spent hours making a list of incantations for the solstice festival. Meanwhile, Wellsie was in the kitchen, ordering supplies for the ceremony.
As Sarelle turned another page, he thought she had really pretty hands.
"Okay," she said. "I think that's the last one."
Her eyes flashed up to his and it was like getting struck by lightning: a shock of heat and then a spacey disorientation. Plus he would have believed he glowed in the dark now, too.
She smiled and closed the book. Then there was a long silence. "So... um, I guess my friend Lash is in your training class."
Lash was her friend? Oh, terrific.
"Yeah... and he says you have the mark of the Brotherhood on your chest." When John didn't respond, she said, "Do you?"
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John shrugged and scribbled on the edge of the list he'd made.
"Can I see it?"
He squeezed his eyes shut. Like he wanted her to get a load of his scrawny chest? Or that birthmark that had proven to be such a pain in the ass?
"I don't think you did it yourself, like they do," she said quickly. "And, I mean, it's not like I want to inspect it or something. I don't even know what one is supposed to look like. I'm just curious."
She moved her chair closer to his and he caught a whiff of the perfume she wore... or maybe it wasn't perfume.
Maybe it was just... her.
"Which side is it on?"
As if his hand belonged to her, he patted his left pectoral.
"Unbutton your shirt a little." She leaned over to the side, her head angled so she could look at his chest.
"John? Can I please see it?"
He glanced at the doorway. Wellsie was still talking on the phone in the kitchen, so she probably wasn't going to come barging in or anything. But the study still seemed way public.
Oh... God. Was he really going to do this?
"John? I just want to... see."
Okay, he was going to do this.
He stood up and nodded at the doorway. Without a word Sarelle followed right behind him, going all the way down the hall, all the way into his bedroom.
After they stepped inside, he shut the door most of the way and reached for the top button of his shirt. He willed his hands to be steady by vowing to saw them off if they embarrassed him. The threat seemed to work, because he unbuttoned the shirt down to his stomach without much trouble. He stretched the left side open and looked away.
When he felt a light touch on his skin, he jumped.
"Sorry, my hands are cold." Sarelle blew on her fingertips, then went back to his chest.
Good God. Something was happening in his body, some kind of wild shifting inside his skin. His breath grew short, strangled. He opened his mouth so he could get more air in.
"That is really cool."
He was disappointed when she dropped her hand. But then she smiled at him.
"So do you think you might want to go out sometime? You know, we could go to the laser-tag place. That could be cool. Or maybe the movies."
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John nodded like the dummy he was.
"Good."
Their eyes met. She was so pretty, she made him dizzy.
"Do you want to kiss me?" she whispered.
John's eyes cracked open. Like a balloon had popped behind his head.
"Because I'd like you to." She licked her lips a little. "I really would."
Whoa... Chance of a lifetime, right here, right now, he thought.
Do not pass out. Passing out would be a total buzz kill.
John quickly called on every movie he'd ever seen... and got no help at all. As a horror fan, he was just swamped by visions of Godzilla stomping across Tokyo and of Jaws chewing on the ass end of the Orca. Big help.
He thought of the mechanics. Head tilt. Lean forward. Make the contact.
Sarelle glanced around, flushing. "If you don't want to, that's cool. I just thought..."
"John?" Wellsie's voice came from down the hall. And got closer as she kept talking. "Sarelle? Where are you guys?"
He winced. Before he lost his nerve, he grabbed Sarelle's hand, pulled her forward, and planted a good one right on her mouth, his lips tight against hers. No tongue, but there wasn't time, and he'd probably need to call 911 after something like that anyway. As it was, he was practically hyperventilating.
Then he pushed her back. And worried about how he'd done.