Maybe they’ll see all the construction and decide to stay away? Yeah, right.
“How did you even find me?” Simone asked softly.
“A guy in the alumni records office has had a crush on me since freshman year. He gave me your address.”
“There’s got to be some rule against that.”
Dasha shrugged and pushed her tote strap off her shoulder. She set the leather monstrosity up on the counter and looked at the little office around her. “Of course there’s a rule against it, but I can talk people into pretty much anything. I’m good at my job.”
Simone grinned. “I always knew you would be.”
Dasha worked in advertising on the accounts end. She wasn’t a creative, though. Her job was to convince decision makers to hire her agency. She could talk a Bedouin man into buying sand.
Dasha leaned against the counter and locked those black-as-night eyes on her. Intense and serious, daring Simone to look away.
She wouldn’t, of course. “What, Dash?”
“What’s going on? Are you being held here against your will?”
Shit. Obviously, the answer was yes, but Simone was pretty sure the strictures of the curse would prevent her from saying so. She swallowed. “This is my job now. Running this place and making guests comfortable.”
“That sounds like a scripted line. Tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth. Look, the pay is shitty—when I’m able to pay myself at all—but I have to do this until I’m in a position to sell the place outright.”
Dasha cringed. “Ew, real estate. You’re upside down on the debt?”
“Something like that.”
“And you thought you couldn’t tell me about it? Or let me come and see it?”
“There’s not much to see.”
“You’re ashamed.”
Simone shrugged. She was, a little. If she had her druthers, she’d at least make the place something to be proud of—not something she considered a minor eyesore on the coastline. A place that obviously hadn’t been well loved in probably thirty years. It wasn’t the motel’s fault. She kinda felt sorry for it. It was like that bummy uncle everyone in the family liked to take advantage of, but never did anything to help because criticizing was easier.
“What’s with all the motorcycles parked outside? Is there some sort of rally happening this time of year? A little cold for it, isn’t it?”
“Not a rally. Just…some long-term guests.”
“I’ve been watching that motorcycle gang show on cable. You know the one with the murderous savages?”
“I’m aware of it.”
“Are they like that?”
Shit. “Not exactly. They’re—” Simone didn’t know how she was going to describe them off the cuff, but fortunately was saved by the bells, or rather, the door chimes, before she had to.
Ethan strode in carrying a sledgehammer and had his blond hair pulled up to the top of his head in a messy knot. He looked like a fairy samurai. “Entire back wall of the cottage was filled with empty booze bottles. What kind of hobbies did your grandmother have, exactly?”
“Great-grandmother, I think. And booze smuggling.” Simone chewed on her thumbnail and waited for Dasha’s reaction.
Dasha put her hand to her heart and leaned back against the counter. Her gaze raked over the tall fairy from the top of his head to his scuffed-up boots. She’d never been one for discretion, and Simone wasn’t surprised by Dasha’s enthusiastic assessment. She was more surprised by Ethan’s.
He stood dumbfounded, staring at Dasha with eyes wide and lips slightly parted.
Oh boy. The word “fuck” was practically on repeat-play in Simone’s mind, and now she had a sneaking suspicion. She put her head down on her forearms and groaned against the countertop. Of course it’d have to work out that way. Of course. Of fucking course.
“And who might you be?” Ethan asked softly.
“Dasha Maurice.”
“Ethan Gotch.”
Simone picked her head up in time to see Dasha hold a hand out of him.
Ethan set down the hammer and took the hand. Kissed it. Held it as a stupid grin crossed his face.
Shit. Messy. Messy. Messy. Simone pinched the bridge of her nose and took a calming breath. Meddlesome Fates had their fingers in the mix again. Simone would bet money—if she had any that wasn’t Heath’s—that Ethan was going to say he’d found his mate. Dasha was either going to run far and fast, or go along for the ride. It all depended on how Ethan played his cards.
Simone shot him a pleading look and mouthed, “Don’t scare her.”
