Lucian Divine(10)

“So why didn’t I see you outside?”

He seemed to be pondering what he should tell me. “Did you see the woman walking a little white dog?”

“That was you?”

“Yeah. I’m whoever, whenever I need to be. I got lazy at the bar when you were with that guy. Honestly, Evelyn, that guy?” He scowled. “You were all swept up in him, so I didn’t go to great lengths to disguise myself. Not that it would have mattered.” His tone was strangely bitter. “We’re not supposed to reveal what we really look like to our souls.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re just not. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

“Do you know what transference is? Like with patients and doctors?”

“I think I do. So you think that I’d fall in love with you or something because your job is to protect me?” It wouldn’t be hard. He smelled delicious, looked incredibly sexy, and his touch was spellbinding.

“I’m created to make you feel comfortable. You must sense that?”

I nodded. “But if you didn’t feel the same way…”

“We don’t.” He went rigid. “We’re not made to fall in love.”

I glanced at his jeans. He followed my eyes.

“I have average parts,” he said quickly, and then his arrogant smile reappeared. “Although I wouldn’t actually call mine average, but yes, I have man parts. We can date each other—angels can date each other—but our jobs are too demanding for a serious commitment.”

It all sounded so logistical and practical, and honestly, quite comical.

I started feeling dizzy. “Is this really happening?”

He moved quickly and gracefully. “Lie down.” He pulled me on top of him. My head was on his shoulder, and he was stroking my hair. He lowered his voice to a warm rumble in his chest. “When you struggle, I come through people in your life. Sometimes when you’re alone, I’m here too. I’ve done this a million times, but I couldn’t let you feel my physical body.”

Shame. I felt warm and calm in his arms. “Do all angels look like you?”

His chuckle lightened the mood. “No, you just got lucky.”

“When do you date?” I asked.

“There’s an empty time slot every night based on your geographic location. It’s a couple of hours when we have to meet with our supervisor if nothing is happening.”

“So we all freeze at midnight or something?”

“For humans, it’s one minute, but for us, it’s about two hours. Basically your time is slowed down. You’re moving, but it’s barely detectable. So if there’re no real issues and I don’t have to meet with Mona, I date a little.” He shrugged one shoulder.

“How do you meet potential dates?”

“Tinder.”

I sat up quickly. “Stop it.”

“I swear. Angels can see other angels’ wings, so when a profile pops up, we always know whether to swipe left or right.”

When I laughed, he smiled, just before his eyes darted to the ceiling. “Oh shit,” he whispered, and then he was gone.

It was jarring. My face hit the couch as Brooklyn’s voice came from the front door. “Pinky, you here?”

I’d never told her, but I resented the nickname. After all, I had contracted pink eye after staying the night in her filthy childhood bedroom.

“I’m here,” I yelled to Brooklyn. Under my breath, I said, “Lucian, if you’re here, give me a sign.” There was nothing. No warm feelings, no floating vases, no thunder or lightning in the distance.

Brooklyn came into the living room and threw her coat and purse on the couch next to me. “I thought you’d be here with what’s his face?”

“Beckett? No. The date was horrible.”

She plopped down on the green velvet chair next to the fireplace. “I told you it would happen. Only a matter of time.”

I sat up and crossed my arms, still shaken up over what I had either hallucinated or experienced moments before. I wasn’t going to tell her about Lucian, but I wondered if people knew about angels and didn’t talk about it. “Do you believe in guardian angels?”

“No. If I had a guardian angel, do you really think I would have gotten that heinous sunburn last summer in Cabo?”

“How was your night?” I asked.

“Stupid.” That meant she hadn’t gotten the attention she wanted. “I’m going to bed.” She got up and left the room. “Night, Pinky.”

I looked around for any sign that Lucian had been there. I picked up the glass from the table. I had drunk all of the wine, but there was still a red ring lining the bottom of the glass. I held it up with triumph and said, “I’m not crazy.”

“No one said you were, weirdo!” Brooklyn yelled from her bedroom.

“Good night,” I called to her as I got up and headed to my room. Inside my room, I began to undress and then stiffened. “Lucian? If you’re here, you have to tell me.”

I remembered what he’d said about not spying on me. I slowly undressed, still on edge and shaking. I got into my bed, exhausted but terrified, then I began the prayer I had said every night since I was a child. It had never held any meaning until now. It was always just a habit, a soothing mechanism my mother had taught me.