The Sure Thing Read online

  If I told him my name, that was a bit of personal information that he might otherwise not have. I should definitely give him a fake name. If he was some kind of freaky stalker, a pervert insistent upon raping me or something, he could probably use my real name to track me down and find out where I lived, where I worked, and then he could kidnap me and tie me up in his basement somewhere so that he could do all sorts of horrible things to me over the next decade-

  "Hey, Paxton!"

  I jumped, turning instinctively at the sound. Anna-Claire had come out of the club a few seconds after me, it seemed, joined by a tall and stately looking fellow in a full three piece suit and vest getup. She gave me a wave, as Mister Fancy Suit turned to hail one of the waiting taxis.

  "I'm taking off, now," she called out to me, not realizing that she'd just ruined my plan to stay anonymous. "You're free to go back to your books and bath, now!" Her eyes flicked over to the creep, standing next to me. "Or wherever else you want," she added, giving me a wink before ducking into the backseat of the taxi alongside Mister Fancy Suit.

  Still wincing, I turned back to the creep, hoping that maybe he hadn't heard any of that. The little smirk on his face immediately told me otherwise, although he tried to hide it with a blank expression.

  "You can still choose not to tell me, if you want," he said, as if that would make any difference now.

  I sighed, rolled my eyes. "Paxton," I said. "Paxton Davies." It wasn't like Paxton was a super common name around here, anyway; he'd probably be able to track me down with a Google search anyway.

  "Alex Hamilton," he answered, smiling and holding out his hand. I studiously ignored it, and he withdrew it after a second.

  I raised my eyebrows at him. "Really? Hamilton? Like the Founding Father?"

  "Unfortunately," he returned, with a little sigh that told me this wasn't the first time someone had pointed out the similarity to him. "I don't think that my family's related, though. Our ancestry goes back to somewhere in England."

  "Well, you have my name. Now, what's the other thing that I need to tell you so that I can get rid of you?"

  "Very direct," he murmured, as if standing here and chatting me could be the slightest bit pleasant for him. I'd been doing my best since he first approached to shut down this conversation, and it was only through his sheer force of will that he'd kept it going this long. "But for the second item, you can tell me what, exactly, you'd clearly rather be doing than standing here outside this club, and why you aren't there."

  I tried to glare at him. Really, I did. If I was Superman, he'd be a bubbling little pile of ashes by this point, fried by my laser vision. But I'm not a superhero, and my glare seemed to just slide harmlessly off him, like he was coated with Teflon.

  And really, I did want to just unload all my complaints on someone. Why not this total stranger, whom I would never see again?

  "Fine," I eventually said. My stomach grumbled. "But is there any chance that I could get a snack out of this, at least?"

  Mister Alex Hamilton, Creeper, carefully kept his face neutral. Good. If he'd laughed at me, I might have slugged him. "There's a place around the corner with halfway decent appetizers," he suggested. "Up for walking a block?"

  "Sure. Lead the way."

  He wasn't lying, at least. Just around the block from the club was a late-night diner, decked out in retro red and white booths, Formica counters, and black and white tile underfoot. We dropped into one of the dozen open booths, and I felt my mouth start to water as I ran my eyes over the menu.

  "You're paying," I told him, not intending it to be a question.

  He shrugged. "Fine with me, as long as you don't get anything with red onion on it."

  The waitress showed up a moment later, smiling down at us in her pink-and-white throwback uniform, a little white apron tied around her waist. "And what can I get for you two?" she asked.

  I went down the menu, ordering every appetizer that sounded even vaguely interesting. "Oh, and can you put some raw red onion on top of all of them?" I finished. "Just chop it up and cover everything. Bake some more in, too, if that's possible. I can't get enough of it."

  "Funny," Alex remarked as the waitress left.

  I grinned back at him, feeling a little better for the first time tonight. "What can I say, I'm a hilarious prankster. You never see me coming. Now, what do I need to tell you?"

  "How about why you're acting so bitchy?"

