Speak (Witches & Warlocks Book 1) (2 page)

His brow crinkles. I know that look. I’ve disappointed him. Weirded him out. “Caught me, did you?” he asks as he turns back to Becca.

“Sure did.” She tilts her head towards her shoulder and shoots him a look dripping with condescension. “So, are you gonna ask her for her name or are you just going to keep leaning on the booth and freaking her out a little, you know, like you’re doing right now?”

So, I don’t know how to describe what happens next. It happens to me all the time. It’s one of the reasons I find it so hard to interact with people sometimes. It’s like every single sense I have is on fire, and each one of them is trying to see how much information it can give me all at once.

I hear the music that’s supposed to be unobtrusive and the lyrics in the song hit me like a pulsing neon sign. I hear the way my earrings jingle when I turn my head. I hear the conversations from everyone else in the bar mingling with the sportscaster on the television in the back. The damn buzzing of those stupid fluorescent lights sounds like a swarm of angry bees and for whatever reason the neon lights of the beer signs stuck to the wall decide to join in.

My peripheral vision expands. I see Becca fidgeting, and the menus leaning all haphazard like in their little stand thing on the table. But not just on our table. On all the tables. I see the light change as the front door opens and closes. I see the guy at the table next to me kiss his girlfriend. I see the hundred different shades of red and brown that trace through the brick walls of the place and the way the mortar is gray and chipping between them. I see the waitresses pacing between tables in their too tight Flannigan’s t-shirts.

I’ve got all this extra information that I don’t need taking up my ability to think. How do I focus on what’s going on at our table when my brain wants me to focus on everything in the room around me? I’m so uncomfortable.

I smile. And swallow.

Mr. Super Gorgeous pushes off the booth and leans forward. He touches one finger to my hand and I swear there’s this flash of contact. There’s this gold ping of light and sound and it echoes off my hand in ripples.

Except that’s not possible.

The whole world settles down and I meet his gaze and hold eye contact. In this instant it’s just me and him. If before, it was as if my senses expanded to take in everything all at once, then now they’ve contracted so that I can only take in him. And his eyes settle on mine and for the first time in my entire life, I feel like someone’s seeing me. Like, the real me. Like in that instant of eye contact he can see that I’m locked inside here and want out and he wants to help me.

“What’s your name?” His voice is like … I don’t know … home. It’s soft and warm and made just for me. His eyes really are the same color as mine.

“Zoe.”

“Well, Zoe,” my name wrapped up in his voice makes me sigh. “I’m Noah. And meeting you is a pleasure.”

Noah lifts his fingers from my hand and straightens. The world zooms back into focus and I’m back into ‘super sharp too much information’ mode. My heart thrums in my chest like a bunny running through a field and I manage one shuddering breath through my parted lips. He shoots me a smile and tosses Becca a wink before disappearing back behind me to wherever he came from.

He laughs in response to some murmured comment from whoever he went back to. Whoever it was he came here with. Whoever it is that isn’t me.

Chapter 3

“I don’t like him.” Becca’s arms are crossed over her chest. She catches the waitress’s attention and gives her empty beer a little wave.

“What? Why?”

“He’s cocky and arrogant.” She gives a little shake of her head and a disapproving lift of her eyebrows. “He probably just came by to watch you squirm.”

That’s not how it felt. I didn’t feel like he came by just to make me uncomfortable. I felt like … like … I don’t know. Like I was important. Like I mattered. Like he wanted to know me.

“Really?” I ask and take a drink of my beer. My shoulders slump and I cross my legs, wrapping my top foot around my bottom ankle, turning my legs into one tight spiral. The hand that isn’t holding my beer reaches across to the opposite shoulder. I’m all wrapped up in my own limbs.

“Sure.” Becca’s hand dances around her face in an angry gesture. “What was with all that dramatic eye contact? Zoe,” she deepens her voice into a throaty whisper – an overly dramatic impersonation of Noah. “It’s my pleasure to meet you.” She rolls her eyes. “And then he just walks away. Heads out the door with his buddies and doesn’t look back.”

