Untangling The Stars

by Alyse Miller

  Humming along to the music absently under his breath, Scott checked to make sure they were in no danger of customers walking in before settling into the armchair beside her. He lifted a tattered copy of a magazine from the side table and thumbed through the pages. Oz, jaws full of his favorite stuffed green duck, circled and then laid down on the floor at their feet with a heavy grunt. Andie, eyes closed, let her thoughts fade away as she drank her sweet tea. It was a comfortable silence, and a perfect way to begin the morning.

  Andie had almost slipped into a chai coma by the time Scott spoke again. “So, how’s the gala planning coming? You pick a color scheme yet?” He gave her a sly smirk. “I bet Tandy voted pink. At least two different shades of pink, actually.”

  It was hard to sip hot tea daintily when one was laughing, but Andie did her best. Scott and Tandy had a friendly albeit fierce ongoing rivalry. On the one hand, Tandy maintained that no grown man should wear so many accessories, and on the other, Scott insisted that Tandy leaked glitter wherever she went like some kind of faux-Disney princess. It was the kind of teasing boys and girls did to each other in the fourth grade when they were trying to hide their crushes. It was nauseatingly cute.

  “Worse. In the words of Sally Fields, the whole thing is ‘pink and pink.’” She waved off Scott’s puzzled look. Movie references were no fun when you had to explain them. Suddenly, Andie remembered that she had something much more important to ask him. Tandy had given her executive orders to find a photographer for the event, and she’d not so subtly inquired as to Scott’s availability. “Hey, by the way, are you free that night? We need a photographer”—she batted her eyelashes imploringly—“you, preferably.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Fox…” Scott shut the magazine and nervously pulled at the hand towel still hanging over his shoulder. He flapped it against his denim-clad knee, the look on his face alternating between shy and nervous. Large crowds were not Scott’s cup of tea. The noise and shuffle of that many bodies in a confined space still caused him a fair amount of anxiety. “How many people did you say again?”

  Andie tucked a honey-blonde strand behind her ear and gave Scott her most reassuring smile. “Three hundred,” she said the number slowly, doing the math in her head, “plus a dozen or so caterers, and a few other vendors. If you’re not up to it, I totally understand.” She set her mug on the side table and leaned forward, took Scott’s nervous hand in both of hers. She wouldn’t push it if he wasn't ready to face such a large event just yet, and she didn’t want to make him feel obligated in any way. But she also wanted to give him the opportunity to reach out and take, if he was up to trying. Friends don’t let friends wallow, right?

  “There’s totally no pressure, Scott. If you’re not up to it, that’s absolutely fine. If, however”—she gave his hand, which was trembling just a tiny bit, a small squeeze—“you are, then I will be right there. I’ll stay right by your side, and you will rock photographing a charity gala like one has never been rocked before.”

  “Seriously, won’t you be too busy wandering around and being the host?”

  “Pinky promise. Plus, you’ll be devastating in a bright pink tie. Tandy will love it.”

  Scott’s grin sped from sheepish to rogue in a split second. Andie had said the magic words. An eye for flair, he was a sucker for bold fashion statements. The last time they’d gone shopping together, he’d bought a pair of bright green skinny jeans from Express and hadn’t stopped wearing them until they had—mercifully—started to wear holes too big to be patched. If anyone could rock bright green denim it was Scott, but still no one should be allowed to rock them for two months straight. Even if the idea of sporting a bright pink accessory didn’t win him over, that bit about Tandy would. Of course, Scott would never admit it.

  “Okay, lady, you talked me into it. But I—”

  He was interrupted by the dinging of the bell as someone walked in the other side of the café. “I’m in,” he finished conspiratorially. “Fill me in later, okay? Oh, and you’re in pink too, honey.”

  Andie rolled her eyes. She’d hoped to avoid such a bargain and fly in under the radar in a safer fashion choice of her own choosing. If she let her friends have their way she’d end up at that gala with a pink mermaid gown and coifed curls like some pitiful Marilyn Monroe doppelganger at a Halloween costume party. But, if a pink dress was the price to pay for snagging the best photographer in town and helping push a friend to take on the world at the same time, then pink it would be. Pink wasn’t that bad. Even Aerosmith had made a song about the color. If Stephen Tyler could rock pink, then she could at least give it a shot. That said, she was still going to exercise veto power if any sequins or glitter showed up. With Tandy and Scott both pushing pink, things could get a little too carried away.