He sighed, muttered, “Yes, Princess,” and let go of Dasha’s hand.
“Princess?” Dasha pushed that eyebrow up again. “I’m going to take a wild guess he’s a little more than a day laborer.”
“Oh, he’s definitely more than that,” Simone said through clenched teeth.
“Live-in lover? You always did manage to snag the pretty ones.” Dasha had the audacity to pout.
“No.” Simone figured she should probably explain some things to Ethan in the subtlest way possible, and fast, or he was going to run that fairy mouth. “One of those dirty motorcycles in the lot belongs to Ethan. He and his buddies are sort of…working off their stay here with manual labor. We’re doing some improvements to the property.”
“I see.”
“Right. Like I was saying when you walked in, there’s only the one room ready at the moment, and that’s why. I feel kind of bad about it. It’s not a room I’d typically put my best friend into, but it’s good enough for desperate folks who I can’t turn away.”
Ethan’s eyebrows bobbed quickly as the best-friend factoid settled in. Hopefully he got the gist, too, that Dasha didn’t know about the curse. If Simone had to drop big bombs on her friend, she’d really prefer deploying them one at a time.
The bells rang again, and this time the fairy in the doorway was her own. “Hey, love. I need to run up the coast for a bit with Matt and Siobhan to take care of a—”
Ethan nudged him and nodded toward Dasha, whom Heath had evidently not seen standing there. “We’ve got a guest, Heath.”
“Oh, apologies. Hello to you.”
Dasha turned to Simone with eyes narrowed. “He called you love.”
“He’s Irish.” Sort of. “He calls everyone either love or fucktwat.”
Heath chuckled. “You’re the only person I’ve called love in quite a while, Princess.” He winked.
Dasha just stared. Blinked. Finally, she turned to Simone. “Don’t lie to me. If you’ve got a boyfriend, I’ll be happy for you, assuming he isn’t the kind who’ll steal your car like that one—”
“He’s not going to steal my car,” Simone interrupted.
“Technically, I’m her husband, but being called boyfriend makes me feel young.” Heath waggled his eyebrows.
Simone groaned.
Dasha propped her hands on her hips and stomped. “You’re married? When did that happened? You didn’t even tell your best friend!”
“Uh…”
“It was very sudden,” Heath said softly. “I’m sure she would have told you if there’d been an actual engagement.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“No.” Short of immaculate conception, that was impossible. Simone shot daggers at Heath. His withholding of dick was going to drive her to insanity soon, given his proclivity to walk around half-dressed, strutting like he owned the entire universe. Maybe driving her nuts was his plan, though. To make her stoop low enough to beg. Seemed like something her scheming fairy would do.
Heath grinned at her. If he’d been psychic in the slightest bit, she would have thought he’d picked up on her trail of thought given the devastating slant of his lips.
She sighed wistfully. She’d somehow managed to acquire her very own rake. The ones in romance novels she used to read during her lunch hour at work had always seemed a bit less corrupting. No wonder she didn’t know what to do with
him. He couldn’t be “fixed” in eighty thousand words, and she wasn’t sure if he really needed it, anyway.
“I just wanted to let you know we were on the way out,” he said. “Shouldn’t be gone long, but you can never tell with these things. I’d take you along, but…”
“Right.” She knew the deal. They couldn’t all go, and Simone was safest at the motel with all the Sídhe around her. It wasn’t even worth starting an argument over.
“Well, then,” Dasha said. “Sounds like we have a lot of catching up to do. I’ve got an entire week, so don’t you leave one damned thing out.”
Simone cringed when she turned to grab room keys off the hook. She’d be leaving a lot of things out for the time being. She didn’t know when the right time to tell Dasha about what she’d just walked into was, but could only do the Sídhe thing and wait for a sign.
A big, fucking sign.