“I kinda liked him.” I definitely liked that moment of contact. His fingers on my hand and that pulse of electricity? Energy? What the hell was that? And then the whole world just settled down and all that mattered were his eyes on mine. If I didn’t know any better, I’d call it magic.

“I noticed.” Becca pauses as the waitress plunks a beer down in front of her and waddles away, stopping to pick up empty bottles and glasses at a newly vacated table. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? Mr. Too Cool for You just left and didn’t get your number. Doesn’t matter if you liked him. He’s gone.”

She takes a big swig from her beer and I follow suit. Mine’s warm, but that’s ok. I really don’t want to finish it; I just need something to do with my hands. What Becca’s saying makes sense. Noah’s gone. Out in the wide world never to be found again. But for some reason, I don’t believe it. Somehow I know I’m going to see him again.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

“Whatever.” Becca smiles, her foul mood passing as quickly as they always do. “He’s gone. Good riddance.”

********

I spend the next few weeks in a blur of get up, go to work, and go home. Alone, alone, and alone. I mean, I see people at work and I smile and nod and they smile and nod, but I’ve never really gotten to know anyone there. It’s just a silly data entry job and I’m just the really quiet girl in the cubicle at the end of the row.

Becca had to go back home to Stafford — the little town where we grew up — and help her mom move. Like move out of her house. The house that Becca grew up in. The house that now belongs to Becca’s dad and Becca’s dad’s mistress. Divorce sucks. Needless to say, Becca will be gone for a while and without my seeing-eye dog, I haven’t really felt like venturing out.

Our apartment is too big without Becca’s energy to fill it. It’s like the corners echo. Or something. I don’t know. It’s been, what? Fourteen days of extended alone time? Fourteen days of no one here but little old me? And as you know, I’m not the best company. I wander the living room, tidying up the already tidy space.

With a sigh, I plop down on the couch. Without Becca here, my thoughts inevitably turn to Noah. His voice. His fingers on my hand. His blue eyes that match my blue eyes and that moment of absolute connection. Or at least what felt like absolute connection. For me.

Thing is, while I felt like he was the first non-Becca person to actually see me, he probably saw me for exactly what I am. Quiet. Boring. Nothing special. Just a strange girl all locked up in her own thoughts, blushing over nothing, wiping her sweaty hands on the table.

I suck.

With a sigh, I stretch out on the couch and let my long legs dangle off the armrest. I really wish I could just get over whatever it is that keeps me all locked up. I’ve met other shy people before and they’re not really like me. They’re shy, and sure, it frustrates them like it does me, but when I talk about the tiger, that desire to be out with people, to surround myself with energy and sound and actually join in and be seen, they act like I’m crazy. They seem perfectly content to accept who they are and how they are. I guess I’m an extrovert trapped by an introvert and I think I might be an endangered species. It’d be great to understand how that even happens. Maybe if I can understand it, I can overcome it. I blow air through my mouth, puffing out my cheeks a bit, and resign myself to another boring Friday.

You know what?

No.

I’m not spending another night here, trapped in a quiet apartment, feeling lost and alone. I’m a big girl. I can go down to Flannigan’s all by myself. Maybe play some darts. Maybe shoot some pool. Maybe do some people watching.

I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m just going down to the bar in the hopes that I’ll see Noah again. I’m not. I just can’t stand being in this room by myself another minute. Sure, I’ll be alone at Flannigan’s too, but not like utterly alone. I’ll be by myself, but there’ll be people around. Here? I’m alone. There’s a distinction.

I grab my keys and sling my purse over my shoulder and head out. If Becca were here, we’d drive the block and a half down to the bar. But she’s not, and I don’t wear high heels like her, and the night air is really nice right now, so I’m perfectly fine to walk. We live in a college town. It’s safe enough. Besides, it’s just me, and I’m practically invisible.

I can’t help but wonder if the stars are out. That’s one thing I miss about Stafford. You sure could see the sky out there. Not so much here. The lights of the city drown out the lights in the sky. I use the word ‘city’ lightly as Chapel Hill really doesn’t qualify. But there’s the energy of many people gathered in one place and I really like the way that feels.

