Speak (Witches & Warlocks Book 1)

by R. M. Webb

  ********

  I spend the next few weeks in a blur of get up, go to work, and go home. Alone, alone, and alone. I mean, I see people at work and I smile and nod and they smile and nod, but I’ve never really gotten to know anyone there. It’s just a silly data entry job and I’m just the really quiet girl in the cubicle at the end of the row.

  Becca had to go back home to Stafford — the little town where we grew up — and help her mom move. Like move out of her house. The house that Becca grew up in. The house that now belongs to Becca’s dad and Becca’s dad’s mistress. Divorce sucks. Needless to say, Becca will be gone for a while and without my seeing-eye dog, I haven’t really felt like venturing out.

  Our apartment is too big without Becca’s energy to fill it. It’s like the corners echo. Or something. I don’t know. It’s been, what? Fourteen days of extended alone time? Fourteen days of no one here but little old me? And as you know, I’m not the best company. I wander the living room, tidying up the already tidy space.

  With a sigh, I plop down on the couch. Without Becca here, my thoughts inevitably turn to Noah. His voice. His fingers on my hand. His blue eyes that match my blue eyes and that moment of absolute connection. Or at least what felt like absolute connection. For me.

  Thing is, while I felt like he was the first non-Becca person to actually see me, he probably saw me for exactly what I am. Quiet. Boring. Nothing special. Just a strange girl all locked up in her own thoughts, blushing over nothing, wiping her sweaty hands on the table.

  I suck.

  With a sigh, I stretch out on the couch and let my long legs dangle off the armrest. I really wish I could just get over whatever it is that keeps me all locked up. I’ve met other shy people before and they’re not really like me. They’re shy, and sure, it frustrates them like it does me, but when I talk about the tiger, that desire to be out with people, to surround myself with energy and sound and actually join in and be seen, they act like I’m crazy. They seem perfectly content to accept who they are and how they are. I guess I’m an extrovert trapped by an introvert and I think I might be an endangered species. It’d be great to understand how that even happens. Maybe if I can understand it, I can overcome it. I blow air through my mouth, puffing out my cheeks a bit, and resign myself to another boring Friday.

  You know what?

  No.

  I’m not spending another night here, trapped in a quiet apartment, feeling lost and alone. I’m a big girl. I can go down to Flannigan’s all by myself. Maybe play some darts. Maybe shoot some pool. Maybe do some people watching.

  I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m just going down to the bar in the hopes that I’ll see Noah again. I’m not. I just can’t stand being in this room by myself another minute. Sure, I’ll be alone at Flannigan’s too, but not like utterly alone. I’ll be by myself, but there’ll be people around. Here? I’m alone. There’s a distinction.

  I grab my keys and sling my purse over my shoulder and head out. If Becca were here, we’d drive the block and a half down to the bar. But she’s not, and I don’t wear high heels like her, and the night air is really nice right now, so I’m perfectly fine to walk. We live in a college town. It’s safe enough. Besides, it’s just me, and I’m practically invisible.

  I can’t help but wonder if the stars are out. That’s one thing I miss about Stafford. You sure could see the sky out there. Not so much here. The lights of the city drown out the lights in the sky. I use the word ‘city’ lightly as Chapel Hill really doesn’t qualify. But there’s the energy of many people gathered in one place and I really like the way that feels.

  I round the corner and see the green neon lights scrawling above the bar. Flannigan’s. They’ve even gone so far as to put a little shamrock hanging from the ‘s’ in the name. Becca and I have been coming here every weekend for the last two years, ever since we turned twenty-one. Not ‘cause we’re heavy drinkers or anything silly like that. And not ‘cause we like to pick up men and throw them away like used towels. We’ll have a drink, and we’ll stare at the men, but mostly we come because we like the energy. It’s the same kind of ‘many people gathered in one place’ energy that Chapel Hill has, but just on a smaller scale.

  I push through the doors and am greeted with a blast of sound – the roar of conversation and television and drinks and eating and music. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I’ve spent too much time alone in the last few weeks.