  Oz raised his head at the movement of legs over him. The soggy duck dangled from his mouth and dripped puppy slobber on the toe of Andie’s boot. His big brown eyes looked worriedly from Andie to Scott, whose back was disappearing around the wall. His “job” was to be Scott’s shadow. Poor guy, he’d just gotten going on that duck. “You’re excused.” She scratched the pup lightly behind the ear as he dropped the wet soft toy at Andie’s feet and trotted off.

  Photographer: check. Andie mentally crossed the task off her to-do list. Well, that was one important item taken care of. She checked her watch. It was only 10:45. Perfect, she still had over an hour until her next class to hang out in the café and not think about work. The way the door chime kept ringing, it was clear chatting time had passed and the brunch crowd would be filtering in for pastries and first tea. Andie considered grading papers, but decided against it. I’m lounging around in the best-kept secret in the university district, she reminded herself, the perfect place to catch up on the local poetry scene. Scott faithfully kept the café stocked in the best of the best local work, with a good bit of variety and the occasional “so much potential” chapbook thrown in for good measure, just in case an underdog ever got a fighting chance. If “a little party never killed nobody” at Gatsby’s house, then a little culture never hurt anybody in Scott’s café. With that in mind, grading felt like it would be a punishment, no matter how interesting the essay matter was. It was an easy choice.

  Andie grabbed a glossy stapled paperback off the top of the pile nearest to her. The cover was a stark, rough sketch of a woman, muted in tones of charcoal and white save for a foil-embossed gold bone above the title. The whole thing looked like it had been printed off at FedEx, but otherwise was in good shape. Marbled Bones by Nicolas Justin. With the book in one hand and her mug in the other, Andie pulled her boot-clad legs underneath her body, laid her head against the wing of the chair, and tucked into Nicolas’ poetry.

  ***

  Truth be told, Nicolas’ poetry was far better than she’d expected it to be, and Andie was already intently reading the second act of his prose when Scott finally reclaimed the armchair beside her. He didn’t interrupt her reading, so she waited until she’d finished the last stanza to speak.

  “You know, this is really pretty good. The way he juxtaposes imagery with rhyme is kinda brilliant and totally unexpected. Do you happen to have his contact info? I’d love to invite him to be a guest speaker in my—” Oh, crap. Her now empty mug slipped from her fingers, rolled off her lap, and landed with a small thud on Oz’s left-behind duck. Peep, the duck protested.

  It wasn’t Scott in the chair beside her. It was—of all the freaking people in the whole freaking world, and this had to be some kind of sick mistake—Guy Wilder. He was sitting silently in his second-skin leather and studying her from behind the mask of the same dark sunglasses he’d been wearing yesterday. He’d combed his messy chestnut locks back this morning, and the planes of his beveled cheekbones were bared in all their stark, angled, Grand Moff Tarkin glory. But, even though he seemed to ooze coiled, predator-like grace as he sat, wordless, watching her, Guy’s lips curved upward in that same coy smirk that was somehow strangely endearing. Damn him.
>
  That smirk was as the icing on the cake to that sinister succubus in front of her, and Andie felt her stomach turn in the same warm, hungry feeling it had the day before. Any trace of the playful, surprisingly clever personality hid behind those dark glasses, and Andie realized that she had been wrong yesterday. It wasn’t that Guy Wilder didn’t have the captivating bad boy thing down. Instead, it was simply that he hadn’t blasted it to full volume when he’d wandered into her classroom yesterday. When he wanted to—and when he wasn’t frazzled from a gaggle of fans undoubtedly hunting him across campus—he could channel Silas Dove so perfectly that the two men were almost completely indistinguishable. Looking at him now it was hard to separate the man from the monster. And she had just dropped something, making herself look ridiculously clumsy and shell-shocked, again. Unbelievable. Yesterday he’d been a delicious, inviting challenge. Now, Guy Wilder was fast becoming her kryptonite. Double damn him.

