The Sure Thing

by Samantha Westlake

  Despite taking home dozens of supermodels, probably hundreds of women by this point, that had still been the most exciting, most thrilling date I'd ever had.

  I opened my car door, stepped out into the cool night air, still smiling. What was wrong with me? Hell, I hadn't even gotten lucky. By most standards, the date had been a failure, in that I was now left with a throbbing erection and no willing, pliant girl to relieve that pressure building inside of me.

  But oh, the memories of Paxton losing her oh-so-valued control and throwing herself at me, all softness and need and desire poured into the body of a buxom fantastic Valkyrie! That was a win.

  I looked up at the sky, frowned for a moment at how the stars didn't seem to be shining nearly brightly enough.

  I could fix that.

  A thought, and fireworks exploded in the night sky, the boom echoing down across the city as massive starbursts lit up the night with twinkles of gold and white and pink and red. I wondered if Paxton was still awake to see these, or if she'd immediately dove into the research she said she'd do for me, burying her nose in a book.

  I stood there and watched the fireworks for another few minutes, directing them with my mind. I let myself replay the date, wondered briefly if telling Paxton my secret had been the right choice.

  Surprisingly, she'd come to believe me fairly quickly. Of course, I had pulled off some impossible feats, but it still seemed like she'd accepted that I was magic with an open-mindedness that I hadn't anticipated.

  Was I going to regret telling her? I really hoped not.

  As I climbed back into my car, I considered one of the few limitations of my power, one that I hadn't mentioned to her. Aside from my powers not working on Paxton, they also couldn't tell me what would happen in the future. It had been one of the earlier things that I tried, back when I'd first found myself gifted with the powers in college. I'd tried to predict the next day's lottery numbers, not yet realizing that I could simply wish for stacks of money to appear in my bank account.

  I hadn't seen the next day's winning lottery numbers. Instead, I ended up stuck in bed for several days with a crippling headache, one that left me too weak to even venture outside, to compose a single sentence without wincing and needing to pause and recover. The future, it seemed, was too complex for me to understand, even if I tried to only see it in little bite-size chunks.

  Now, I almost wished for the ability to know the future, to see what would happen next with Paxton. With most girls, when I dropped them off at the end of their date (usually the next morning, to be honest), I knew exactly what would happen. They'd call me if I wanted, or would go off without a second thought of me if I didn't want to see them again. They moved according to my wishes, almost like...

  ...puppets.

  I frowned as I pulled into the garage beneath my apartment building. I'd never really seen them in that way before tonight, but it seemed to strangely fit, in a way that I didn't particularly like. I didn't want to think of myself as a puppet master, making people dance on strings around me.

  Paxton, however, wasn't attached to any strings. I didn't have any way of knowing if she'd want to see me again, although the intensity of that kiss boded well. I'd just have to wait, my number now in her phone, and see if she called.

  Strangely, the thought left me excited and nervously anxious.

  It wasn't until I'd laid my head down on my pillows in my massive king-sized bed that my excitement began to shift to concern. Had I really made the right choice, deciding to reveal my powers to her, before I really even knew anything about her? What if she told someone else, betrayed me?

  I'd always harbored a secret fear in the back of my head that, sooner or later, someone unscrupulous would figure me out. Of course, I could always make them forget, if I had a moment of control – but what if the CIA, or the NSA, or one of those other organizations with an acronym of a name made up of capital letters, decided that they wanted to capture me? They could keep me permanently drugged up, too groggy to ever use my powers, while they did all sorts of experiments on my brain and took me apart to figure out how I worked. What if they tried to turn me into an asset, forcing me to use my powers for their nefarious purposes?

  I'd never told anyone else about these secret fears, but they were one of the reasons why I chose not to meddle with any global affairs. There might be a war going on in some far-off country I'd never heard of before it appeared in the news, but what if someone noticed that these attacks mysteriously ended for no reason, and tracked me down as the cause? I didn't want to draw that kind of attention to myself.

