A fresh swarm of butterflies takes up residence in my stomach, their wingbeats firing quick, electric pulses everywhere, all at once.
BOOGIE BOO:Electra?
I can just imagine the suspense eating him alive. It’s eating me, andIknow what I want.
ME:See you tomorrow, cowboy.
Chapter 30
Cillian
Igrip a glass of iced water with one hand and drum the fingers of the other against the brown suede chaps Jeneva bought me for the occasion.
Her friends have started trickling intoLogan’s, filling the bar area with their giggling and excited squeals while Logan and one of his employees whip up cocktails suitably called—The Last Yeehaw.
He’s offered me one. Although I was tempted to down a glass to quiet my nerves, I want a clear head. Scratch that, Ineeda clear head, because Electra’s coming.
Could my gift have made her forgive me for her god-awful first time?
It had been awful for her—of course it had. If she’d enjoyed our first time, she wouldn’t have gone silent for days.
My mind keeps looping the events of the night, trying to isolate the moment it all went to shit. When I tunneled into her body and brought her to tears? When I fixated on her virginity? When my phone started vibrating and I suggested she leave? When Malachi—of all fucking people—managed to intrude on our evening?
Maybe I should take Logan up on his offer of an alcoholic beverage.
“That man totally terrifies me,” Jeneva says, and it takes me a moment to understand who the hell she’s referring to.
Tarian.The man who asked Logan to close up the place since his future wife is coming. Even though Jeneva says he might stop by as well—“to hang with his future wife” as she puts it—I worry that if he comes, it’s to cross-examine me with his grander magic.
This leads me to contemplate another real possibility…that Electra is only coming to observe Tarian cracking open my mind. Will my tolerance to Atlantean compulsion withstand his questioning?
A blonde sporting a BRIDE sash and a costume reminiscent of Sheriff Woody approaches on the arm of a redhead. I’m guessing Toy Story wasn’t the bride’s inspiration, yet that’s the vibe her cowhide vest, yellow plaid shirt, and cutoff jeans give off.
She grins wide. “Howdy. I’m Tricia. The bride,” she adds, like I might be illiterate.
“And I’m Suze,” coos her friend.
I tip my Stetson. “Evenin’, ladies. Y’all ready to dance?” I ask in my best Texan drawl.
“What I’m ready for is to seeyoudance, cowboy.” Suze gives me a slow once-over.
“That’s not the sort of dancing he’ll be doing, Suze,” Jeneva says as another one of their friends pushes in beside them, causing Suze to spill some of her drink down her extra-tight denim overalls.
As Suze gripes and heads to the bar for some paper napkins, the texture and temperature of the air change. I look up.
A chill rushes over my skin.
A chill that ignites into heat.
Fuck. Me.
Electra makes it so easy to play the role of lovesick boyfriend.
It helps that I’ve always been physically attracted to her—even when she was nothing more than a name and a file. Tonight, the pull feels magnetic, like her mouth is at my throat, teeth closing over something vital.
I shove away from the bar and sidestep the bachelorette group, not to close in on Electra but to see all of her at once. I know this woman. I’ve had my tongue and dick inside her, yet it feels like we’re meeting for the very first time.
I swallow as she watches me back, her dissonant stare slicing up and down my body, stripping me bare. I’ve never felt more seen, which is both alarming and thrilling.
