“You knew about . . . the fire?” She shook her head. “But that’s impossible.”
“It’s not impossible,” he said. His jarring tone made several nearby patrons turn their heads. “It’s not impossible just because you don’t understand it.”
“This is serious, Crow.” She tried to pull him back into their conversation, but his focus had shifted. He was looking at her through narrowed eyes, as if he were examining a specimen under a microscope.
“Sure, sure. Let’s be serious.” He scooted his chair toward her and leaned forward.
“Crow . . . don’t.”
“Don’t what, princess? I gotta ask a question, and I gotta get close to ask it.” He grabbed the underside of her chair and pulled it toward him, so close their faces were just inches apart. “If it’s impossible, why the hell do you think I showed up that night when I did?”
Em opened her mouth to speak, then realized she didn’t know how to answer that. Why was he there? The timing seemed suspicious. . . .
And then, all of a sudden, he was leaning in to kiss her. A piece of her wanted this—badly—but she couldn’t have everything. Em pulled away and felt the armrest jam awkwardly against her back.
“No,” she said shakily, placing her palm against his chest. “We—this isn’t right, Crow. You know that. We’re—we’re friends.”
He swayed backward a little. But not that far. His lips were still so close. . . . She could feel the heat from his body. “What’s the matter, angel?” he said. “I’m not good enough for you?”
“You know that’s not it,” she said quickly, softly—almost like she was pleading with him. “It’s just . . . ” She couldn’t finish. JD, she wanted to say. But she felt like an idiot speaking his name out loud, when he had barely even spoken to her in a month.
“You’re drunk, Crow. And I don’t want to mess up our friendship. . . . ” The bench dug into her shoulder blade.
“I don’t believe that’s all you want from me,” he said. His eyes were still on her. Burning. Sending a leap of warmth through her stomach, a spinning, dizzying heat through her head.
What did she want from him? Reassurance? Protection? Help? She didn’t know anymore.
He reached up and traced her face lightly with two fingers. Everywhere he touched was like fire. “Tell me,” he said in that low voice, like a song. “Tell me what you really want.”
What did she want? She wanted information. She wanted his secrets. To see his visions. To learn from them. To know the truth.
She wanted everything to be different.
Em tilted her face to his, trying to read his eyes, trying to understand what was happening—what his role in it was. And that one small gesture was all Crow needed. He reached out and grabbed the back of her head, pulling her slowly toward him. Their lips were so close that she could taste him—that smoke, that sweetness.
The booze.
“No,” she said, suddenly realizing how wrong it was. “Really.”
“Everything okay over here?” Suddenly a bouncer, big and thick-necked, was behind them, pulling Crow back by the collar of his plaid shirt. “I don’t think you’re wanted here, buddy.”
Every ounce of gentleness Crow had had just moments before was gone in an instant. “Get your hands off me.” He stood up, shrugging off the bouncer’s arm roughly.
Em put her hand on his arm. “Let’s just go, Crow.” Em needed to get him out of there in one piece.
“You hear that?” He ignored her, getting in the bouncer’s face. “She’s fine. Everything’s fine. So I suggest you stop acting like I’m some kind of criminal.” He punctuated the word with a nice, hard shove.
The bouncer was thrown off for less than a second, which was all the reason he needed. “You’re out of here!” he yelled, clipping Crow’s shoulder and herding him forcefully toward the door.
“What are you doing, man?” Crow argued. “It’s early. I’m not even that drunk.”
“You can’t kick him out,” Em said, chasing after them. “He’s in no shape to drive.”
“You’re right, he isn’t,” came the bouncer’s surly reply, “but he sure as hell can’t stay here.”
“Asshole,” Crow muttered. The doors burst open and Em was relieved by the crisp air.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.
“He started it,” Crow said pointing in the direction of the Armory. He got out a final round of expletives, then repeated: “I’m not even that drunk.”
“You are that drunk.”
They stood in silence. Crow looked up at the sky. He interlaced his fingers behind his head so his arms splayed out like wings. It was cool enough that Em could just barely make out his breath in the air. “Fine, I am drunk.”
“Good. We’re in agreement. Now give me your keys,” she said, holding out her hand.
“You know how to drive stick?” he asked aggressively. “I don’t want you bottoming out on the Ridge.”
She didn’t. Dammit. Why hadn’t she taken JD up on those lessons this summer? “Crow . . . I . . . ”