She rolls her eyes again and one corner of her mouth tugs up. Another win for me.
“Yes, Ro?”
“Do you like your drink?”
Lor blinks in surprise, then looks down at the dregs of her purple cocktail.
“It’s decent,” she says.
“Decent.” I hum a noncommittal noise and she narrows her eyes. I’ll get her to admit she likes it eventually. “Alright,” I say with a decisive nod. “I’ll accept decent for now.”
She snorts and I huff a laugh in surprise. I didn’t know she was capable of such an unrefined sound. Lor spins her drink as I happily bask in her presence.
“What do you do for work?” I say.
I’m hoping she’ll open up and share more with me. Although I’ve enjoyed tailing her, I haven’t been able to figure out what she does, and it’s starting to drive me crazy. Is she an artist? Amusician? In school? There’s no way she does something boring like a desk job, it just wouldn’t fit her.
“Do you interrogate all your patrons?” she says,
I huff out a disbelieving breath as I look around dramatically at the lack of other patrons, and she almost cracks a smile before tipping back the last sip of her drink.
“Even when this place is packed, I have eyes only for you.”
I’m quite proud of that line, but I’m not surprised by her reaction.
Lor freezes for a moment, staring at me in disbelief before she deliberately places her empty glass back on the bar. Then she purses her lips, stands, and strides out the door.
I chuckle under my breath. I’m not bothered; this seems to be the norm for her and if she wants to hide from me, I’ll let her think she can.
For now.
Besides, I caught the surprised look in her eye, the way her cheeks just started to flush as she froze for a heartbeat before jumping up and stomping her way to the door.
Finn walks up and slaps me on the back.
“Tough one man, better luck next time,” he says.
“Nah, she’s coming around,” I reply.
I can be patient for her.
Lor
The absolute audacity of that man. That was the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard, so why on earth did it send my heart racing? I amnota horny teenager.
This is unacceptable.
I stalk out the door, wishing I could slam it behind me. I stomp over to my bike, pounding my feet into the pavement to rid the queasy, fluttery feeling of moths in my stomach, and scowling at the foreign sensation of a grin wanting to stretch across my face. The adorable, annoying cheer of that stupid bartender with his stupid sparkling eyes and infuriatingly sexy smile. No, wait.
“Ugh!” I shout my frustration to the sky before kicking my bike into gear, not bothering with a helmet. I need to feel the wind stinging my cheeks, the speed and rumble beneath me as I soar away from the troubles plaguing me.
Unfortunately, it’s a stardust-less night, so I’m back on my bike again the next day after having been rudely awoken in the early afternoon by an aching pull in my veins. It was so urgent I didn’t even have time to eat, barely managing to splash water on my face and rinse my mouth before I was stumbling into my boots and fumbling to lock the door behind me. It feels like my very soul is urging me to move, tugging me relentlessly onward.
I wouldn’t be able to resist it even if I tried.
This is why everyone in my family goes mad, because it’s uncontrollable, this curse. Those who don’t understand it think it’s a gift, to be able to sense fallen stars.
But it’s not. It’s the opposite.