  I started to form a hot reply – but I did have to admit that the description seemed to fit me, at least for the last couple hours. Which was funny, because I'm the last person that I'd imagine anyone ever calling bitchy.

  "Look, I just want to be at home in my apartment," I said instead, dropping my hands down to lay them flat on the table. "At home, I've got a hot bath, and some wine in an easy-open screw-top bottle, and a whole stack of paperbacks just waiting for my attention." I decided not to mention that they were romances; didn't want this man judging me even more harshly than he probably was already. "I don't want to be out, dealing with loud music and flashing lights and gross, disgusting guys that shout at me to take off my clothes for them."

  At least Alex had the decency to wince. "Yeah, I said that I was sorry for that, but I'll say it again. But why were you out in the first place?"

  "My friend, Anna-Claire, who shouted out my name as she left. She had an after-work gathering at the club, and she invited me along for moral support."

  I waited for Alex to ask about her. That was what everyone tended to do, when they saw the two of us together – or they asked, generally in rather disbelieving tones, how the two of us met each other and first became friends. We weren't the most obvious pair.

  But he fastened onto another part of my complaint. "Books, huh?" he echoed. "Anything I might have read? Fantasy stories, superheroes?"

  I raised my eyebrows. "Not likely, unless they've got a gorgeous, shirtless man with six-pack abs on the cover."

  "Some superhero books do."

  I shook my head. "Romances, mostly. My job makes it easy for me to get my hands on plenty of reading material."

  Oops. I didn't want to keep on giving him more personal information. I hoped that he'd miss the little thread in that last answer.

  He didn't, of course. "What's your job?"

  "I work for my uncle's used bookstore."

  At that point, our food arrived – and, I noticed to my annoyance, the waitress hadn't followed through on my request for red onion on everything. Alex caught my frown, and although he tried to hide it, I saw that corner of his mouth tug ever so briefly upward. He must have somehow communicated to the woman to countermand my order, sneakily, even though I hadn't seen him do anything.

  Creeper.

  Chapter Six

  ALEX

  *

  Well, at least I had her talking – and as I watched her dig into the mountain of food that she'd ordered on my dime, I considered that she probably wouldn't be running away from me. Not quickly, not with all that heavy food settling into her stomach.

  After the waitress walked away, I quickly dashed off inside my head that she hadn't heard that request for all the red onion after all. Nasty stuff, it was, and I couldn't stand the way it crunched between my teeth, the pungent, bitter harshness of its taste. She didn't give me any indication that my little trick worked – but when the food arrived, several minutes later, it wasn't covered in piles of disgusting red onion slivers.

  From the sour look that Paxton shot at me, she'd guessed that, somehow, I had interfered with her petty and childish attempt to mess with me. Still, why was she mad? She'd thrown the first punch by requesting all the red onion; I just countered it.

  And she'd revealed a little more, although it still didn't answer any of my real questions. She didn't seem to show any interest in superheroes, and nothing in her life that she'd described so far gave me any suggestion that she might possess anything similar to my power. If someone had the power to change their circumstances, change anyt
hing around them, why would they work for their uncle's bookstore? Why would they desire screw-top wine and a bathtub in an apartment?

  She seemed... I hesitated on the word for a second, but it fit. Ordinary.

  Completely, totally normal. As plain as they could come. The only thing that seemed the slightest bit unusual about her was her name.

  And yet, I knew that she wasn't.

  I'd tried, several times as she complained to me about how she didn't want to be out here, how she'd rather be back at her dull little apartment, losing herself in a fantasy about some character in a trashy romance novel, to use my powers on her. I tried everything, from influencing her thoughts, to her actions, to even messing with her appearance.

  I got nothing back. Even trying to change her hair color had no effect. She was, as far as my power was considered, untouchable.

  Or was she...?

  Suddenly, Paxton shivered, breaking off her latest complaint mid-sentence. "Whoa, it just got really chilly in here," she muttered.

  It wasn't; I'd dropped the temperature of the air in a bubble around her. Okay, so my powers weren't totally negated around her; they just couldn't touch her directly. But I could do things that she felt.