  Nope.

  I give a little sigh and shake away the doubt. A smile creeps onto my face, a private little thing. I’m sure somewhere, someone is staring at me, this strange girl, loitering in the entryway, smiling to herself. The thought makes me blush and the blushing makes me angry. I’m twenty-three years old, damn it! I should be able to handle myself in a public place.

  Anyway, I’m smiling because I realize I have spent too much time alone in the last few weeks and this is exactly what I need. What would Becca think if she knew I was venturing out without her? She’d paint this look of shock and awe across her face, but there’d be something that kind of looked like pride hiding underneath. She’s sarcastic as all hell, but she loves me. A lifetime of friendship kinda has that effect on people.

  For the record, no, I’m not still standing in the doorway. I moved on to the bar and am waiting for the bartender to notice me so I can order a beer and head to the back of the building and throw some darts. Flannigan’s is hopping tonight and most people are congregating around the pool tables and televisions. If I head over to the dartboards, the chance of getting caught up in conversation is way smaller than if I grabbed a table in the middle of the room.

  The bartender finally makes his way over to me. “Where’s your pretty little friend?” He’s kinda looking through me, around me. I don’t know. I’m used to it, I guess. Like I said, I’m practically invisible.

  “She’s, uh, not here.”

  Way to go, Zoe, master of the obvious. That is some scintillating conversation right there.

  Whatever.

  It’s not like the guy is really even listening. He kind of glances over his shoulder and it feels like I’m really wasting his time. I order my beer, pay for it, and trot back to the quiet corner near the dartboards.

  So, I’m really good at darts. I know that’s not very humble of me to just kind of call it out like that, but it’s the truth. Besides, as you’ve noticed, I’m not exactly dripping with gifts and talent, nor am I some amazing beauty or anything like that. I’m tall, awkward, my tongue gets all tied up, and while I desperately crave human interaction, I’m cursed with petrifying terror whenever an actual human actually interacts with me.

  So let me have my darts. Mmkay?

  The back of the bar isn’t really any quieter than the rest of the bar. It’s a raucous crowd. But, I’m removed enough that the sound and energy isn’t overwhelming. None of that weird, ‘too much information’ stuff where my senses go on overload and I can’t focus on anything ‘cause I’m too busy focusing on everything. I toss a few darts and the satisfying thunk of the tiny projectile hitting the cork brings a smile to my face.

  This was a good idea. The beer hits the spot and I drink it more quickly than I normally would. Becca’s not here. There’s no one to interact with. It’s ok if I let myself lose just a little control. You’d think someone as inhibited as I am would like the way it feels to loosen said inhibitions, but nope. Not at all. I’m way more likely to sip my drink and stop completely when I feel the least bit tipsy if I’m with someone because the thought of losing control and saying something dumb is mortifying.

  Not tonight.

  While the cat’s away, the mouse will play. I giggle for a moment, just a tiny little sound – thinking of Becca as a cat and myself as a mouse and realizing that saying really isn’t relevant. Whatever. You get the point, right? Catch my drift?

  I’m still smiling to myself when I head back over to the bar to grab another beer, totally amused by my thoughts. I may even saunter a little. The first bee
r busy doing its job, loosening my inhibitions, the success at the dartboard making me feel confident, the silly thoughts in my head making me laugh. I probably look like an idiot but I really don’t care. I’m busy being invisible and it feels good, like the tiger inside me is pleased at being able to come to the surface a little. The bartender gives me a funny look when he hands me my beer and I retreat back to the safety of the dim lights of my quiet corner and take another couple drinks before I start sending darts flying towards the bull’s eye again.

  “You’re pretty good at that.”

  I’d finished my beer and started a third and am totally wrapped up in trying to steady my footing and focus on the dartboard. I hadn’t heard anyone come up behind me.

  I spin, eyes wide, mouth open, my hand still poised above my shoulder, ready to throw and release. I may have just staggered a little bit while the room catches up with me. Not drunk, but definitely on my way.

