Whisper to a Scream (Alexa O'Brien, Huntress #6.5)(5)

I shoved the door open and found myself ordering another caramel macchiato, but my gaze was on her. I approached her before sense could strike me.

“Funny seeing you here,” I said, kicking myself mentally for such a stupid line. “May I join you?”

Her dark eyes were rimmed red, pupils huge despite the bright lighting. She fidgeted with a sugar packet, her hands moving constantly, unable to be still. The smile that lit up her face entranced me even as I recognized the signs of someone under the influence of heavy narcotics.

“Yes, of course. I never thought I would see you again. You left pretty quickly.” Her intense gaze pinned me, waiting for my judgment of her occupation or her intoxicated state.

“I’m sorry he did that to you,” I said, meaning it. I had no judgment for anyone. She’d made choices that I had no right to condemn, nor did I want to. “It was very unprofessional and cruel.”

“It was expected.” She shrugged it off, absently stirring her coffee. “Let’s just say, I’m glad the night is over. He was a prick right from the start. Most of the men I escort have a little more class, but you know, shit happens.”

Once she was assured of my opinion, Christina had a hard time holding my gaze. Her eyes darted about from the barista to the door to her phone, anywhere but my eyes.

Instead of pretending to understand, I asked, “What led you into such an industry?”

“The same thing that leads any woman in, money. I wish I had some great, heart wrenching sob story for you. I don’t. I needed cash and being an escort was a good way to get it. I told myself I would only do it for a year, but it’s been four now.” Finally she met my eyes again, albeit briefly. “What can I say? The money is good.”

“I think I understand.” I nodded, feeling the gap between us grow. She was human; I was not. What was I doing here?

“No, you don’t,” she quipped. “But, that’s ok. I wouldn’t expect you to.”

The saccharine coffee hit my tongue, too strong to have again so soon. I frowned down into my cup. Too much of a good thing quickly became unbearable. Disgusting even.

“Did you win anything?” She asked, fumbling her spoon onto the floor with a loud clatter.

It took me a moment to realize she was talking about the auction. “Oh, right. No, I didn’t. I didn’t see anything I liked much there anyway.”

She leaned over to retrieve the spoon, and her hair flipped, exposing a small star tattoo on her neck beneath her ear. With a twitch of her full lips, she purred, “Nothing at all?”

Sudden warmth struck me. My heart pounded when she followed the question by trailing her fingers along the back of my hand. I was unable to speak as my mouth went dry.

“You wanted me though, didn’t you? Before you found out what I do for a living. Trust me, I know when a man is attracted to me.” Christina pulled her hand away and smoothed back her hair. She watched me like a cat watching a clueless mouse.

I grew uneasy. I missed her touch already and wished she would reach across the small table once more. My cheeks burned with the answer to her question.

“I enjoyed our dance very much,” I managed to say. “I’m sorry it was interrupted.”

Her peal of infectious laughter filled the coffee shop. Again, it coaxed me to laugh with her as if we shared some private joke.

“We could start again. There’s a cute little jazz club downtown. Maybe we can go sometime.”

“I would love to.” The words spilled out before I could rethink them.

“Really?” Christina’s eyes widened with surprise. “My occupation doesn’t turn you off? Oh, please tell me it doesn’t turn you on.” She made a gagging sound before dissolving into more laughter.

With a shake of my head, I pushed my macchiato aside. I considered taking her hand but decided against it. “I’ve enjoyed the brief time I have spent in your presence tonight. It would be an honor to get to know you better.”

“You just have all the right words, don’t you?” She drank the last of her coffee and grimaced. “I wish this was tequila. Too bad it’s past last call.”

A yellow taxi pulled up to the curb and honked. Christina jumped out of her seat as if on fire. She spilled her purse in the process and, cursing, bent to gather up the contents.

“That’s my cab. I’m sorry; I’ve got to go. Here.” Before I could help or so much as move, she shoved a card into my hand and turned to go. “Give me a call if you’re serious about the jazz club. Goodnight, Willow.”

I watched her click-clack out the door in those frightfully high shoes. After she got into the cab, she caught me staring and waved.

I was such a fool. How did I possibly think I could go out with this woman as if it were perfectly fine?

Christina tried to erect a facade of normalcy, though she was no closer to normal than anyone else. Maybe I could help her see that she was no more broken than the next person.

Or, maybe that was just the first lie I told myself.

* * * *

The music was loud, drowning out the sound of Christina’s musical laugh. It did nothing to lessen the effect of her energetic actions as she pulled me from my seat.

“I love this song,” she cried. “Dance with me?”

I’d wrestled with guilt and uncertainty after watching her drive off in that taxi. A little voice in my head screamed for me to throw her number away and forget that I’d met her. I knew that I had no business in her life, but after several days of struggling, I ignored the voice of reason and picked up the phone.