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“Why is that?” she asks, her pupils dilating. “Is it because you’re good at—”
I kiss her quickly on the lips to stop whatever inane nonsense was about to come out of her mouth. I like my women to be at least a little coy when we first meet. Well, unless I go to the biker bar. There, I don’t expect women to say a single word. That gets old quickly, though. I like the thrill of the chase, the small doubt that a woman might reject me. It keeps each new conquest more interesting.
I buy her another drink and we sit together at the bar, our hands casually exploring one another as we flirt. It’s always like this, so effortless it’s almost boring. I can walk into any bar, into any club, and immediately find a girl like this to seduce. They make it so easy for me, like they have a neon sign on their foreheads that saysscrew me. I’m more than happy to oblige.
This is exactly what my friends are missing out on. Sure, maybe there’s less thrill in it now than there used to be. When I was younger, I had to work a lot harder for a piece of ass. Regular sex was no guarantee, but that never stopped me from trying. Back in the day, Hex came out with me most nights, sometimes even Seer. Pocus could be persuaded once in a blue moon, but his taste in establishment tended toward more chains and whips than cheap beer and loud music.
Those were the days.
Most nights now, I’m forced to go out on my own, without a wingman to rely on. I’ve had to get very good at picking up women on my own since I’ve been abandoned for matrimony. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if none of these women had ever entered my friends’ lives. Would we all be out like this, trying to find our next lay?
No, I can’t solely blame this on the wives. My friends were wired for commitment long before, whether they knew it or not. I should have known they would eventually cave. Still, losing Hex to Juliana was a hard blow. I thought we’d be wingmen for each other for the rest of our lives.
These days, he badgers me to meet a nice girl and settle down. As if. For one, nice girls have no business settling down with someone like me. It’s not like I’m a prime candidate to bring home to mom. And that’s not who I’ve ever wanted to be. I chose this life for a reason. Fast bikes, fast women. That’s all I’ve cared about.
But my asshole best friend insists that I’ll crack one day. I lean closer to my catch of the night, nuzzling my face into her neck, as if I’m protesting him. I kiss her sensitive skin there and hear her gasp as she winds her fingers through my hair. I run my tongue around her collarbone as I move my hands up her legs, clutching her hips.
Settle down and miss this? My friends are idiots. I’m bringing this woman to her knees, and I don’t know her name. There’s a thrill in that, in the chase. Can I unwind her enough to get her to take me back to her place? Hell, at this rate, even a quickie in the bathroom would be enough. How can my friends be content screwing the same woman every single night? Where’s the fun in that?
“You’re really good at that,” the woman breathes, her voice barely audible over the noise.
Her chest rises and falls quickly. She pushes me away slightly so she can capture my lips with hers. She slides her tongue into my mouth, and I show her exactly how good I am. Our tongues intertwine, battling for dominance that I eventually win. I always do. She moans into my mouth, egging me on. We need to find our own space fairly quickly or we’ll be seriously putting on a show for the other patrons in the club.
“Bathroom,” she moans against my lips. “Right now.”
She slips out of her stool, and not very gracefully. I know the routine. She’ll go first, make sure the coast is clear. Then I’ll follow her in a few minutes. If anyone else is still inside, I’ll pretend I drunkenly walked into the wrong bathroom. It works every time. I watch the woman saunter off. Her hips sway seductively as she goes. I’m about to get up and follow her when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out and see a text from Seer. I groan in frustration.
Cops got tipped off, shipment moved to tonight to avoid suspicion. Need you at the docks in half an hour.
It’s bad enough that Hex wants me to settle down, but now the Prez is literally cockblocking me. It’s supposed to be my night off. I should have as much time as I need to bring that gorgeous woman ecstasy. If it goes well, I’ll add her to my contacts and call her on nights when I don’t feel like putting in all this effort. If it doesn’t go well, I’ll just never see her again.
Apparently, though, it won’t happen at all. It’ll take at least twenty-five minutes to get to the docks from here, and even I’m not that good. I slam my phone face down on the counter and pull out my wallet, leaving cash on the bar for my drink and hers. It’s the least I can do. I pick my way through the crowd, staring longingly toward the bathroom as I head toward the door.
She’ll feel slighted and confused, but that’s not my concern. My only regret is leaving the club without scratching my own itch. She probably would’ve been a great lay, too. Fuck Seer for his awful timing.
CHAPTERTWO
Idraw a deep breath and let it out slowly as I guide my students through the stretch. The relief on their faces is evident with the knowledge that class is almost over. Some kids are sweatier than others. Others have looks of determination on their face that make me laugh. A few younger girls take dance very seriously.
“Stretch up to the sky,” I tell them in a soothing voice, reaching my hands up as far as I can, feeling the telltale burn of muscles in my shoulders. “And let it go.”
The sound of twenty students dropping their hands to their sides and letting out an audible sigh of relief fills my ears. I turn to face them and nod, letting them know they’re dismissed. A few students run to the door, ready to get away from the hell that is their hour-long dance class.
“Miss Melissa,” one of my students, Daisy, calls in her sweet, quiet voice. “Do you think I’ll be ready for the recital?”
A wave of trepidation washes over me, something I haven’t completely gotten used to. Daisy is nervous, and she’s projecting it to anyone nearby. It’s her gift. She has the ability to manipulate emotions, but she’s too young to control it. At her age, everything she feels, I feel.
“You’re doing so well, Daisy,” I assure. Immediately, the pressure of her anxiety lifts off me. “You know the dance moves better than anyone else in the class!”
Her face breaks out into a warm smile. I feel the happiness course through me like a wave. To be seven again and have all your fears eased by a kind word from an authority figure. Those were truly the days. Daisy thanks me and grabs her things, then scurries into the hallway to her waiting mom. Abigail smiles and waves at me through the glass wall. I wave back, pleased with myself for making the girl’s day.
Truthfully, I had no idea what I was signing up for when I applied for the job at the youth center. I thought it was a normal rec center full of underprivileged kids. I made it through three rounds of interviews, including a lot of personality testing, before the director, Meredith, met with me and told me the deal.
Growing up in New Orleans, I was always somewhat aware of people with extraordinary powers. You can throw a rock and hit a witch, not that I recommend it. They might curse you if you do. But to be in a place full of gifted children, that was something I never expected. My parents don’t know the full extent of where I work, and I’ve had to sign several NDA’s to keep it that way.
In my three short months here, I’ve come to love it. I was nervous at first, thinking I’d be in over my head, but I quickly realized that, apart from supernatural gifting, these kids were no different than the children I’d taught since I graduated from college in dance performance.