  Shit.

  And now someone’s here and they’re going to try and talk to me. I focus on who’s standing in front me. The air leaves my lungs in this awkward groaning sound. It’s not just any someone who’s going to try to talk to me. It’s a totally hot, well-built, blue eyes that match my own someone that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about for the better part of two weeks.

  Double shit.

  You know it, and I know it, even though I’ll deny it if you say anything. I came here in the hopes of seeing him. I know I said otherwise, but I could have stopped at Panera and had a bagel if all I wanted was to surround myself with other people. I’d come to Flannigan’s to drink alone because I’d hoped, at least on some level, that I’d get to see Noah again.

  And here he is, right in front of me, smiling that gorgeous smile, his blue eyes alight with something that looks like mischief. And here I am, mouth agape, eyes wide, a blush working up my neck from my chest, making my cheeks all hot. Oh, and I’m holding a dart like a weapon aimed right at the guy.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you.” Noah throws up his hands and chuckles and my senses go into overdrive. I swear I can see three of the four corners of the room and what I can’t see behind me, I can hear. I lower my hand and am aware of each and every angle my elbow makes as the dart leaves its position near my face and ends up down near my thigh.

  The tiger nudges me. Say something. Speak.

  My eyes hit the floor but I pull up a smile. “It’s ok. I’ll survive.”

  Four words. Two sentences. Not that awkward of a pause between his words and mine. Not bad. I’m both thankful I’d had so much to drink and regret it all at the same time.

  “You mind if I join you? I’m not so bad at darts myself.”

  Yes!

  No!

  Stay with me!

  Go away!

  Noah speaks in a quiet voice. I can hear him perfectly well over the din of the bar – change dropped on a table, someone cursing, new song, clink of glasses near the pool table, three different sporting events on three different TV’s – yet his quiet voice neither overwhelms me nor makes me feel too quiet myself.

  I put my drink on the table and the strangest thing happens. “You think you can just pop over here and interrupt my game just like that?”

  I speak.

  I spoke.

  I said all those words.

  My gaze was downcast, yet I maintained eye contact through my eyelashes.

  Inside my head, the tiger paces in appreciation.

  Outwardly, I blush a burning red from head to toe. I take a drink of my beer which continues to be the best idea and worst idea ever all wrapped up at once. Now he’s gonna get up and leave, certain I’m a stuck up bitch. It feels like I just fell from a high space and I’m tumbling head over heels over head over heels, just falling without end. Adrenaline racing. Hair streaming. Waiting for the fall to end and hoping it never will.

  Noah smiles. “Yes,” he says in that perfect voice of his. “Yes, I do think I can just pop over here and interrupt your game. You’re craving my company whether you know it or not.” Oh, I know it. Believe me I know it.

  It seems I’ve used up all my words so I smile and hand him the darts. He slides his hand out of his pockets to accept them and I can’t help but notice how well he wears his jeans. When he takes the dart from my hand, his fingers touch mine and just like the last time there’s another ping of energy and it’s like golden ripples undulate around our hands for the briefest of instances. My breath speeds from my parted lips and I catch his eyes, a question pursing my eyebrows together. His eyes are a minuet of blue upon blue and truly the same unique shade of my own. My senses settle down as if someone dimmed the lights and volume in the room and it’s just me and Noah in this little corner, undisturbed by the world around us.

  “Wow,” I whisper. Oh, shit. I said that out loud. I swallow hard and my gaze darts to his face just in time to see the corner of his lip twitch into a smile.

  “I agree, Zoe Tate. I agree.” His voice rumbles forth in that wonderfully strong, quiet way, a deep growl that makes me want to lean in closer. Which I do. And he smells good. I swear, I think I’m swooning. I’m not sure what that is really — swooning — but this must be it.