  Let him speak first, a voice begged inside her head. Instead, Andie opened her big stupid mouth and blurted out. “What are you doing here?” It came out a lot faster than she’d meant it to, which seemed to please him, judging by the way the corner of his lip lifted a fraction of an inch higher than the other. He didn’t respond, but he did shuffle in the chair, smugly stacking one ankle on the other knee. His smirk never faltered. Damn it Foxglove, you just gave up home field advantage.

  He raised his steaming paper to-go cup as if in answer. His haughty (and decidedly perfect, though Andie wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction of ever conceding it) smile continued its upward climb as he tilted his head downward slightly in the angle of Andie’s dropped mug. The arch of his eyebrow appeared over the rim of his sunglasses. Good to know he’d noticed. A strand of dark hair peeked away from the rest and slid over its dark shield. He fingered his chin lightly like he was pondering something, but never took his eyes off her. Or, at least she thought he didn’t, though she couldn’t be completely sure.

  Andie tried to conceal her blush inside a scoff. Ask a stupid question, she scolded herself, you get a stupid answer. Vampire Boy—1, Andie—0. She gave Guy narrowed eyes and reached down, snatched up the mug by its handle, and primly set it on the side table. It wouldn’t do to leave it lying there, partly because she didn’t want it to get broken, and partly because she was embarrassed she’d dropped it in the first place. She pretended to check the mug’s placement, trying to build a few more layers of resistance to the beautiful monster across from her. Honestly, she had no idea how to react to his sudden appearance in the least expected of places. Should she be excited to see him? Or, still mad about the way they’d left it yesterday? Both? Neither? This was not a situation she’d ever thought to rehearse in the privacy of her bathroom mirror.

  The blurred remnants of last night’s dream snaked back into her mind and she felt her cheeks start to pink as a tiny, evil little thought about what he’d looked like hovering over her on that white sand started to form. No, no—that would just not do. She pointed hazel eyes at those dark shields and met his stare head on. Maybe if she looked it straight in the eyes it wouldn’t sense her fear.

  “You snuck up on me—again.” Indignant. She couldn’t pull off neutral, but she could manage indignant.

  His voice was a low rumble that seemed to have a direct line to the pulsing pit of Andie’s stomach. Coffee still in one hand, he casually spread his arms, palms up, in front of her. “You were reading.”

  Well, he was just so damned good at playing coy, wasn’t he? “Am reading.” She picked the book back up and tried to concentrate on the words jumping around on the page, completely aware that his smug smirk had widened into a full-fledged grin. If she didn’t know better, she would swear she could see his eyes flashing behind their dark shields. Bully for him to feel so protected behind his mask. He was enjoying her discomfort. Damn him, for the millionth time. She fixed her eyes on the page. She would read the same stupid word all afternoon if she had to.

  Guy uncrossed his legs, put his foot back on the ground, and palmed both knees as he surveyed the café, which seemed to have become suddenly and bizarrely empty. Hadn’t there just been a crowd in here two seconds ago? With his attention momentarily off her, she was able to steal a glance at him. He was no longer smirking. In fact, he looked in deep thought, his lips set in a straight line like he was mulling over something internally. Maybe he had been pondering something earlier and not just being a smug little—

  Abruptly, he stood, swung his chair to the empty space to her left, and sat again. A whiff of his scent washed over her—leather and the smell of wind, if that was a thing. He leaned over the armrest and peered into the pages over Andie’s shoulder, filling Andie’s peripheral vision with shades of black leather and brown hair. “So tell me more about this brilliant juxtaposition by our friend”—he reached over her and tipped the book forward to see its cover—“Mr. Justin.” The muffled way his voice sounded against the hair over her ear was almost like it was coming from beneath bed sheets. Grooooan.