  "Really? I feel fine," I said aloud, trying to inject honest concern into my voice. I reached across the table and put my hand on the back of her own, feeling the chill of her skin and of the air inside the little bubble I'd conjured up.

  She pulled her hand away, hesitating for just a fraction of a second. For a moment, I considered turning back on the ability to read minds, to see if I could get a glimpse inside her head. She'd been nothing but cold towards me all night, but was there some attraction there, hidden and repressed?

  Not that I wanted there to be anything. I could have my pick of supermodels, could literally sweep them off their feet and into my bed. I didn't need plain, ordinary Paxton to join the ranks of women who'd left notches on my bedpost.

  Instead of trying to recapture her hand, I turned my attention to the mountain of food that she'd ordered, spread out across a dozen dishes and baskets. "Pretty tasty food here, isn't it?" I commented, popping a couple of deep-fried cheese curds into my mouth and savoring the rush of greasy, crunchy goodness with that soft and creamy center.

  "Tasty and unhealthy," Paxton muttered, although I noticed that it didn't stop her from taking more than a few bites of everything. She hadn't been kidding about feeling hungry.

  Keep her talking, I reminded myself. Still need to figure out if there's anything special about her. Maybe she just hasn't discovered her powers yet – you didn't always have them, after all. Figure out if there's anything unusual in her background.

  "So, you work for your uncle at his bookstore," I mentioned casually between bites of buffalo garlic fries. "How long have you done that?"

  "Ever since college." She kept the answer short, clearly trying to keep a lid on how much about her personal life she revealed to me. What was putting her on such high alert? Was she still upset because I'd made one rude comment to her when I first saw her? Hadn't I apologized for that, multiple times, by now?

  "And it's your favorite job, is it?"

  "What, are you trying to recruit me for something?" She lifted her gaze, shooting me a hot, angry glare. "Because I got to say, you've made a hell of a first impression, although probably not in the way that you wanted."

  I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Easy, easy! I'm just trying to be friendly."

  "Friendly?" she repeated, sounding disbelieving. "And it was friendly when you demanded that I flash you, even though we were total strangers?"

  "I said that I was sorry-"

  She scooted out from the booth, jumping up to her feet. "I think I've just lost my appetite."

  When she jumped up to her feet, for a second, her sweater shifted. I don't know why my brain decided to notice it, but that subtle shifting revealed to me that she wasn't totally shapeless under the shapeless clothing. There was the slightest little bob of her chest that suggested a considerable pair of tits hiding beneath the bland and featureless sweater. Maybe Miss Ordinary wasn't quite as unattractive as her first impression suggested.

  Not that I had any chance of scoring, I reminded myself. Between her impossible-to-explain immunity to my powers, and her ice queen attitude, I wasn't going to get anywhere.

  But still, I could keep on acting like the perfect gentleman. If nothing else, maybe it would emphasize the hypocrisy of how she was treating me so harshly.

  I stood up as well, pulling a hundred-dollar bill out of my wallet and dropping it on the table. I saw Paxton's eyes flit towards it, then back to me as I moved away from where we'd been sitting.

  "Aren't you going to wait for your change?" she asked.

  I shrugged. "Don't need it. The waitress can keep it as a tip – a thank you from me for leaving off the red onion."

  Paxton looked torn, her expression flitting between incredulity and suspicion. "How did you tell her to leave it off?" she asked, looking as if she'd been trying to resist asking this question, but hadn't quite managed it.

  I grinned, hitting her with my best wink. "That's a secret that I can't reveal on the first date, lady."

  "This is NOT a date," she snapped back, and my grin widened as I guessed, correctly, that I'd hit a nerve. Not hard to do, but still. Point for Alex.

  "Whatever you say." I headed past her, moving ahead just so that I could hold the door open for her. The frown as she went through told me that my little act of chivalry hadn't gone unnoticed.

  "So, you're rich," she commented, once we were outside. "That explains a lot."

