only thing between us is a strictly professional relationship. To even begin to suggest that I would have any sort of romantic feelings—or even friendship—is simply naïve and unfounded, and—”

  “You’re lying.”

  “What? How dare you accuse me of that. If anyone is an authority on my emotions, it’s me. What makes you think you have any idea of how I feel or—”

  “It’s in your eyes,” he said. “Look, Sullivan, I know you felt something. You really don’t think I saw how you reacted? I’ve been dealing with this for four freaking months now. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

  Clint sighed and slumped back in his chair. “This is why I need to find Fey,” he said quietly, “and why I actively avoided touching you all those times. It’s not because you’re repulsive or anything. In fact, you’re quite the opposite.”

  Confusion and frustration shadowed her face. “Clint, I really don’t think we should be having this kind of a discussion right—”

  “You’re sharp, amusing, and you seem to have your head on straight. You had the guts to go into business for yourself—that, among other things, suggests you’re not a wimp. Oh, and you’re good at yelling. That little aggressive streak is kind of cute, actually.”

  He half shrugged. “Take it for what it’s worth, but under normal circumstances I would have asked you out already. Right now, though, things are too… complicated.”

  Sullivan sneered ever so slightly. “You’re making up excuses.”

  “Excuses for what?”

  “Forget it.”

  Clint cocked an eyebrow over a squint. “Wait a second. You wanted me to ask you out?” He sat back and his mouth stretched into a grin. “Sully, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me since we met.”

  She gasped. “I do not want you to ask me out, thank you very much.”

  He leaned in, and she froze again. “Then why would you care about whether I was making up reasons not to ask you out?” he asked quietly.

  She said nothing.

  “See? I was right?” Clint leaned back and laced his fingers together behind his head. “Sully, Sully, Sully. You really are something. It almost makes me wish I weren’t in this predicament. It would be fun to badger you to the point of loving me.”

  Her face flushed, but she continued to hold her tongue.

  “That said, having women in my life right now doesn’t seem to be a good idea in general. Believe me, I’d love to have one, too. But the way things have gone lately… yeah. Michelle, then Cassie—for a weekend—and then… Never mind, I shouldn’t get started.” He shook his head. “And now Jane. She’s the latest in a long-and-growing list. Well—take that back—you’re the latest in a long-and-growing list, followed by those women from the bus. But they don’t count. You do.”

  He looked out the window for a while, admiring the calm green of the fields. If he had to choose a color from his pallet to paint the scene, it would be a blend of forest green with a bit of sea foam, touched up with some pale yellow, all under a happy sky blue canopy. If only life could be as simple as painting.

  “I’m taking a serious chance on my life,” he resumed, “just by being in the same car with you. I won’t lie—I’m a tiny bit nervous about this,” and he gestured to himself, then her, and then the car around them. “Who knows how long until you run us into some ditch, knock me out, and drag me away bound and gagged?”

  For an instant it looked as though she may respond, but she disappointed him again.

  “That said, no one has been quite as lethal-crazy as Jane, so maybe riding with you won’t be so bad for my health. Look, I’ll play along with your little, ‘I don’t lust for Clint’ charade as long as you refrain from touching me further. Deal?”

  Sullivan muttered something.

  “Come again?”

  She muttered a second time, but even straining to hear, Clint could only make out the word “think.”

  “Okay, let’s try that one more—”

  “Do you think she’s pretty?”

  Clint jumped back in his seat. “Who? Jane?”

  “Yes, Jane,” she whispered, a note of bitterness tugging at the edge of her words.

  “Jane’s one of the hottest girls I’ve ever seen, yeah. I’ve thought that since probably the fourth grade. She’s one of my sister’s best friends—that’s how I met her. I never had the guts to ask her out in high school, though. Kinda wish I had.

  “I actually haven’t seen Jane in about four, five, years really. We all went our separate ways after graduation, but she came back to visit Holly for the first few years of college. Tha
t stopped for a while, and I guess my twin sister, Holly, missed those get-togethers. She set up another little reunion for her and the girls the other night—slumber party. Jane, of course, was there.” He exhaled wistfully.

  “It was just like old times, really. Holly, Molly, Becca and Jane. And let me tell you—all three of Holly’s friends really have grown up since then, if you know what I mean.” He winked at Sully. If she noticed, she didn’t indicate it. Clint shrugged and went on.