  So I'd done my best to keep my secret – up until this date with Paxton, when I opened my fat mouth and let it all spill out.

  But it didn't feel so bad, now.

  Back up in my apartment, I grabbed a beer from the fridge, took a sip as I slid open the glass doors to step out onto the expansive balcony. Up this high, amid the other skyscrapers, gusts of wind were chilling, and I shivered as one blew through the gaps and swept heat away from my body.

  Still, even despite the cold, my smile remained on my face. Already, I found myself thinking ahead to what I'd do next.

  She said that she wanted to do some research. Oddly enough, research was one of the things I'd never really bothered with before now. I tried, now and then, to look for any sign that others had powers similar to me – but I gave up quickly when I encountered a dead end. I'd once tried summoning, with magic, a book of my power's history – and that hadn't worked, either.

  But what if Paxton could find something more?

  I took another pull of the beer, wondering what she might find. Maybe she'd have an explanation, a reason why these powers mysteriously appeared in my head one day, after I'd been ordinary and boring for my entire life before that point. Maybe she could tell me how to use them to their true potential, or even how to get rid of them.

  That last thought brought me up short. What if there was a way to get rid of my powers? To no longer have the ability weighing so heavily on my shoulders of being able to reshape the world however I saw fit?

  If I had that option, would I give them up?

  "I don't know," I muttered out loud, answering my own mental question.

  It's not as crazy as it sounds. There were times when I hated feeling all this responsibility weighing so heavily on my shoulders, as if I was expected to be some sort of Superman, donning tights and a cape and flying off to fight all the problems and troubles of the world. That wasn't me. I did good deeds, when I could, but I always hated the little voice in the back of my head telling me that I needed to do more, that I needed to devote my entire life to helping others without a thought for myself.

  What about my own life? I wanted to live on my own, to feel good when I did something to help others without the nagging guilt that I ought to be doing even more. And if giving up these powers could get me that kind of freedom from stress in my life, I'd be willing to at least consider it.

  I looked up at the stars overhead. "You're getting ahead of yourself, Alex," I said aloud. I shook my head. "She probably won't find anything. You didn't, whenever you looked for answers."

  But her searching could give me more chances to see her. Heading back inside, I briefly pictured the two of us, side by side at a desk in the back of a huge, empty library, surrounded by our own little bubble of privacy. Our legs would bump against each other as we both bent over the same old book, and we'd both feel intensely aware of the other intruding in on our personal space, so close and seductive...

  I pictured slipping my hand around Paxton, feeling those soft curves move against me in response. I pictured drawing her onto my lap, kissing her and peeling off her clothes right there in the back of the library, watching and listening as she tried in vain to keep her moans and sighs of pleasure from coming out. Can't make noise in a library, even if you're being undressed, even if a man is running his hands over private, intimate places that she wants him desperately to seize and touch and arouse and p
enetrate and satisfy...

  Maybe it had been Fate that put Paxton in my path. Maybe I'd only talked to her because of random chance.

  No matter the circumstances, however, I couldn't wait to see her again. For the first time in... as far back as I could remember, I realized with a jolt, I found myself brimming with anticipation for the next date with a girl.

  And I couldn't do anything to make it come sooner, couldn't guess the outcome.

  How strangely exciting.

  Chapter Fifteen

  PAXTON

  *

  I woke up the next morning to find half a dozen texts waiting on my phone from Anna-Claire.

  I winced as I scrolled through them with one hand, the other hand holding my cup of coffee. My trusty Mr. Coffee maker might be ancient, close to a million years old, but it still faithfully grumbled to life each morning to give me my cup of hot, steaming caffeine that I needed to start my day.

  "How was Mister Creep?" I read off from the first one. Great. Alex would probably hate that nickname, not that he didn't deserve it.

  "Ooh, no response. Are you otherwise engaged?" I checked the time stamp on that text. I'd been asleep by that point! Did she really expect me to still be out on the date at nearly midnight? What kind of night life did Anna-Claire imagine that I had?

  I flipped through the other texts, down to the most recent: "Is he still there in your bed???" That's right, three question marks.

