I almost snickered — some things never change — as I started to take my jacket off, the room a bit stuffy. Not even a beat later, I felt warm hands graze my bare shoulders, helping me with my jacket. I stilled for a second and glanced over my shoulder, my silent hilarity gone at the unfamiliar touch. It was Philip. The handsome Congressman.
His lips curved in a small smile, his teeth straight and white, as he slid my leather coat the rest of the way off. He placed it over the back of a chair, his gaze cast downward, but since he was six feet tall, I saw his eyes traveling over me. Covertly, but still, he was checking me out. Leaning back against the table, between chairs, and crossing his arms, he stated bluntly, “So you’re the mysterious Shifter everyone’s been trying to get the details on.” He cocked his head, a black strand of hair falling over an eye. “You don’t have two heads, nor are you nine feet tall, like some were guessing.”
“Only one head here,” my lips twitched, “and I’m much shorter than nine feet tall.”
He stared. “Yes, you are. You’re also very beautiful.” His eyes were intense. Like dark chocolate. They crinkled at the edges as his lips curved. “That’s not a line. I’m just stating fact.”
My eyebrows rose. “I’m not sure if I should say thank you if it wasn’t a compliment, only fact.” I gave him the same smile he had given me.
He watched me a moment longer, then chuckled softly. “You may be little, but you’re no push over.” He rubbed his chin, his eyes assessing. “How old are you, Lily? You don’t look as old as your colleagues.” His gaze continued roving my features.
“I’m nineteen.” Granting that I felt like a hundred in life experiences. Nineteen was only a number. “And you?”
His eyes dipped to my lips. Stayed there. “Not as young as you, but not quite over the hill.” He grinned as I chuckled. He definitely wasn’t anywhere near old, appearing as good as he did, and he knew it too, his eyes sparkling. “Tell me, Lily the Beautiful — that was a line, by the way — would you care to—”
“Lily, I need your help with my jacket,” Jack interrupted. He smiled at Philip in apology, but his brown eyes were frosty. He turned his back to me, pointing behind his head at his collar. “It’s stuck on my necklace.” Lie. He had a collared shirt on, which he was blatantly showing Philip.
Someone was feeling overprotective. I was positive Philip had been about to ask me out for coffee or lunch or something else equally mundane, and I was sure Jack had sensed it too. I enjoyed the humor of the gesture, and proceeded to “help” Jack take his jacket off. By the time this was done, Ezra was speaking with Philip, distracting him.
As if I needed the help, gentlemen.
I wouldn’t do anything with Coms, except drink from them when the mood finally suited. Only bagged blood for me still. Besides, I would probably break a Com if anything ever went past a date. Which I didn’t want, even if the Com was as nice-looking as Philip Masterson.
All in all, the first half of the afternoon went well.
I had been thrown into senior classes at King Hall — no more Creative Writing degree for me — taking three years’ worth of Political Science courses all at once. My brain was fried — it would continue to be until graduation — from all the studying I had done over the last few months, but those courses definitely helped me understand the conversations.
When placed in a room full of politicians, what did one talk about?
Politics, of course.
Thank God, I hadn’t been sleeping in class. Much.
I kept mildly quiet during the discussions, but answered questions intelligently — I hoped — when asked. The most vocal of the Coms were Philip, Arthur, and Justice. Beatrice was quiet, but spoke logically, and none of her questions were at all offensive. Surprisingly — stereotype, whatever — the person who I thought would have the most to say, Curtis, was the mime of the group. He nodded, or gestured with a hand, but I was pretty sure he only said four sentences in the two and a half hours we sat there. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was of the quiet, brainy sort, or if it was because he was nowhere near as clever as his father, the President. Time would eventually tell.
Jack primarily led our side of the discussion, Pearl adding factual input only from time to time. Ezra, like me, spoke when he was spoken to. I don’t know if it was the mystery he exuded, but anytime he spoke, everyone quieted and listened. I didn’t feel him using his power, so it was just him they seemed impressed by. Me, they listened to the same, but added a cocking of their heads, watching me like I was the sideshow at a circus. In other words, I didn’t get the impression they were awestruck by little ol’ me.