  We take turns throwing the darts and he is actually really good. I’m used to dominating this game. Becca kinda sucks. But Noah? He’s giving me a run for my money and the challenge feels great. So does the company. Noah lets me be quiet, but he also asks me questions, leaning in, his warm smile lighting up his handsome face. It feels, I don’t know, it feels like he sees me, the real me, the quiet one with the tiger inside and he’s both patient enough not to force me to talk and eager to get me to talk all at the same time.

  As we pass each other while changing who’s throwing, he touches me, little pings of golden contact on my arm, my shoulder, my lower back, once right at the base of my neck, between my shoulder blades. I’m sure he doesn’t know what he’s doing to me, those touches warming me and electrifying me and, yes, calming me. I’m sure he’s just flirting. (With me! Hot ass Noah is flirting with stupid old me!) But he’s more than welcome to keep flirting with me for as long as I keep his interest. The attention feels better than I’d imagined.

  My dart smacks into the center of the board. Bull’s eye. The first from either of us that night, although Noah’s been really close a couple times. A broad smile breaks across my face. It feels like spring sun thawing the frozen ground. Like buds on trees and the first sign of new growth.

  How do you like them apples? That’s the question that flits through my mind and really, it’d sound better out loud. Smile a little when I say it. How do you like them apples? Catch his eyes only to let my gaze hit the ground. I open my mouth.

  “Ya. Those apples are good.”

  What the hell did I just say?

  My face goes blank and the red fires of embarrassment race up my chest and back to flame across my face. I didn’t ask Noah the cute, flirty little question I’d planned on asking. I’d answered the cute, flirty little question I’d planned on asking. Seriously, it’s like the needle’s been pulled off the record and the music ends in an awful scratching sound, leaving silence in its wake. My mouth falls open and Noah’s brow purses in confusion.

  He cocks his head to the side a little, confused as all hell. “What did you say?”

  I should just run away. Turn my ass around, run out of the bar and never look back. Becca and I will just have to find another place to hang out on the weekend.

  “Did you just say the apples are good?” His voice sparkles with laughter. I don’t know why, but I don’t run. I explain.

  “Ya.” I draw the word out, almost a sigh, and bite my lip. “I wanted to say ‘how do you like them apples?’ You know, after I hit the bull’s eye? But I asked the question in my head first, and instead of saying it to you, I answered the question.” I couldn’t have been able to drag my eyes from the floor if unicorns were dancing in his hair, sprinkling his nose with glitter.

  “You asked a questi
on in your head and you answered it out loud?” Noah’s gorgeous voice wraps itself up in his gorgeous face and races like a fourth of July sparkler around his gorgeous body. I’m so way out of my league it’s crazy. Whatever had me thinking someone like me could hang out with someone like him?

  This whole night, I’d been actually kinda glad that Becca hadn’t been here. For the first time in like, ever, I was the center of attention and I actually liked it. Now? Right now I’m seriously missing her company as she’d know what to do, what to say and how to say it. I really hate being such a useless mess. I guess now I can finally stop spending my time daydreaming about Noah and all the things that might have happened if I’d been able to speak the night we met.

  I can’t speak.

  This is what happens when I do.

  Chapter 4

  Noah laughs and gives his head a little shake, a strange smile playing across his lips. “Zoe. You. Are adorable.” He says it just like that. Like three separate sentences. Each punctuated with a nod of his head.

  All the breath leaves my lungs and little warm explosions of happy dance in front of my eyes. “Adorable?” I feel surprise playing across my face.

  “Yep. Utterly adorable.”

  I smile. Another real one. It just spreads across my mouth, tightening my cheeks, lightening the thunderstorm of worry in my head. I’m not sure what to say, so I don’t say anything. We finish our game with the perfect mix of silence and questions, little pings of contact going off between us and I am utterly in over my head. Fascinated. Mesmerized.

  “You’re not at all like I imagined you’d be.” We’ve finished our game and are sitting at the table, Noah finishing his beer and me working on a water. The words were out of my mouth without permission. It’d been happening more and more frequently tonight, me saying what’s in my head without analyzing the sentence to death before letting it out.

  “You’ve been imagining things about me?” Noah smiles devilishly and I blush a furious crimson.