  “Jane was dressed to kill, and super flirty that night. Long story short, I ended up giving in to the urge to hold her. I guessed it might be a monumentally stupid move, but I thought that for someone like Jane it might be worth the risk. I wish I’d known the magnitude of that stupidity in advance. Oddly enough, I tripped over Molly in the process of getting to Jane, but that didn’t cause a problem.”

  He shook his head and looked at her. “Yeah. Jane’s cute. It’s a shame she’s also borderline homicidal. I guess it’s better I found out now instead of three months from now like I did with my ex.

  “Anyway, why do you ask?”

  Sullivan crawled back into her stoic reverie; this was beginning to get annoying. He left her to it for a while, but found the silence strangely uncomfortable.

  “Sully?”

  Nothing.

  “I, uh, guess I really should thank you for saving my tail back there, even if your arrival was strangely coincidental. How’d you do that anyway?”

  Still, no answers were forthcoming. He half shrugged and went on.

  “I’ve never been to Seattle before. Have you?” Without waiting for a response he said, “I hear it’s nicer than Santa Monica. Sure, the Mariners might be a poor excuse for a ball club, but I’ve heard there’s plenty to do in town. Lots of character and all that. We really oughta check out the attractions while we’re there. You said you knew a good seafood place?”

  The question hung in the air like a small, misshapen brick that Clint finally decided to let drop. This chick was harder to crack than Fort Knox when she clammed up. What happened to the bubbly woman who’d practically begged him to come with her in the first place? The silence stretched into uncomfortable minutes, but Clint found he really had nothing to say. Antagonizing her was only fun for so long, and considering that she might be his best—his only—chance to fix things, he reasoned that it was probably better to be on her good side. Clint examined her carefully, noticing that she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Now that he paid attention, she really did look pretty good.

  At last, he yawned again, and when his stomach growled for the fourth time in as many minutes, he quietly said, “Sully? I know you’re seriously ticked off with me. I don’t blame you, but if you’re going to kill me, can you please not do it through starvation? Maybe one last meal before you take your vengeance out of my hide?”

  Her answer came fifteen minutes later when they exited into Redding.

  Clint had never had a better hamburger in his life. Maybe it was because of the idea that it might be the last hamburger of his life, or maybe he was hungrier than he realized. Either way, the way the beef patty melted in his mouth and flowed together with the barbecue flavor, sending shivers of joy down his spine.

  For probably the fortieth time since they sat down, he flashed Sullivan a quick glance, daring no words. This time—finally!—he caught her actually looking. She averted her eyes hastily, blushing as she peered at the bottom of her empty glass of Coke. A waitress appeared moments later and placed another drink in front of the P.I. before whisking away the old one. Clint raised his eyebrows. Seven glasses of cola in under a half an hour. He imagined her bladder would hate her later, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about her falling asleep at the wheel anytime soon.

  Habitually, he reached into his pocket to fish out his phone for a quick check of the time. He felt nothing but his keys. Reaching again, he confirmed that the phone wasn’t in its usual place. He stood quickly, and patted himself down, but to no avail.

  Maybe I left it in the car?

  Sullivan glared at him, and he decided that if the phone were in the car, it would still be there after the meal. Something told him Sullivan wouldn’t part with the car keys easily, so it was better to sit tight, and hope for the best. With a sigh, he dug out the spare phone Molly had insisted he carry, and was startled to realize it was closing on five-o’clock. The map Sullivan had purchased from the gift shop in this little cafe indicated that Seattle was a hair shy of six hundred miles from Redding. The idea of driving after midnight and then searching for a place to sleep didn’t appeal to him. He wondered whether Sullivan would be willing to stop for the night somewhere short of their destination, or whether she’d torture his gut with another long, foodless stretch of driving.

  Eying her again, he swept his gaze from the red hair done up in a bun behind her head, and then down her face, lingering on this detail or that for a while. How would he paint her? Probably mid-stride, dressed in business formal, maybe holding a briefcase. No, better yet, he’d have her clad in the skin of a big cat—tiger or leopard probably—and wielding a club, an unconscious man at her feet. Yes. He found that mental image much more amusing.

