he can feel my emotional response.
I watch his eyes melt. Deep down I highly suspect the women who left Jesse just couldn’t carry his love, because it’s a big, deep-swimming plesiosaur of a thing, and if you’re not strong enough, it could swallow you whole. There’s something I haven’t told him, though. I’ve spent my life with a hole inside me too, waiting for somebody who’ll make me the center of his world—and without trying to change me. It feels like nobody’s ever loved me exactly as I am.
“Not…sad. Wistful? Why?”
I just shake my head and hop into the Forester. It’s not time to be emotional. Since this is a road trip, I buckle up and fiddle with the radio. “Does Laredo have a non-country radio station?”
“Careful,” he teases. “You might end up with dead people instead of music.”
“One day, when you least expect it, I’ll make you sorry for that.”
“Shan, you’ll never make me sorry for anything.”
“You make it impossible to stay pissed at you.”
“Psh. As if you were.”
He’s got me there. I find some decent music, and Jesse doesn’t object to what I like. Good sign. The drive to San Antonio passes with him teasing me, and I joke back. Every word has a flirty, playful undertone; it definitely qualifies as foreplay. But he quiets the closer we get to the city, and he’s not talking at all by the time he pulls off the highway.
Twilight is situated in a seedy area, a strip on Main full of Goth bars and gay clubs. A few of them look like they’d be fun. Does Jesse like to go dancing? Our destination occupies the corner, and it’s built of crumbling brick. If Jesse wasn’t leading the way, I’d have no reason to head into such an unremarkable place. The only bit of color comes from a small purple neon sign that says Twilight.
“This is kind of a hub,” he explains, opening the black metal door for me. “Where the Gifted populace can mingle, make connections. Sometimes there’s work for hire. Other times it’s just people cutting loose.”
The floor is hardwood in need of refinishing and partially covered in faded carpet. On the walls, red lights glow in scalloped sconces, then there’s this funky maroon striped wallpaper. Dark beams give the place a certain rugged charm. I like that it isn’t pretentious. You could really settle down and drink here. Well, as long as you like the Dropkick Murphys, currently blaring from the jukebox.
“Don’t you ever play anything else?” Jesse asks the ginger-haired, freckled bartender.
The woman shrugs. “They’re Twila’s favorite band. Haven’t seen you in here for a while. Everything all right?”
“More or less. Is she ready for us?”
“Not quite. I’ll let you know when she buzzes.”
“Then let’s have a drink while we wait.” Jesse orders a lime fizz, which is basically just lime juice and seltzer. I’m sure he’s thinking about the drive back.
I’m not technically old enough to drink, but I wear so much makeup that bartenders rarely card me. They assume the paint is to cover wrinkles, I guess. So I say, “Can you make me a Forbidden Fruit?”
“Coming right up.” I watch as she mashes the kiwi, adds sugar, Midori, sake, Zubrowka, and lemon juice. The resulting cocktail is fresh, fruity, and a delightful blend of sweet and sour. Jesse raises a brow at me, looking bemused, as I sip.
“That’s the girliest drink I’ve ever seen.”
“What? It’s not even pink. I’m sure Cosmos are girlier. Even a Tequila Sunrise looks more feminine.”
“I don’t do tequila.”
“One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor?” I guess.
He laughs. “More than once, and I finally learned my lesson. The agave plant and I simply do not get along.”
“Let me guess. For light drinking, you prefer a bottled beer, probably microbrew. And when you’re feeling fancy, it’s expensive Scotch.”
“Smart-ass.” Jesse leans in and kisses me. “Mmm. Forbidden fruit, so very sweet.” His drawl
I watch his eyes melt. Deep down I highly suspect the women who left Jesse just couldn’t carry his love, because it’s a big, deep-swimming plesiosaur of a thing, and if you’re not strong enough, it could swallow you whole. There’s something I haven’t told him, though. I’ve spent my life with a hole inside me too, waiting for somebody who’ll make me the center of his world—and without trying to change me. It feels like nobody’s ever loved me exactly as I am.
“Not…sad. Wistful? Why?”
I just shake my head and hop into the Forester. It’s not time to be emotional. Since this is a road trip, I buckle up and fiddle with the radio. “Does Laredo have a non-country radio station?”
“Careful,” he teases. “You might end up with dead people instead of music.”
“One day, when you least expect it, I’ll make you sorry for that.”
“Shan, you’ll never make me sorry for anything.”
“You make it impossible to stay pissed at you.”
“Psh. As if you were.”
He’s got me there. I find some decent music, and Jesse doesn’t object to what I like. Good sign. The drive to San Antonio passes with him teasing me, and I joke back. Every word has a flirty, playful undertone; it definitely qualifies as foreplay. But he quiets the closer we get to the city, and he’s not talking at all by the time he pulls off the highway.
Twilight is situated in a seedy area, a strip on Main full of Goth bars and gay clubs. A few of them look like they’d be fun. Does Jesse like to go dancing? Our destination occupies the corner, and it’s built of crumbling brick. If Jesse wasn’t leading the way, I’d have no reason to head into such an unremarkable place. The only bit of color comes from a small purple neon sign that says Twilight.
“This is kind of a hub,” he explains, opening the black metal door for me. “Where the Gifted populace can mingle, make connections. Sometimes there’s work for hire. Other times it’s just people cutting loose.”
The floor is hardwood in need of refinishing and partially covered in faded carpet. On the walls, red lights glow in scalloped sconces, then there’s this funky maroon striped wallpaper. Dark beams give the place a certain rugged charm. I like that it isn’t pretentious. You could really settle down and drink here. Well, as long as you like the Dropkick Murphys, currently blaring from the jukebox.
“Don’t you ever play anything else?” Jesse asks the ginger-haired, freckled bartender.
The woman shrugs. “They’re Twila’s favorite band. Haven’t seen you in here for a while. Everything all right?”
“More or less. Is she ready for us?”
“Not quite. I’ll let you know when she buzzes.”
“Then let’s have a drink while we wait.” Jesse orders a lime fizz, which is basically just lime juice and seltzer. I’m sure he’s thinking about the drive back.
I’m not technically old enough to drink, but I wear so much makeup that bartenders rarely card me. They assume the paint is to cover wrinkles, I guess. So I say, “Can you make me a Forbidden Fruit?”
“Coming right up.” I watch as she mashes the kiwi, adds sugar, Midori, sake, Zubrowka, and lemon juice. The resulting cocktail is fresh, fruity, and a delightful blend of sweet and sour. Jesse raises a brow at me, looking bemused, as I sip.
“That’s the girliest drink I’ve ever seen.”
“What? It’s not even pink. I’m sure Cosmos are girlier. Even a Tequila Sunrise looks more feminine.”
“I don’t do tequila.”
“One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor?” I guess.
He laughs. “More than once, and I finally learned my lesson. The agave plant and I simply do not get along.”
“Let me guess. For light drinking, you prefer a bottled beer, probably microbrew. And when you’re feeling fancy, it’s expensive Scotch.”
“Smart-ass.” Jesse leans in and kisses me. “Mmm. Forbidden fruit, so very sweet.” His drawl
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