  If I didn't answer it, I knew that she'd keep on sending me more and more outrageous guesses as to how the night turned out. After taking a long sip of coffee, trying to will the caffeine to kick in and clear away the remaining fog of sleep, I set down my mug and started to compose a response.

  "Last night wasn't as bad as I feared," I typed out, then paused. Really, it hadn't been bad at all. It had been...

  Insane. Mind-bending, but not in any way that I could have predicted. Alex had superpowers, the ability to change anything in the world, with just a thought.

  Anything except for me.

  And yes, he was still a bit of an ass, but he was also a cute one. I remembered again how he'd kissed me – twice. The first had been gentle, soft, exploring, but the second one showed hunger and arousal. From him, as well as from me! I knew that I certainly didn't have the supermodel looks and charm of some other women, but that hadn't seemed to stop him from pulling me in against him, making my body pulse in time with my quickly beating heart as I pictured all the other wonderfully, sinfully delicious things he surely wanted to do to me. With me.

  I returned my attention to the half-composed text message, suddenly aware that I was sweating just from the memory of last night. "He wasn't as much of an ass, and I think he wants to see me again."

  There. Some details, but nothing about any sort of impropriety. I hit send, figuring that Anna-Claire probably wouldn't see it for a while-

  Immediately, my phone lit up with a response. I glared down at it, my hand frozen halfway to picking my coffee mug back up. Sure enough, Anna-Claire had immediately answered. What, was she glued to her phone?

  "U didnt answer me. Is he there or not???"

  "No, he's not here," I sent back. "He hasn't even seen the inside of my apartment."

  "Aww. Another date?"

  I considered this question. I had promised that I'd call him, after doing some research on his issue. Would he want to take me out again? I normally wasn't very good at reading people, but that kiss didn't leave much uncertainty behind. If he didn't kiss every woman like that, he'd probably jump at the chance to repeat it...

  "Maybe. I have to get to work," I texted Anna-Claire, and put my phone away so that I could go get dressed. I heard it buzzing on the counter even before I left the room, but I forced my hands to remain at my sides, to not turn around and go check on the messages.

  I pulled on a pair of jeans and an oversized, comfy sweatshirt – perfect for sitting in a drafty bookstore and climbing up ladders to retrieve volumes on high shelves for customers. I finished off my coffee and opened my fridge to find something more substantial.

  I spotted a box of pastries, left over from a self-indulgent purchase I'd made a couple of days earlier. Fingers crossed. I opened the box, and found a single remaining bear claw. Jackpot! I grabbed it with a napkin and munched on it as I headed downstairs to the bookstore.

  Uncle Ryland was there already, of course; even though I lived just upstairs, he still showed up before me each day to open up the store and greet the regulars who waited faithfully outside to pick up their latest book orders. I spotted his balding, egg-shaped head bobbing through the aisles as I came down the stairs.

  "Morning, Uncle." I leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek as he passed. He nodded back, although he couldn't hide the smile that flickered briefly across his face before he got himself under control.

  Uncle Ryland finished handing off the book he'd fetched for a customer, ducked around the counter to ring the man up on our ancient cash register. "Eighteen dollars and seventy cents, Mr. Jackson," he said.

  The tall, almost scarecrow-like man shook his gray-haired head ponderously. "Books keep on getting more expensive these days. I remember back when I could get a brand new volume for just a dollar."

  "Me too, me too," Uncle Ryland agreed sympathetically as he made change for Mr. Jackson's twenty. "Here you go, Mr. Jackson. I'll give you a call when the next book in the series comes in, shall I?"

  With a nod, Mr. Jackson carefully minced his way towards the exit. Uncle Ryland watched him go for a minute, then turned to me as the little bell above the door tingled with Mr. Jackson's departure.

  "And what's on the docket for you today?" he asked, giving me a smile that seemed entirely too big for this hour in the morning. "Got a few more potential suitors coming by for me to chase off?"

