The Long Game (9 page)

If I took this much further, I’d spend the
night fending her off instead of getting closer to Spencer. I
lifted my head to glance around the room and met Spencer’s eyes.
She was at the bottom of the staircase, standing with a guy who
leaned against the banister, probably to keep himself on his feet
as much as to look cool.

I leaned in closer to the faux-redhead on the
sofa, but my eyes never left the genuine redhead who stood across
the room. Her eyes flashed, and she turned back to the guy next to
her. He gulped down what remained in his cup and set it aside on a
marble tabletop that was already overflowing with abandoned paper
plates and beer cans. He held his now empty hand out to her. She
slipped her hand into his and, with one last glance at me, let him
lead her through a doorway on the other side of the staircase.

“You wanna get out of here?” Anna asked.

I’d almost forgotten she was there. “Yeah, I
do actually. It was great to meet you.”

“But I thought—”

I didn’t wait to hear what she thought. I
just left her on the couch wearing a stunned expression.

It was dark in the alcove on the other side
of the stairs, but I could still make out the guy’s considerable
bulk. His back was to me, and he leaned against the wall on one
arm. Spencer was just visible, her back pressed into the wall like
she was trying to put as much distance between them as possible.
When she tried to move away, he planted his other arm against the
wall to bar her exit. He pressed his face into hers in a poor
imitation of a kiss. Spencer thumped her fists into his shoulders,
but he pinned both her wrists with one hand, the effort barely
slowing his attack on her lips.

I cleared the distance so quickly it even
surprised me and clamped a hand down on his meaty shoulder.

“What the hell, man?” He spun around to glare
at me, his face flushed red with anger and alcohol. “Can’t you see
we’re a little busy?”

“She doesn’t look like she’s that into it.” I
tipped my head at Spencer. “Maybe you should let her go back to the
party.”

“Maybe you should mind your own damn
business.” He shoved his thick fingertips into my chest, knocking
me backward a step or two.

“I don’t think you want to do that.” I
brushed a hand over the shoulder seam in my shirt. “Come on. Have a
little respect for the girls who were nice enough to invite you to
their party.”

“Listen, dipshit,” the guy said. He took a
step toward me, but I didn’t flinch. “You have about twenty seconds
to get the hell out of my face before you get your ass beat.”

I chuckled. “How about you go ahead and try
now and save us both the twenty seconds?”

His red face purpled, and he swung. I leaned
away from his clumsy right hook easily, then dodged his left.
Frustrated, he barreled toward me, hunched forward like a wrestler.
I sidestepped his charge and pushed my hands into his back as he
passed, using his own momentum to send him sprawling to the floor
behind me. He slid into the wall with a grunt. I didn’t know
whether he’d stay down or not, but I wasn’t waiting around to find
out. I grabbed Spencer’s hand and pulled her from the alcove.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I FOLLOWED THE music back into the main room
of the sorority house. The crowd had thinned, but there was still
less chance of the drunk coming back for more out among other
people. I pushed past a few dancing couples, pulling Spencer along
behind me until we were in the middle of the room. I stopped and
turned so fast that she crashed into my chest. She tipped her head
back to look up at me. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were
flushed, but she didn’t try to pull away when my arms wrapped
around her. She gripped my shoulders with trembling hands.

“I’m sorry—” I said.

“Thank you for—” she said at the same time,
then smiled. “Go ahead.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry about that.”
I gestured toward the hall with my chin. “I know it was none of my
business, but…” I shrugged.

“Shane, don’t apologize. That was… I don’t
know what that was, but thank you. I knew that guy from my
chemistry class, and he said he needed to talk to me about
something. I can’t believe…” She pressed closer to me, and I could
feel her heartbeat slowing to a more normal pace.

I shrugged a second time. “To be honest, it’s
not the first fight I’ve been in and definitely wasn’t the
worst.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“Is that supposed to be charming?”

The song ended, and a new, slower one
started. For half a second, I thought she might pull away, but when
she didn’t move, I tightened my arms around her waist and looked
down into her face. “That depends. Do you find it more charming
when guys tell you what you want to hear or tell you the
truth?”