I round the corner and see the green neon lights scrawling above the bar. Flannigan’s. They’ve even gone so far as to put a little shamrock hanging from the ‘s’ in the name. Becca and I have been coming here every weekend for the last two years, ever since we turned twenty-one. Not ‘cause we’re heavy drinkers or anything silly like that. And not ‘cause we like to pick up men and throw them away like used towels. We’ll have a drink, and we’ll stare at the men, but mostly we come because we like the energy. It’s the same kind of ‘many people gathered in one place’ energy that Chapel Hill has, but just on a smaller scale.

I push through the doors and am greeted with a blast of sound – the roar of conversation and television and drinks and eating and music. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I’ve spent too much time alone in the last few weeks.

Nope.

I give a little sigh and shake away the doubt. A smile creeps onto my face, a private little thing. I’m sure somewhere, someone is staring at me, this strange girl, loitering in the entryway, smiling to herself. The thought makes me blush and the blushing makes me angry. I’m twenty-three years old, damn it! I should be able to handle myself in a public place.

Anyway, I’m smiling because I realize I
have
spent too much time alone in the last few weeks and this is exactly what I need. What would Becca think if she knew I was venturing out without her? She’d paint this look of shock and awe across her face, but there’d be something that kind of looked like pride hiding underneath. She’s sarcastic as all hell, but she loves me. A lifetime of friendship kinda has that effect on people.

For the record, no, I’m not still standing in the doorway. I moved on to the bar and am waiting for the bartender to notice me so I can order a beer and head to the back of the building and throw some darts. Flannigan’s is hopping tonight and most people are congregating around the pool tables and televisions. If I head over to the dartboards, the chance of getting caught up in conversation is way smaller than if I grabbed a table in the middle of the room.

The bartender finally makes his way over to me. “Where’s your pretty little friend?” He’s kinda looking through me, around me. I don’t know. I’m used to it, I guess. Like I said, I’m practically invisible.

“She’s, uh, not here.”

Way to go, Zoe, master of the obvious. That is some scintillating conversation right there.

Whatever.

It’s not like the guy is really even listening. He kind of glances over his shoulder and it feels like I’m really wasting his time. I order my beer, pay for it, and trot back to the quiet corner near the dartboards.

So, I’m really good at darts. I know that’s not very humble of me to just kind of call it out like that, but it’s the truth. Besides, as you’ve noticed, I’m not exactly dripping with gifts and talent, nor am I some amazing beauty or anything like that. I’m tall, awkward, my tongue gets all tied up, and while I desperately crave human interaction, I’m cursed with petrifying terror whenever an
actual
human
actually
interacts with me.

So let me have my darts. Mmkay?

The back of the bar isn’t really any quieter than the rest of the bar. It’s a raucous crowd. But, I’m removed enough that the sound and energy isn’t overwhelming. None of that weird, ‘too much information’ stuff where my senses go on overload and I can’t focus on anything ‘cause I’m too busy focusing on everything. I toss a few darts and the satisfying thunk of the tiny projectile hitting the cork brings a smile to my face.

This was a good idea. The beer hits the spot and I drink it more quickly than I normally would. Becca’s not here. There’s no one to interact with. It’s ok if I let myself lose just a little control. You’d think someone as inhibited as I am would like the way it feels to loosen said inhibitions, but nope. Not at all. I’m way more likely to sip my drink and stop completely when I feel the least bit tipsy if I’m with someone because the thought of losing control and saying something dumb is mortifying.

Not tonight.

While the cat’s away, the mouse will play. I giggle for a moment, just a tiny little sound – thinking of Becca as a cat and myself as a mouse and realizing that saying really isn’t relevant. Whatever. You get the point, right? Catch my drift?

I’m still smiling to myself when I head back over to the bar to grab another beer, totally amused by my thoughts. I may even saunter a little. The first beer busy doing its job, loosening my inhibitions, the success at the dartboard making me feel confident, the silly thoughts in my head making me laugh. I probably look like an idiot but I really don’t care. I’m busy being invisible and it feels good, like the tiger inside me is pleased at being able to come to the surface a little. The bartender gives me a funny look when he hands me my beer and I retreat back to the safety of the dim lights of my quiet corner and take another couple drinks before I start sending darts flying towards the bull’s eye again.