BOONE’S LONG LASHES brush together when he glowers down at me from the stage at Pete’s. He’s pissed yet the anger intensifies his good looks. That fact adds another layer to my annoyance.
His sneer curls his lips, and he flashes his canines like a feral dog about to lunge.
Everything about him screams pissed off, and at first my body responds to some primal caveman possession reaction. I shut that down as swiftly as it hits me.
No, he doesn’t get to call me out in public. Nope. No way.
Ignoring Boone’s glaring, I turn to a petrified looking Brayden, who’s the color of a cherry and frozen in place like a human popsicle.
“Are you dating him?” Boone shouts above the music, which goes quiet at the same time.
The rest of the band stands silent, instruments still in their hands.
“Are you fucking her?” Boone snarls out the question, this time low enough only me, Brayden, and about ten people closest to us can hear.
This is the first time I’m seeing Boone since the night of the kraken incident, also known as the night I destroyed everything. He’s feral, his eyes more amber than I’ve ever seen them.
My first instinct is to ignore him, turn, and leave Pete’s. Maybe get in my car, drive and never come back.
I have no ties to this town.
Or to Boone.
Instead, my mouth opens and my brain bypasses the flight urge and speaks for me. “None of your damn business.”
Way to defend my honor, Brayden. Not only does he believe aliens are demons and dark angels, he’s pretty terrible at being a gentleman. I gently touch his arm, trying to break whatever trance he’s in. Apparently having a band member yell at your “date” in the middle of a show can freak some guys out. “I’m leaving. You’re welcome to stay.”
“Huh?” Brayden’s glassy stare meets mine. It’s like he’s been hit with a tractor beam that’s rendered him stupid.
“I’m leaving,” I tell him.
In the awkward silence of the room, the drummer begins to play a steady beat on his drums. The crowd is growing restless and some random guy behind us yells, “Play ‘Free Bird’.”
A bunch of the audience laughs and begins shouting random song requests.
Then a half-eaten chicken wing sails through the air and lands at Boone’s feet.
He breaks his one-sided glaring contest with me to glance down at the chicken bone.
“What the hell?” he mumbles right before a carrot stick hits his shoulder.
“I’m out of here.” I tug Brayden’s sleeve, giving him one more chance before things escalate.
More carrots and some celery sails by my head, reminding me of eighth grade. Back home, the Great Food War of Washington Middle School is the stuff of legend. Having witnessed it firsthand, I know things are about to get messy.
Brayden doesn’t budge and I make the decision to leave him behind to save myself. When a hamburger bun smacks Boone’s leg and sticks, I know it’s now or never.
Shoving my way through the crowd toward the emergency exit to the left of the stage, I hear one of the band members tell people to calm down.
Too late.
That ship has sailed.
The guitarist, whose name I think is Melo or Mallow, begins playing random notes. Behind me, someone shouts my name. I’m a foot or two from the door and freedom, there’s no way I’m turning back now.
Brayden is on his own and Boone can go fuck himself.
“Lucy Halliday!” the voice shouts again from the open door behind me. Even with the blast of music and shouting from the inevitable food battle, I recognize Boone’s voice.
I could stop, face him, and tell him where he can stuff his masculine possessive bullshit. Or I can start to jog, holding on to hope I can outrun him, and get to my car before he catches up. A third option hits me as I speed-walk down the side of the building: I can keep on walking. Because I didn’t drive. Brayden did.
Wanda set me up with Brayden. He’s the son of a cousin or a cousin’s cousin or her dental hygienist. She said he had information about people who go missing after abductions. Not thinking it was going to be a real date with a dinner and a show, I agreed. And broke my rule about always driving myself.
As much as I’m annoyed at Wanda, I blame Boone. I got used to him driving when we went on our real dates.
Brayden picked the place. When we arrived at Pete’s, I should’ve suggested somewhere else. I didn’t. Instead, I sat through dinner trying to steer the conversation to abductions while Brayden talked about aliens in the Bible. I saw live music as my escape from the alien Jesus believer, and dragged him up to the stage before realizing who was playing.