  "Oh? What does it explain?"

  "Your assholishness," she answered frankly, turning to look sidelong at me through one eye and watch if her insult landed.

  I carefully made sure that my face didn't so much as twitch. "I'm not an asshole. After all, would an asshole buy a dozen appetizers for a woman who kept on insulting him?"

  "A stupid one would, one with more money than sense," she countered.

  I had a retort for that one ready. "Well, I've got quite a lot of money, so that doesn't hurt me too much. You can keep trying, though - seems pretty clear that hurting me is what you want."

  Her face shut down. Hah! Second point for Alex. She muttered something under her breath, too softly for me to catch.

  "Sorry?" I said. "What was that?"

  She raised her eyes up to me, looking like I was forcing a confession out of her through physical torture. "Thank you," she spat out through gritted teeth.

  "Really?" Honestly, I hadn't been expecting that, and was caught off guard.

  "Yeah." She tightened her lips, as if trying to hold back the next words, but they still slipped out. "Maybe I was a little bit harsh on you. So I forgive you for telling me to... reveal myself. I guess you were just too drunk to know what you were saying."

  Well, it wasn't the greatest apology I'd ever received, but I would take it. It was better than I'd hoped to receive, honestly. Perhaps my powers were blocked by unusual levels of anger?

  "And now, to further emphasize your apology, you're willing to give me that flash of your breasts that you've been holding back all evening," I wrote inside my head, being very careful to not speak the words out loud as I traced them in lines of yellow fire on the inner swell of my skull.

  Nothing. Paxton's eyes tightened. "Why are you just looking at me and moving your lips?" she asked.

  "No reason," I said quickly. "So, where'd you park?"

  "Around the corner, in the ramp. Why?"

  "Me too," I said, even though I hadn't driven a car to the club. Why drive a car to someplace where I intended to get drunk? "Let me walk you back to it."

  "Really not necessary," she said, but she didn't start walking away from me yet.

  "I insist," I replied, stepping forward. "It's the honorable thing to do, after all. Maybe, if I act like a knight in shining armor, I can reclaim my good standing in your very exacting graces."
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  "I'll dub thee, 'Sir Asshole,' then," she said, and I snorted at the unexpected joke.

  We picked up the pace, moving back to the parking structure. Paxton took the steps ahead of me, and I couldn't keep my eyes from drifting down towards her ass as it climbed in front of me. It wasn't because I was attracted to her, of course; it's just instinctual, like catching a baseball when someone tosses it underhand to you.

  From the glimpses that I could get when her steps pulled the baggy jeans somewhat tight, it wasn't actually too bad of an ass. Rounder than most of the girls that I pulled, but then again, there was something a little depressing about seeing the stick-thin, bony butts that most models have. Sometimes, I found myself wishing that those girls came with a few more curves...

  "Hey, Sir Asshole, you're not making me regret forgiving you for your first comment, are you?" Paxton asked, still climbing, and I hastily dragged my eyes away from her rear end. She couldn't read minds, could she?

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I responded, hastily writing inside my head that no, my cheeks were not blushing, thank you very much! If there was any pinkness there, it was just from the effort of climbing three flights of stairs.

  She turned and glanced back at me, frowning as I paused to catch my breath. "What, are you out of shape from climbing a couple stairs?" she asked in surprise.

  "Yeah, 'cause I'm smart enough to usually park somewhere with an elevator – or better yet, valet parking," I countered. "How are you not out of breath?"

  She smiled. "Because my apartment is on top of my uncle's bookstore, so I have to climb up and down the stairs every time I want to go home. No elevator there."

  "In that case, I'm afraid I'll have to decline your offer to join you at home," I said, leaning slightly forward to keep my hands on my knees. There we go. Breath was starting to come more easily. "You can beg, but I'm not willing to climb more stairs to get to your apartment."

  She snorted and showed me her upturned middle finger, but I saw her trying not to smile. "And Sir Asshole once again lives up to his name," she said, and this time I heard the note of concealed laughter in her voice as well.