Chapter Nineteen
Simone didn’t think she’d care so much that Heath had gone off adventuring, but…she did. She couldn’t shake her disconcerted heaviness and found her thoughts constantly flitting back to him even while she was doing laborious things. She wrestled wet comforters into the industrial dryer and wondered where he was sleeping, or if he were sleeping at all. Started big pans of lasagna, and lingered in her used-to-be house worrying he wasn’t eating. Kept shooing away the pack of wild dogs that terrorized the motel’s trashcans and hoped he was watching his back, or at least had Siobhan watching it for him. She didn’t want anything to happen to him—wanted him to come back. It was official, she supposed. He’d gotten under her skin just like Fergus had predicted.
Damn it.
She turned her focus back to driving her little car and worrying about other things—like Dasha saying no to the one open restaurant Simone could actually get to at the moment. She swallowed and slowed as she approached The Shell Shack. “Is this okay?”
“Do they fry stuff in old grease and make hushpuppies so dense they could anchor boats?”
Simone blew a raspberry. “Yes.”
“Then go for it.”
Thank the gods.
Simone pulled into the lot and parked near the side door. She certainly wasn’t a stranger to the place, and in fact, during the winter, she was one of its few regular customers along with other full-year residents.
“I’m hoping the tea is pre-sweetened.” Dasha released her seatbelt buckle. “Do you know how hard that stuff is to get in California?”
“Yep. I’ve tried getting sweet tea west of the Mississippi. You’d think it were a delicacy with the way people act.”
They pushed though the heavy wood door and Simone led Dasha to a table near the middle. Simone liked sitting beneath the skylights and got a great view of both the gray-blue winter sky and the ocean through the large windows that flanked three sides of the building.
The waitress came over immediately with a pitcher of ice water and some utensils. “Hey, girlie.”
“Hi, Zenia. This is my friend Dasha. She was sick of my shit and decided to come visit me on a whim.”
Dasha rolled her eyes and held out her hand to Zenia. “Best friend, actually, so I had the right to be pissed. Place is empty, huh?”
Zenia nodded and pulled a pencil from her purple coiffure. Her hair was blond under all the dye, though Simone couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen it that way. “Usually is this time of year, though. Tips suck. That’s why I have three roommates.”
“You’d spend a little less on rent if you didn’t live on the Outer Banks. You could commute.”
“Don’t rain on my parade. Need some time with the menu? No rush or anything. It’s going to be pretty quiet in here until two or two-thirty when the after-church crowd comes in for their very early dinner. Then we’ll have to turn off the football games and put on the subtly inspirational satellite radio channel.”
“They’re good tippers, aren’t they?”
Zenia stuck out her tongue and drummed the rubber end of her pencil against her pad. “Depends on how the sermons were, I guess. Some days, they’re more generous than others. So, what have you been up to? Haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
“Motel’s been keeping me busy.”
Dasha rolled her eyes so hard Simone thought they’d fall right out of her head. “More like her man’s been keeping her busy.”
Zenia’s blue eyes went comically wide. “There’s a man? Where? What’s his name? What’s he look like?”
“Yes, Zenia, honey, there’s a man.” Dasha nodded sagely. “And guess what? He’s tall, has eyes as blue as Hawaiian beach water, has hair Kenny G would probably sell his saxophone for, and likes leather, apparently. Oh, and he rides a Harley.”
Simone sighed. All that was missing was the “fairy prince” part.
Zenia narrowed her eyes at Simone. “I was wondering why there were so many bikes outside the motel recently. Did your boyfriend bring his gang by for a long visit?”
Dasha tapped Zenia’s arm and shook her head hard. “No, no. Not boyfriend. Husband. Miss Thing has a husband.”
Simone tipped her head over the back of the chair and groaned at the skylight.
Zenia wasn’t about to let her off the hook, apparently. She moved around to the rear of her chair and stared down at her. “Are you pregnant?”
“No!” Simone straightened up. “Just married. Shit. Sometimes things happen in that order.”
“You haven’t brought him by.”
