Page 34 of Grim Tidings

I glance over my shoulder again. She’s toying with her half-empty glass and the straw she stole, her chin in her hand. But she’s not alone anymore. A man in a red-and-black flannel leans in the space next to her, pointing at something on one of the cheap laminated menus I made three months ago. She tips her head back and laughs, angling her body to welcome him closer.

I guess I’m not the only dumbass caught in her web.

Frustration burns hot in the pit of my belly.

“Who is that she’s talking to?”

Frank tips sideways to get a look. “That’s Casey. John’s boy. He just took over his dad’s mechanic shop down on Ridgley Ave.”

I don’t give a shit about Casey or John or the mechanic shop down on Ridgley Ave. I push both hands through my hair and anchor them behind my neck. I should let it go. Pretend I don’t see her sinking her claws into an unsuspecting mortal. I have more important things to focus on. Like Frank and his cherry addiction. The hose for the soda dispenser that’s been leaking for the past three months. Nate, in the corner, doing his best to flirt his way with a woman I know is with one of the naval officers from the base.

I have my list of responsibilities, and Darcy and who she’s talking to does not rank among them.

The reminder doesn’t help. Neither does the stubborn stain I spend approximately seven minutes trying to scrub off the bar. My attention is firmly focused on Darcy, and what she is or isn’t doing.

I try to remember all the things that were on her list. If flirting with strangers was one of them.

“You doing okay?” Frank asks, looking amused.

“Fine.”

Darcy pushes her hair behind her shoulder, and it spills down her back. Then she reaches for Casey’s hand, his cheeks a ruddy red as she traces a line from his thumb to his pinky with her pointer finger.

I slam down a bottle of vodka. There’s no reason she should be touching the mortals.

“Excuse me for a second.”

Frank’s laughter follows me across the bar. I don’t bother leaning over the counter. I duck under it instead, swinging around the edge. I’m tired of playing polite. Darcy is treading a dangerous line, and if she wants us to work together like she claims, then she needs to learn to follow the rules.

Her eyes find mine over the shoulder of the man she’s toying with, the smile dripping off her face. She drops his hand.

Good.

No more touching.

Darcy forces her expression into something carefully blank, her dark eyes penetrating.

“Having a nice chat?” I ask.

Mr. I’ve-Already-Forgotten-His-Name still has his hand extended between them. His smile falters at my appearance.

“Uh. Yeah, actually, we were. Did you need something?” He notes my shirt, the word BAR written across my chest, and visibly relaxes. “Is this spot reserved or something?”

“No.”

“Oh. Are you here to, uh, grab our orders?”

I shake my head, smirking at the way Darcy is trying to glare a hole through the center of my forehead. “Looks like you’re set on drinks.”

“Cool.” He takes a shaky sip of his beer, confused but trying to hide it. “Darcy was just telling me about her work with historical texts.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Is that why she was holding your hand? Because you were talking about historical texts?”

His face scrunches in confusion. “Holding my— Oh. No. She was reading my palm.” He grins, looking proud. “She says I’ve got a strong lifeline.”

“Is that so?”

Darcy chews on her straw, staring at me like I’m an idiot. “Very strong,” she agrees. Her smile is catlike. “My new friend Casey is going to have a long and productive life.”