Wolf at the Door

chapter Eleven



“Lifetime ban. A lifetime ban!” Edward was trying to wrap his mind around the astonishing events of the last twenty minutes. “But I’m a member of their discount club! They can’t ban a member of their discount club, right?”

“They did, though.”

Rachael’s voice, low and sweet, also conveyed her extreme amusement. He was glad. Amused was good. Giving him a left cross in the front teeth because she felt molested was not.

And oh my God, her mouth tasted like a Green Tea Frappuccino. And SHE kissed ME!

“Listen, Rachael . . .” He reached for her small warm hand without thinking, realized what he was doing, and let his hand drop back to his side. “I wouldn’t want you to get the idea that—”

“You troll bookstore shelves to pick up babes?” And for a wonder, she reached for his hand, and held it.

I will never wash this hand again, as Jabba is my witness. By all the gods in the Marvel universe, I will never . . . Pay attention, dumb shit! She’s still talking!

“Woe to me, then, the latest victim of your Bookstore Nosh.” She laughed. Rachael had a wonderful laugh, sort of deep and bubbly at the same time. It was a little strange to hear it when he could still see the tear tracks on her cheeks. “Perhaps you’re my victim, Edward. Did you ever think of that?”

“I’ve fantasized about that,” he admitted. He didn’t want to. He absolutely did not. He wouldn’t. Nope.

He peeked at his watch and groaned.

“You have to go.” It wasn’t a question.

“I kind of do.”

Curse you, evil vampire queen who lives on Summit Avenue and is planning to enslave infants. The first awesome chick I meet in . . . what year was it? . . . the first awesome chick I meet in forever, and I have to ditch her to play I Spy with the undead. “But, Rachael, I swear this isn’t some scam so I can make out with you and then head for the hills like a scalded rabbit, never to be seen again. I’d never do that, and anyone who would do that to someone like you should be strung up by his testicles with fishing line, but—”

“I know it isn’t a scam.” Her lips had curved into a smile at fishing line. “I know you truly need to be somewhere else, and truly hate it.” And she gave him a smile of such sweet calm, he would have bought her a hundred Green Tea Frappuccinos.

“Right! Exactly! Duty calls. But I—”

“Want to see me again.” Again: not a question. He couldn’t recall being so comfortable, so soon, with anyone, never mind a super-hot brainy brunette.

“Anybody ever tell you how easy you are to talk to?”

“No.”

“Oh. Because you are.” Asking a girl out never used to be this easy. Maybe being out of practice is improving my sex appeal. Or maybe she’s got a fever. “You really, really are.”

“Many people would disagree.”

“Morons,” he said with no hesitation, and this time they both laughed. Then they were done with mirth and just looked at each other. He had to leave and he couldn’t, so they stood on the sidewalk outside the “and stay out!” bookstore and looked and looked and looked.

It won’t work. This is going too well. She’s just being nice. Someone like that? Could have anybody. Anybody at all.

“We should see each other again very soon,” she said, and he thought he was going to pitch a header into the sidewalk from sheer relief. Or into the storefront window; wouldn’t that please the manager!

“Tomorrow morning?” he blurted. “Breakfast?”

She frowned, and faster than he would have believed, it felt like everything inside him had been flash frozen. “I’ve got to meet with a friend of the family . . . She thinks she’s got some clients to send my way. A late lunch?”

I’ll put off the stakeout until late afternoon again. How much trouble are a bunch of evil suckheads gonna get into during daylight hours, anyway?

“Late lunch,” he agreed. “Where?”

She hesitated. “I don’t really know the area. And you don’t, either. Is there a place you want to try?”

“The Oceanaire,” he said at once.

“Seafood?” Her adorable nose wrinkled in an adorable way, and she had an adorable-yet-perturbed expression on her adorable face. “In Minnesota?”

“You got this place all wrong,” he assured her. “It’s good stuff. You’ll never think you have to go to Legal Sea Foods again.”

“Ohhhh, Legals. Umm, did you ever have their Arctic char? Sublime. How do you know this? Research?”

“Sure. And you come across as a planner. You probably researched, too.”

“Well, I rented Fargo.” She laughed. “And I have to say, I loved the accent (and Frances McDormand). Midwestern accents sound so homey to me. Like when Paula Deen talks and I suddenly want her to start spooning mashed potatoes into my mouth. Can you hear it out here? The accent? They exaggerated it a bit in Fargo, you know . . .”

“I can hear yours,” he said, smiling.

“Oh. Really? I have one?” She jerked a thumb at herself. “I do?”

“You drop the occasional r.”

“You mean when I pahk the cah at Hahvahd Yahd?”

He shuddered. “I really hate it when people say that. A fake Boston accent is one of the worst sounds in the world. It’s up there with Kanye West taking Taylor Swift’s mike away.”

“You’ve got a point. I didn’t expect . . . I mean, I like some of the things I’ve seen out here.”

Please be talking about me, please be talking about me, please be talking about me . . .

“. . . place I’m staying turned out to be kind of terrific. Which made me ashamed. I’ve done nothing but find fault with the state of Minnesota since I showed up,” she admitted. “I hear myself talking like a jerk . . .”

“And yet, make no effort to change,” he teased.

“You shush. And you’d better go. You’re late already, aren’t you?”

“Dammit!” Slammin’ hot, super-smart, funny, hot, smart, and the most intuitive person I’ve ever met. God, if this is another one of your sick jokes, you and I are DONE, pal! You’ll be off the Christmas list again! “Of all the—dammit!”

“You didn’t think we were going to stand out on this sidewalk all night, did you?”

Only in my dreams. “So tomorrow? Can I call you?”

“I’m planning on it, Edward. So you’d better call me. I am no fun at all when I’ve been disappointed.”

“Right. Right! Okay. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. But I’ll talk to you earlier! Or leave you a voice mail.” He wanted to kiss her again, but they really did only just meet, so he grabbed her hand and wrung it like a politician canvassing red states. “Great to meet you, Rachael. Soooo great! Okay.” He ran to his rental car, screeched in mid-scamper, then turned around, abashed. “Um . . . Rachael . . .”

“Six, five, one. Two, six, one. Seven, four, four, four.”

“Got it!” He waved, squashed the impulse to run back and kiss her ripe mouth some more, then hopped in his Rent-A-Prius and roared out of the parking lot.

The drive to the vampire queen’s lair had never gone so quickly.