  He didn’t realize he chuckled aloud until he saw the annoyance in her eyes. Once again she turned away quickly, and downed her Coke in a long swallow. Impressed by the move, he revised the mental image of her to be slightly blurry, to capture the effect of the caffeine overload. Even hyper she was cute. He chuckled again, just to pester her, and then laid into his fries.

  The meal may as well have taken place in a monastery for all the silence. When it ended, Clint gestured for his bill, thanked the waitress, and then took his ticket to the cashier. She rung him up with a polite smile, and he handed her his credit card. She swiped it, and waited for the receipt to print. It didn’t. She swiped it a second time with the same results. When she actually typed in the card number and it failed a third time, she looked up at him with faux dismay and said, “I’m sorry, but the system told me it’s rejecting your card. Have you checked on your credit limit recently?”

  Clint frowned. “I rarely have anything but a zero balance on this card. Weird.”

  The cashier shrugged sympathetically, but in her eyes he could see a hint of incredulity. “We take cash or in-state checks as well. Or debit.”

  Clint shook his head. “Not a big fan of cash, sorry. Or checks. My other card is at home.” He gnawed on his lower lip, mulling the unexpected misfortune. He forced a grin and thanked the cashier. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  She smiled and thanked him, and with a nod, he turned back to his table. Sullivan was gulping down another healthy helping of cola, her salad only half eaten. Clint turned his chair backward and sat across from her, resting his arms on the backrest and staring. She lightly set her glass down and focused her attention on her salad, not once peering up at him. He didn’t mind, however. It gave him time to really get a good look at the girl. He’d seen her plenty today, but until this late-lunch-slash-early-dinner, he hadn’t paid any close attention to her. Setting his artistic self aside, he studied her the way a man would study a woman. And he liked what he saw.

  Pound for pound, she wasn’t quite as attractive as Jane or Molly, and her fiery temper would surely burn him if he pushed far enough. There were plenty of reasons to keep her at a professional distance, and then forget her when it was over. Yet, for the ire she’d shown him, he could still detect that little-girl sensitivity right below the surface. Vulnerable, scared, but very well masked. That could be fun. He wondered what it would take to pry that thick, Clint-hating carapace from her and convince her to trust him on a deeper level. But, eh. It probably wasn’t worth it. He’d tried that with too many girls, only to fail miserably every time. Just when he thought he had their confidence, he’d either screwed something up, or find they’d been lying to him all along. That made it so much harder to risk opening up himself; committing to failure was always a mistake, in
his mind. Besides, she too was now infected; any kind of relationship would be one more painful lie.

  Sighing, he leaned back, but kept her pinned with his eyes. There was something strangely familiar about her. In a way, looking at her was like coming home, but coming home as a prodigal son instead of as a kid away at college for a semester. That vague sense of unease nibbled at his consciousness, and he wondered if maybe he owed her some money from sometime in the past. Had he met her at one of those frat parties, and forgotten her in the haze of the night and its revelries? Heaven only knew he’d done his share of stupid things the first couple of years of college.

  Pushing the discomfort aside, he turned his attention out the window, and shifted his thoughts to Molly. Molly may be more… self-assured and assertive now than when he’d last seen her, but she was still mostly a known quantity. Not only that, but their first date had been more than a little encouraging. It was as though he weren’t cursed. It was unusually thrilling to not have to constantly be on guard against so much as brushing up against her, let alone holding her hand or kissing her goodnight. Clint glanced back at Sullivan, and realized that as great as she might be, Molly represented a very real opportunity right now, even if it might still take some time to get to know her. Chasing Sully was a good idea under the right circumstances. Pursuing Molly was already a good idea; he made a mental note to call her as soon as he got back from Seattle. If nothing else, he’d have to apologize for disappearing for a few days. An apology would be the perfect excuse to take her to dinner.

  Speaking of dinner…“Hey, Sullivan. Bug you for a favor, maybe?”

  She swallowed the final bite of her salad and glared at him as if challenging him to a duel.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll spit this out. My card was declined. I need you to pop for my meal. You can put it on my tab.”

  Her jaw clenched beneath slightly bulging eyes, and for a moment, Clint actually feared she might come over the table. Eventually, she inhaled deeply, nodded abruptly, and then stormed to the cashier.