“It has to be one or the other?”

“It doesn’t have to be, but it usually
is.”

I’d finally succeeded in coaxing out a smile.
“I guess, if I have to choose, I’d go with the truth, even if it’s
not always what I want to hear.”

I smiled. “Good choice.”

Spencer dropped her face and relaxed into my
arms, resting her cheek against my chest as we swayed together to
the haunting melody of a tin whistle. The warmth of her face soaked
through my shirt to the skin beneath. Her hair smelled faintly of
honey and vanilla. I couldn’t help pressing my face to the top of
her head and inhaling deeply. Breathing her in.

Another song ended, and I felt her pull away
just a little. I scrambled to find a reason why I wouldn’t let her
go. “It’s getting a little close in here.” I pulled on the top
button of my shirt to make my point. “Do you want to go outside?
Get some fresh air?”

Spencer gave me a long look. She caught her
bottom lip between her teeth—no doubt a nervous habit, but an
adorable one. Still, it meant she was wary about being alone with
me, which didn’t do much for my cause. I adopted a mask of casual
indifference. After another few seconds of silence from Spencer, I
shrugged and moved my foot as if I were about to walk away.

“Anyway, thank you for the dance,” I said. I
flashed a grin and stepped around her.

“Hold on.” She caught my hand. “I’ll come
with you.”

This time I let her lead the way. We weaved
through the party and toward the back of the house, passing through
a formal dining room. Spencer took in the mounting piles of trash
that littered the table with a frown as we reached a pair of French
doors, and she pulled on one of the brass handles to open it.

We emerged onto a stone patio where a handful
of guests had come to enjoy the warm night air. Despite the heat, a
fire crackled inside a clay chiminea on the patio. Another nod to
the Celtic holiday, I guessed, though I wasn’t sure why they’d even
bothered trying to mimic the bonfires usually associate with Lúnasa
in this heat.

A welcome breeze blew through the trees
surrounding the backyard of the OIA house. It lifted the wide
strand of ribbon that cinched the waist of Spencer’s dress, and I
caught it in one hand, ran my thumb across its silky surface, and
then let it unfurl from my fingers. The breeze set it to its
rippling dance again, and I took her hand. We descended the stone
steps that led down from the patio and followed a path through the
backyard to a mercifully deserted courtyard hidden behind a circle
of hedges. Spencer pulled her hand from mine and walked to a wooden
swing set off to one side. I pushed both hands deep into the
pockets of my shorts and followed after her. I held the swing still
and waited for her to get situated before I sat beside her. She
rested her hand beside her leg and gripped the swing’s edge. I did
the same, careful to leave a small distance between our
fingers.

“So,” she said after a long moment. “Is your
family still in New Orleans?”

I nodded, grateful for the question. She
seemed so nervous that I’d started to worry my usual talents
wouldn’t be much use in winning her over. “My mam and my older
brother are both there,” I answered, neglecting to mention the
entire village of Travelers who were mostly distant relatives in
one way or another.

She arched a questioning eyebrow. “Your
‘mam’?”

Dammit. I cast about for an explanation, then
simply decided on the truth. “She’s Irish—my mother. I
mean—actually-from-Ireland Irish. It’s just what we call her.”

“That’s cool. Have you ever been?”

“To Ireland?”

“Yeah.”

“No, but she keeps threatening to take us.” I
laughed. “She says every Irishman needs to see the ‘land of saints
and scholars’ at least once before he dies. I’m sure she’d say the
same thing for Irishwomen, too, of course.” I bumped my shoulder
into hers the way Kay had done.

Spencer smiled. “I’d like to go someday for
sure. OIA has a program that allows you to study at Trinity College
for a semester. I’ve thought about applying, but the idea of being
on my own in Dublin for a semester is a little scary.”

“Yeah, being away from home can be rough.”
I’d only been gone for a few days, and already I missed Maggie,
Jimmy Boy, and the dogs.

“I’m surprised you knew I was Irish. With a
last name like Costello, most people assume I’m Italian.”

