Read Online The Turning Season by Sharon Shinn - Free Book Online

floor. I don’t care if I look stupid, I don’t care what people think about me. I just dance.
    One of Celeste’s old boyfriends told me that he’d learned a long time ago that the women who were the most outrageous dancers tended to be the most inventive in bed. I think he was hitting on me; I was never sure. At any rate, he was still dating Celeste, so I didn’t follow up. I always wondered if he’d have still believed his theory if we’d ever been lovers.
    â€œFuck You” is followed by a few other upbeat tunes, so I start to feel fairly happy, even when the blondes join us. Some guy I’ve never seen before snakes through the people on the dance floor to tap Celeste on the shoulder. She spins around, cries out in delight, and gives him a hug, then the two of them immediately start dancing at each other in a highly suggestive fashion. I grin and push my hair out of my face. When this song ends, I wave at the others and wind my way back to our table to finish my beer.
    Oh, but someone’s sitting at the table, watching my approach. Ryan. I feel my heart give a traitorous leap; I feel my blood, briefly, turn to glitter in my veins. But I manage to mold my expression into one of muted pleasure, the look you might wear any time you unexpectedly encountered an old friend with whom you shared a long but casual history.
    He stands up at my approach so he can give me a chaste kiss on the forehead, but I feel his lips burn against my skin. I manage to be smiling when he straightens up and grins down at me. Ryan is slim but muscular, with a runner’s build. No matter what he wears, even a T-shirt and jeans, he manages to produce an air of relaxed elegance. His sandy brown hair is streaked with sun. It’s straight and cut short except for the strands that fall into his eyes with a boyish charm. He looks like he should be modeling yachting attire for a J.Crew catalog, except he’s not quite pretty enough. His skin’s a little rough, his nose has been broken, his front teeth are slightly crooked. And there’s an expression deep in his blue eyes that makes you think, if he wanted to, he could beat up all the other sailors on the boat and pitch them overboard without a moment’s remorse.
    There’s just enough of a break between songs for us to exchange a snatch of conversation.
    â€œCeleste told me you guys were going to be here tonight,” he says. “I thought I’d come say hi.”
    â€œYou look good,” I say.
    â€œYou look really sexy,” he replies. “I have to think Celeste picked out your clothes.”
    â€œAsshole,” I say in a pleasant voice, and we both laugh.
    â€œThose were two different statements,” he clarifies. “You look sexy
and
I think Celeste picked out your clothes. You’d look sexy in a tracksuit.”
    â€œSo how’ve you been?” I ask.
    â€œGood. Traveling a little. Just got back from Denver a couple days ago.”
    â€œWhat’s in Denver?”
    Before he can answer, the band launches into another song. Ryan smiles and spreads his hands apologetically, and I nod and shrug. He points to the pitcher and raises his eyebrows.
Can I have some?
I don’t see a clean glass on the table, so I pour more beer into my own glass and hand it over. He drinks the whole thing straight down, then leans over to shout in my ear.
    â€œI’m going to get another one! You want anything?”
    â€œCan I just have some ice water?” I shout back.
    He rolls his eyes, but nods, unsurprised. While he fights his way through the crowd toward the bar, I munch on the pretzels the waitress left on the table. They’re stale.
    Ryan returns a few minutes later, trailed by our waitress, whose tray is loaded down with another pitcher of beer, two glasses of water, and a plate that holds a burger and fries. Ryan puts his lips to my ear and says, “Wanna split it? I’m hungry, but not that