My evening has been a Jenga tower of bad decisions.
It hits me Brayden hasn’t followed me. I wonder if he’s still standing in the same spot by the stage. Or if Boone knocked him out.
If he did, he can get his pecan pancakes and huevos someplace else. I’ll amend our “no shirt, no shoes” sign to read “no shirt, no shoes, no assholes.”
“Lucy, stop.”
Hell no. I’m not a dog he can command.
I speed up.
“Lucy.” The tone of his voice switches from demanding to pleading.
I’m not moving that quickly. He could definitely catch up to me if he wanted.
From the sound of his footsteps, he’s a few yards behind me, not closing the distance by running, or even jogging.
On the other hand, I’m feeling a little winded. We’ve passed the parking lot of Pete’s and are now a two person parade down the sidewalk, heading back toward Main Street.
“Lu-cy, please stop and talk to me.”
I keep stomping in the direction of downtown.
“Lucy, you can’t walk home. It’s too far.”
Pfft. What does he know? It might take me over an hour, but I’d do it just to spite him.
“Loo-cy,” he whines. “Stop running away from me.”
If I thought him saying please was a game changer, arrogant, cocky Boone whining is a whole other level.
Honestly, I’m not sure I like it.
I stop and wait for him.
Not because he whined and said please. My feet are killing me in these boots and there’s a sharp stab of a cramp in my side.
Waiting the few seconds it’ll take for him to catch up, I glance around and am surprised to see we’ve gone farther than I thought. Main Street is the next intersection. The marquee of the UFO museum peeks around the corner.
I didn’t realize I was so close. For a flash, I think about dashing across the intersection to the alley that’ll take me to the secret entrance.
Glancing behind me, I realize Boone’s stopped walking, too. Rather than approach me, he’s standing still, eyeing me like I’d watch a prowling coyote—little bit afraid, but also fascinated from a safe distance.
We stare at each other, both of our chests rising and falling in sync.
“Lucy,” he says again, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“No.” I hold up my hand when he takes a step forward. “Stay there.”
He freezes, obeying my order.
I’m half-tempted to tell him “good boy” for listening. Just to piss him off.
“You don’t get to speak to me the way you did back there. Ever. In fact, you shouldn’t speak to any woman like that. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I—”
“Don’t answer that. It was rhetorical!” I shout at him.
He dares to smirk at me.
“If you want to keep that smirk, you better lose it. I am not in the mood for your beautiful mouth tonight. Not when you act like a giant manhole, jerk face, caveman, sexist prick.” I pause to think of more insults.
“Are you finished yelling at me?” He crosses his arms and waits.
“No.” I mirror his posture.
“Then by all means, continue.” Rolling one of his hands in a circle, he calmly encourages me.
“Ugh, you are so infuriating. I don’t need your permission to speak my mind, Boone.” My voice drips with sarcasm when I add his name at the end. Petulant and pissed, that’s me. “Jealousy is ugly, even on you.”
He presses his lips together and then drags his bottom teeth over his top lip as he listens. No mustache to hide his full lips or the way the pressure of his teeth turns the skin from pink to white to deep rose.
Ugh, ugh, ugh. I hate his beautiful mouth.
That’s a lie I wish were true.
Sounds of traffic from the main drag behind me fills the growing gap between my words and his silence.
I’m about to turn around and keep walking when he finally speaks. “Can I say something?”
“You’ve never needed my permission before.” I’m in full snarky, teenage girl mode and I can’t seem to care enough to stop myself.
“Touché.”
A white pickup speeds by us and a guy yells out the passenger window, “Get a room!”
And in this moment I hate all men.
That’s not true. Only the men on this street in this moment.
“I’m sorry.”
And with those two words, as much as I’m mad at him, I can’t hate Boone Santos.
Inhaling slowly through my nose, I absorb this revelation and his apology. “Why are you apologizing?”
