Let the Sky Fall (Sky Fall #1)(58)

It’s insane. She made it very clear that she doesn’t want me—at least, not as much as she wants to please the losers in her army.

This is her choice. Not mine.

Hannah launches into some story about hockey—she’s so Canadian it’s hilarious—and I take the opportunity to study Isaac and Shelby. He has his arm draped across her shoulders and his fingers are playing with the soft red curls that frame her face. She’s pressed up against his side like she doesn’t want a millimeter of space between them. The grin on Isaac’s face says he doesn’t mind that at all.

Everything about them screams “couple.” And I have to hand it to them. They look happy. I mean, I know why Isaac’s happy. Shels is way out of his league. He isn’t bad-looking, or he wouldn’t be if he shaved the ugly mustache he insists on sporting, which is surprisingly thin and scraggly considering he’s full-blooded Mexican. All the other guys in his family—including his fourteen-year-old brother—have beards.

Shelby’s hot, though. Long legs, despite being what girls would call petite, and enough curve to make the buttons pop on almost every shirt she wears—not that I look. Well, not now that she’s with Isaac.

But Shelby looks even happier than Isaac. Like she belongs in the crook of his arm. And she’s spent so many months in that exact spot I almost can’t picture him without her there. Makes it kind of annoying when I want a night with my friend without his girlfriend joined at the hip. Right now, though, it makes the careful gap Hannah and I are keeping between us feel like the Grand Canyon.

Maybe I need to try harder. Hannah has her right hand resting on the table, and before I can change my mind I grab it.

Hannah flinches and I relax my grip, realizing my big move came across more like an attack than a romantic gesture.

Isaac and Shelby share a look.

Strike one for Vane.

But I’m not out yet. Hannah doesn’t pull away, and she turns her hand over, twining our fingers together.

I smirk at Isaac. How you like me now?

This is good. I’m doing this. I’m on a normal date with normal friends on a perfectly normal night. No crazy winds. No talk of evil warriors or languages of the wind or arranged marriages. Just random chitchat about movies or music or school or whatever—exactly the way a date should be.

So what if everything about this moment screams, This is wrong?

The waitress delivers our food, and I smile when I see the giant bowl of pasta she sets in front of Hannah. A girl who eats when she’s hungry. Score one for Hannah.

There’s an awkward moment when I stare at our clasped hands and try to decide what to do—strike two. Then I let go of Hannah so I can dive into my gigantic sandwich and mountain of fries. I eat way past the point of fullness, like it’s another form of protest.

Take that, you crazy sylphs with your not eating and controlling people’s lives!

I scoot closer to Hannah, letting our legs touch—skin on skin, since we’re both wearing shorts. Another point for Hannah: She’s dressed appropriately for summer in the desert. Not buttoned up to her neck in some ridiculous uniform.

I still feel nothing when we touch, but her closeness brings a different kind of thrill. The thrill of success.

Hannah takes my hand again, lacing our fingers tight.

“Vane?” someone calls over the noisy restaurant.

My sandwich and fries threaten to come back up.

Isaac, Shelby, and Hannah turn to see who’s calling me. I stare at my plate, wondering if I can stab myself to death with my butter knife.

“Vane,” Audra says again, her voice louder now. Breathless.

A shadow falls over the table, but I don’t look up. My plan is to pretend she’s not there. It needs work, but it’s all I have.

Isaac and Shelby are silent. Probably sitting back to watch the show.

Hannah shifts in her seat. “Vane, what’s she doing here?” The edge to her voice tells me she’s less than happy to see Audra again.

“I’m here,” Audra answers for me, “because I’m his girlfriend. So I’d appreciate it if you’d take your hands off of him.”

“Dude,” Isaac half-laughs, half-mumbles.

He grunts, like Shelby elbowed him.

I say nothing. I’m in a crapload of trouble, but, God help me, all I can think is how good it sounds when Audra says “his girlfriend.”

I risk a glance at her—and, oh man, she’s hot. Lots of hair has escaped her braid, falling around her flushed face, and her jacket’s gone, her black tank even tighter and tinier than I remember. I’m not sure “hot” is a strong enough word. “Smokin’ hot” might be more accurate.

Hannah snaps me out of my staring when she yanks her hand away and scoots as far toward the wall of the booth as she can possibly go.

I know everyone’s waiting for me to do something—say something—but my brain isn’t equipped to deal with this situation.

Isaac clears his throat. “Dude, if you have a girlfriend you should’ve just told me.”

“More importantly,” Shelby interrupts, “he shouldn’t be putting the moves on Hannah.”

“No one was putting the moves on me,” Hannah mumbles, like the very idea of me being interested in her is suddenly disgusting.

“Yes, he was. And he went out with you a few nights ago. Did you have the girlfriend then, too, Vane?”