“Well, you’re in OIA, so I just guessed.” I
left out the fact that Costello was a pretty common Traveler name.
There were at least two dozen of them back home—probably even
related to her, though they’d never claimed Tommy as far as I’d
ever heard. Of course, they wouldn’t, given what he’d done.

She grinned, and it quickly
brought my attention back to the present moment. “So what
does
yer mam
do?”
she asked, affecting a convincing Irish brogue.

“Oh, a bit o’ this, a bit o’ that.” I
mimicked Maggie’s airy, lilting speech. “She’s a diviner. She reads
tarot cards and tea leaves for the tourists and for the locals who
believe in that sort of thing.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Many
women in the Village came to Maggie to learn how a particular
season of traveling might work out or to get assurance that a
marriage arrangement would lead to a happy life for a child, but
for now, it served my purpose for Spencer to imagine her as one of
the fortunetellers in New Orleans’ Jackson Square.

Spencer fixed me with a curious smile. I
guessed it sounded a little strange given how normal her upbringing
must’ve been. But if she thought badly of my family or me, she
didn’t say so. “Sometimes I wouldn’t mind knowing what my future
holds,” she admitted.

I took the opening. I turned her hand so her
palm faced upward and scrutinized it for several silent moments.
With the index finger of my free hand, I traced a line that
traversed the pale surface of her palm. Her slight shiver at my
touch was encouraging, to say the least.

“Well, now…” I continued my Maggie
impersonation. “What do we have here, lass? It seems you have a
bright future indeed.” I glanced up at her through my lashes. She
stared at her hand enveloped in mine. “I see you in an abandoned
courtyard, and…what’s this?” I looked at her again, pleased to see
she’d leaned in a hair closer in anticipation of what I’d say next.
“You appear to be getting very close to a handsome young
stranger.”

She laughed but pulled away. I registered a
fleeting sense of disappointment at the sudden emptiness of my hand
but smiled at her anyway.

“I certainly hope your mom is better than you
because, as far as fortune telling goes, that was pretty weak.”

“What can I say? I guess the only thing she
passed on to me was her eyes.”

“Then I think you got the better end of the
deal,” Spencer said.

I wanted to kiss her then, but after her
experience with the drunk in the alcove, I wasn’t sure how she’d
react. Instead I dropped my eyes, pretending to be embarrassed by
the compliment.

“So what about your mom?” I asked. I was
honestly curious. Pop hadn’t known who Tommy had taken up with
after he’d left the Village, but Spencer was born soon after, so
there had to have been someone.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” She
shrugged. “I know she was a waitress, but she took off right after
I was born, so it’s just been my dad and me.”

“Same here,” I said. “With my dad, I mean. He
died before I was born.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her expression pained.
She squeezed my hand, and I was surprised by the genuine rush of
affection. If anyone else had told me Tommy Costello had been left
alone with a baby girl to raise on his own, I would’ve been glad to
hear it. Sitting in the dark holding Spencer’s hand, I just felt
bad for her.

“Do you see that constellation right there?”
she asked, pointing at something over our heads. I appreciated the
chance to shake off the disconcerting feelings of sympathy and
looked up to follow the line of her outstretched arm. “It’s
Òighean,” she continued. “When I was little, my dad told me no
matter how alone I felt, the Lady of the Stars would always be
where I could find her.”

I leaned closer to her and bent my neck back
so I was nearer her eye level, then squinted to search for the
woman. After a moment, I shook my head, chuckling. “I’m not sure
which stars you’re pointing at.”

Spencer rolled her eyes at me and pressed her
fingertips under my chin, tilting my face in the direction of the
constellation. She pointed again with her free hand. I nodded, but
my mind was preoccupied with the feeling of her fingers against my
skin. I looked down at her. Spencer’s face was still upturned, and
her skin glowed a pale silver in the moonlight as she smiled.
Without giving any thought to how she would react or whether it
would set back any progress I’d made so far, I kissed her.

Spencer’s response wasn’t immediate, but
after a moment, she kissed me back, pressing her hands into my
chest. I laid one hand against the side of her neck and tangled the
fingers of my other through the silky hair at the back of her head.
Her mouth was hot on mine, and she tasted sweet as our tongues
met.