He slides his fingers into the front pockets of his dark jeans and rocks back on his heels. “I was a jealous bastard.”
I notice the hamburger bun left a stain on his right thigh.
“You were.”
Lips pressed together, he nods. “Right. And there’s no excuse. If a guy spoke to my sister like that, I’d deck him. I don’t know what happened to me back there. Did you show up tonight to rub it in my face? Make me jealous? Shari told me she met you when you were on another date.”
“No, no way. I told you I don’t play games.”
“Then why bring a guy to Pete’s?”
“He picked the place.” I hate that I’m defending my actions. “I didn’t know Alien Autopsies was even playing tonight.”
“Do you like him?” The question has a bitter bite to it.
“Why does it matter?” I have no feelings about Brayden, but I’m not telling Boone because he’s being an asshole.
“It does. All I know is it does.” This realization makes him frown. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“No, I don’t like him. I just met him. And since he didn’t follow me outside, I won’t be seeing him again.” I debate telling him my true motivation for hanging out with Brayden. Misleading guys for research doesn’t make me a good person even if I never lead them on, or go on second dates ever. Except with Boone.
“Good.” He glances at my face and then around us as if noticing our surroundings for the first time. “How are you getting home?”
I bite back the urge to tell him it’s none of his business again, but the fight has left me. My feet hurt and I’m stranded.
“I can text Shari and have her drive you.” He pulls out his phone and taps the screen.
“There’s no reason to bother her. I’m an adult and can find my way home.”
One of his dark eyebrows lifts in question, but before he can ask it, his phone chirps with a text alert. Reading the screen, he frowns, then nods. “Shari can be here in five minutes.”
“What did she say?”
“Want me to read it to you? She asked what asshole move I did now.”
“Is this a habit of yours? Insulting women and having your sister clean up your messes?”
“No. After my behavior tonight you have no reason to believe me, but I swear, this is a first.”
I want to believe him.
I also want to forget this evening all together. “You don’t have to babysit me. I’m sure the rest of the band is wondering what happened to you. Don’t you have a show to finish?”
His eyes widen and his mouth pops open. “Oh, shit. I left in the middle of a song, didn’t I?”
His reaction surprises me. “Uh, more like at the end of a song, but yeah, if you’re out here, you pretty much left the gig in the middle.”
“Fuck.” Running his hands through his hair, he blows out a big breath. “I suck today.”
“Should I comment on that?” I ask, attempting humor.
“Please, no. I’m going to go back to the bar and resume playing. Axl is going to rip me a new one. He’d probably fire me if I were an actual member of his band.”
“Axle? Like a car? Poor guy.”
“Worse. Axl like the lead singer of Guns ’n Roses. I guess his mom was a groupie.”
“That is worse. Hold on, what do you mean you’re not in the band? I’ve seen you play with them twice now.”
“I’m filling in for Garcia. He broke his wrist climbing near Taos. Can’t play bass with a cast.”
“So you randomly filled in for him?” Curiosity takes over and I forget to be mad.
“We played in a band together in high school. I’m a little rusty, but bass is pretty simple if you know what you’re doing. I have good rhythm.”
I know he does. The sun set already, but I’m feeling flushed like I’ve been sitting directly in its rays.
“You’re a pervert, Lucy Halliday.”
“Why do you always say my name?”
“Do I? I like Lucy. Lucy Halliday has a good ring to it. Solid, a little quirky, unique. Like you.”
“Solid?” I throw major side eyes at him. Sounds like heavy. Boone needs to work on his compliments.
“If I called you beautiful and sexy, you’d probably do me bodily harm after the manhole stunt I pulled on stage. I’m trying to make amends.”
Shari’s car pulls to a stop next to the curb.
“Oh good, there’s no bloodshed and Boone still has all his appendages,” she shouts out the window. “I worried I’d be too late for the fun.”
Boone groans in reaction to his sister’s comment and interruption.