  "Yeah, because you did such a good job of that last time," I fired back, smiling to take the sting out of the words. "Uncle, what did Alex even say to you to win you over? You've never been happy with anyone who wants to ask me out."

  I watched as my uncle's brow furrowed, a frown appearing on his face. "You know, I'm not quite sure I remember," he finally admitted, shrugging his big, bulky shoulders. "But he seemed like a good egg, that's all. How was the date?"

  I certainly wasn't going to tell my uncle about the kiss! "Not bad," I admitted instead, quickly searching for a new topic, something less potentially embarrassing. "Say, that reminds me – do we have any books on magic?"

  Uncle Ryland's face sharpened, taking on that glint of excitement that I'd learned to associate with the hunt for a new book. My uncle had a nose for this kind of thing, ferreting through the thousands of volumes stashed away in the shelves throughout the shop to winnow out just what he was after. "Magic?" he repeated. "As in performing magic? Stage illusions and the like?"

  "No, not like that." I shook my head, wondering how much more I could say without sounding crazy. "Like, a book of unexplained phenomena, people who have claimed to be able to do magic. A history book."

  "A history book of magic. That's a bit more challenging, given that it doesn't exist." Uncle Ryland laughed, and I forced myself to join in with him. "But if you look through the history section, back in the left corner, upper shelves, you might find something that gets you close to what you're after." His forehead creased as he peered at me. "Why the sudden interest in magic, anyway?"

  I scrambled for an excuse. "Er, Alex wanted to know about it," I said, wincing that I couldn't come up with anything better.

  "Alex the suitor? So we are going to be seeing him again, then?"

  "If only to sell him some books," I promised, stepping forward to take Uncle Ryland's hand. "Here, I've got the shop for the rest of the morning. You can head back to your office, keep on working through inventory."

  We both knew that the considerable amount of time that Uncle Ryland spent on "inventory" was really just his reading time. He'd start off cataloging books, but then he'd open up one that looked interesting, star
t reading... and next thing he knew, it would be the end of the day, and he'd be two hundred pages in – but wouldn't have touched the rest of the box of books that needed to be inventoried and priced and sorted to go out on our shelves. Sometimes, I was amazed that Davies Books turned any sort of profit at all.

  My uncle obediently headed off towards the back room, and I sat at the front desk, waiting for the last couple customers who'd come in at the opening of the store to find their choices and bring them up to the register. Once the store had emptied out, I headed for the back left corner that my uncle had pointed out, wheeling over a ladder and climbing up to look at the rows of books on the higher shelves.

  Indeed, a few volumes did look promising. I pulled off A History of So-Called Sorcerers, Mysterious Phenomena Thru The Past Five Centuries, and Wyrd Tales And Superstitions. All three books felt heavy and dusty, the smallest still coming in at well over five hundred pages. Not exactly light reading.

  Stowing two of the books away beneath the front counter, I cracked open Wyrd Tales And Superstitions, flipping through the pages. Just as I'd feared, the text was dense, with only the rare woodcut illustration to break up the cramped, closely spaced lines. Even looking at the dense pages gave me the start of a headache.

  I picked up my refilled coffee mug, took a fortifying swallow, and dove in.

  Business was slow that morning, so I didn't have much in the way of distractions from forcing my way through the heavy tome. There didn't seem to be much in the way of actual magical reports; the author instead preferred to spend most of his time hypothesizing about why the "simple peasants" came up with such strange tales. He also had the annoying habit of referencing some of these "strange tales" without ever really explaining what they were, which left me flipping back through previous pages to see if I'd missed something. After a dozen pages, I dug out an old spiral-bound notebook so I could try and keep notes and not get totally lost.

  By the time that noon approached, signaled by an uptick in the grumbling coming from my stomach, I'd made it through close to a hundred pages of the book... and had uncovered absolutely nothing. Maybe there might be some hints to Alex's power hidden in one of these volumes, but I already despaired over keeping up the strength to find it, in amid all these dense paragraphs, archaic words, and multiple run-on sentences that sometimes filled an entire page with black, cramped text.