“You should be glad. He and his crew would lay waste to your all-you-can-eat seafood bar in ten minutes, tops.”
Zenia narrowed her eyes again. “Are they good tippers?”
Simone shrugged. Heath certainly was. “Yeah, they can afford to tip.”
“Then I’m offended you didn’t bring them by.”
“You should be more offended at the fact that they’re all gorgeous and Miss Thing didn’t want to share.” Dasha put her ice water to her lips and glowered at Simone over the top rim of the glass.
“For fuck’s sake,” Simone muttered.
Zenia turned an empty chair around and sat on it backwards draping her arms across the top. “How many of them are there?”
“Supposedly, there are eleven, but I haven’t seen them all,” Dasha said. “Four are away right now, and of the eleven, three are women.”
“Rough biker chicks?”
“No rougher than you and I.”
Zenia fixed Simone in her gaze and blinked a few times at her.
“What?”
“You know when the last time I went on a date was?”
“I would guess that you date plenty.”
“Date who? There’s no one here.”
“I see your point.” Hell, she’d known that point all too well before the coming of the fairies.
“How many of those guys are single?”
“Uh…” Shit. She really, really didn’t want to do that experiment. That sinking feeling in her gut said the moment she took Zenia by for a look-see, some fairy asshole would decide he liked the look of her. Probably not Perry or Matt, they were too young for a world-weary woman like Zenia. Ethan was already hooked, as were Heath and Thom. So, that left Gareth, Arthur, and the pierced one they called Sully.
Sully…
Simone rubbed her chin. Sully might actually not be so bad for Zenia.
“I don’t like that look on your face,” Dasha said.
“Just thinking.” The more Simone thought on it, the more she liked the idea. She liked the idea of people she cared about being protected, and who was better at doing that than vicious fairy thugs?
She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and brought up her contacts list. She scrolled down and added Ethan, Gareth, and Sully to a group text, feeling a bit like a mad scientist.
She asked, You boys hungry?
Always, Gareth responded.
Is it time for second lunch? Sully asked.
Why don’t you two take a break from demolition and come down to
The Shell Shack for an hour? There’s a buffet, she typed.
Be there in five minutes, Princess, Ethan said.
She grinned and scratched out her order on Zenia’s pad.
The boys must have put their bikes into overdrive, because they took not five minutes, but four, and had even managed to knock some of the dust off their clothes.
Dasha sat startled, staring at them as they squeezed through the vestibule, and Zenia, at the counter, stopped rolling utensils inside of paper napkins at the sight of them.
Oh, this is good.
Simone took a long sip of her tea, settled lower in her chair, and crossed her legs at the knees. She fired off a text message to Heath.
Guess what I’m doing?
He responded, Who is this? Is this Simone?
Yes.
I didn’t realize you had my number. If I were on my bike at the moment, I’d probably fall off it in shock. Hello, love. Miss me? If so, I can think of some things you could be doing, and you’d only need one hand.
Dirty bird. She rolled her eyes at the screen as Ethan, Gareth, and Sully made their way through the restaurant. She ignored his question, and tapped in, I’m doing a bit of an experiment.
What sort?
Ethan, as she expected, pulled out the chair to Dasha’s left. She watched Gareth and Sully curiously. Gareth only had eyes for the seafood bar—so much so, he almost missed the chair he was trying to pull out. Sully, though…
Nailed it.
He stood awkwardly at Simone’s right elbow, gawping toward the bar.
She gave the sleeve of his leather jacket a yank, and when he looked down, mouthed, “Don’t be so obvious, player.”
He sat.
Heath texted, You there?
Yep. I had a hunch. Wanted to see if we had an actual trend or just a coincidence.
Please stop texting me riddles. We’re waiting outside of a bank for a member of the royal guard to do his business, so I might have to drop off soon to deal with him.
Beyond The Veil: A Paranormal & Magical Romance Boxed Set Page 92