“Quit scowling at me, dear brother. You’re the one who sent out the SOS text.” She waves at me and pops open the lock on the passenger seat of her Jeep. “You still need a ride home?”
“I do, thanks.” I reach for the door handle but Boone’s hand on my arm stops me.
It’s the first time we’ve touched since the dinner at Shari’s. My skin lights up with a billion tiny sparks of electricity, flashing a welcome message like a roadside motel advertising vacancy.
Out of spite, I resist the urge to be the first to pull away.
“Or we can hang out here all night,” Shari offers, sounding both amused and annoyed.
“No, I’m coming.” I manage to open the door and then Boone swings it wide for me, holding it while I climb in the SUV.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I promise what happened back there won’t happen again.”
Once I’m settled, he closes the door and steps away, pausing for a beat or two when our eyes meet. I want to believe him, but I need to protect my heart. Pretending he isn’t there, I stare out the windshield. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
“You’re a weirdo,” Shari tells him as she shifts from park to drive.
Boone responds with a shrug before turning around and heading back to Pete’s.
At the intersection she takes a left, heading in the direction of my apartment.
“How do you know where I live?” I ask, shifting in my seat to stare at her.
She slows down for a red light, but doesn’t answer me right away.
“Shari?”
“I’m sure you told me. Probably when you came over for dinner.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“Hmm,” she hums to herself. “I don’t know exactly where you live. I guessed you were south of town because of where you work.”
Could be plausible, but also sounds like she’s backtracking.
“Fine. I know where you live. It’s a small town, people are friendly.”
“Did Boone tell you?” My heart squeezes at his name.
“No, I swung by the diner when you weren’t there and chatted up Wanda. She’s a sweetheart, but really needs to learn how to keep a secret.”
I don’t know who to be mad at. “Wanda gave you my address just like that?”
“I told her I wanted to send you some flowers.” She flicks her attention to me, then sighs. “Fine, it was Boone. He gave it to me in the text he sent. You can be mad.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need your permission. I’m already mad.”
“Sorry. It comes from a place of caring. We don’t let a lot of people into our circle, but when we do, we get overly protective.”
“You grew up here. You must have tons of old friends and family around.”
“Not really. We mostly keep to ourselves. Close knit, small family. If you haven’t noticed, people are weird in this town.”
“I guess Boone didn’t tell you about our conversation after dinner at your place.” I twist my head to watch her expression for the truth.
She bites her lip. “He came back inside after you left.”
“I—”
She interrupts me. “We don’t have to talk about it, but since I’m his sister and I feel obligated to tell you, he seemed pretty hurt. He doesn’t open up to new people, especially women.”
“Probably for the best.” I’m still stinging from his bizarre behavior.
“What happened tonight?”
I give her the condensed version while she drives me home.
“Are you sure he doesn’t have an evil twin?”
“He’s going to wish he did.” Pulling up to the curb in front of my complex, she turns off the engine. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Please don’t. You’ll go to jail. At this point you’re my only friend besides Wanda.” The thought makes my eyes sting.
“Boone’s a good guy, Lucy. And he likes you. Even if he can be a stupid caveman idiot like tonight,” she grumbles. “If I can’t kill him, would you be open to serious bodily harm?”
The idea makes me smile. “Just don’t ruin his face.”
Reluctantly, she agrees, “Fine.”
I wipe a few tears from the corners of my eyes. “I’m fine. I swear.”
“Want me to come in? I can stay over and help you make effigies of my brother, then we can burn them in the early light of dawn.” She grins at me. “I’m really enjoying thinking of new ways to torture him.”
“You have a dark side.” I smile back. “I like it.”
“I’m here if you need me. Text me and I’ll help you hide the body.”
I dip my chin and level a serious look at her. “Shari.”
“Fine, fine. Can I give you a hug?” She opens her arms.
Returning her hug, I fight back more tears.
“You’re going to be okay. I know it.” With a final squeeze, she releases me.