  Andie said a quick prayer that she would breathe normally. He was startlingly close to her, almost as close as yesterday, so close that she knew if she turned her face even the slightest bit toward his, their noses would touch. And, again like yesterday, he seemed to radiate the temptation of danger—dark, sensuous danger—that made Andie’s knees wobble even though she was sitting down. As delicious as it was, the effect he had on her was infuriating. It was probably the most frustrating feeling in the world not to be in control of her emotions. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t sixteen—her hormones had better get themselves in check.

  “Look, guy. Guy.” She corrected herself, put more emphasis on the G. She'd meant to say his name as an uppercase, damn it. Maybe no one else could tell the difference, but she could. She swiveled in the chair to face him, taking care to pull back lest she be sucked into her hypnotic undertow of chiseled cheekbones and bated breath.

  “Let’s just put it out on the table. I get that I probably should have introduced myself better the other day, but you don’t get to freak out on me because you assumed I was somebody different, and then basically materialize out of thin air beside me and expect me to fall all over myself for you. This isn’t a”—she waved her hand dismissively—“a comic convention or something. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  There, fine, I said it.

  For a few heartbeats, they sat, eyes locked, and sizing each other up like they were waiting to see who would break first. Andie’s heart felt like it might flutter straight out of her chest if he didn’t respond soon, but she would be damned if she’d let up now.

  “Yeah,” he muttered finally, sounding defeated and turning away as he slouched lower into his chair. One hand rose up and scratched at his ear. Something hard about him seemed to soften as he pulled the sunglasses away from his face and twisted their arms inside his hands in that same nervous manner he’d done yesterday. “You’re right. I’m sorry; that was a jerk move on my part. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

  Andie melted instantly. Okay, maybe she had been a little harsh, but it was true, right? And, he seemed sincere—even repentant—with his eyes downcast and all earlier smugness dissolved. At least for the moment, he had shrugged off his bad boy alter ego and was back to being that more approachable version of himself she’d enjoyed the day before. The one who’d surprised her with knowledge of obscure wines and old folk legends. She liked that Guy, pun intended.

  Andie returned Nicholas’ book back to the table and unwound her mostly numb legs out from beneath her. She sat upright in her chair, mirroring him. But when she opened her mouth to say something (she had no idea what, but it seemed awful of her not to respond to his apology), he beat her to it.

  “It’s kind of weird, you know, being able to talk to someone like a normal person for once. Usually people’s first words to me are asking for an autograph or trying to take a selfie. I even had a woman try to kiss me once…at a comic convention.” He crooked his face up
ward at her. From this angle, she could see sapphire slits of his eyes sparkling like gemstones under furrowed eyebrows. “It’s a little hard to calibrate.”

  It occurred to Andie that Guy’s dark sunglasses were only a part of the mask he must wear over his real face every day. That confidence building armor and bad boy accessory that gave Silas Dove his devilish charm covered up the man inside. Andie let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, and gave him a small smile. So, maybe there was a heart of gold in this bad boy after all. Silas Dove was a bit of a wildcard, but this…this she could handle.

  “You know….” She rocked toward him, smiling down at her feet rather than look at him. It felt like he’d given her an olive branch with his admission of something that he probably kept close to his chest. She should do the same, and she didn’t want to be facing him when she said it. “All that talk about love spells and French wine…I almost thought you were going to kiss me, so I’m not really all that innocent either.” She winced and waited for a sharp rebuttal

  He didn’t laugh. He actually didn’t make any sound at all. When she eventually got the nerve to look at him, Andie was surprised to see that he was smiling at her—a genuine, honest smile—and his body had relaxed. It was the same look he’d given her yesterday when he was sucking her under with his dark magic while asking her if she were trying to enchant him. Andie desperately tried to avoid looking too deeply into his eyes again, lest she find herself sucked into that chartreuse ring circling his pupil like a cartoon villain’s magical fire. Then, his eyes ticked away from her and scanned almost ashamedly across the empty cafe. “I was.”

  Andie was just going to pretend she wasn’t about to swoon out of her chair. “Oh.”

  “But I won’t—” he started, looking back at her and raising his hand between them for emphasis. Andie felt a clunking feeling in her belly, like somebody had just thrown a stone in a pool of water. Was it weird that she was disappointed? “Because I’m not that kind of guy.”