A Tale of Two Centuries (20 page)

Cat laughs softly. “Girl, he’s got it bad.” She makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “Who would’ve thought my little cousin would land bad boy Austin Michaels?”

“Not so little anymore,” I reply without thinking. When her grin turns into a full-fledged smile, I realize I did not deny the rest of her statement.

“Touché,” she says, maneuvering us around a fallen chair. “The point is that the boy wants you for more than just a project partner…or whatever it is the two of you do when you say you’re studying. And right now you’re so keyed up wanting him
back
that you’re about to pass out where you stand. Breathe, girl. Oxygen is a good thing.”

I roll my eyes but take a deep breath, anyway. Interestingly enough, it does seem to help.

When we near the restroom doors, our supposed destination, Cat pulls to a stop. Swinging her hair to the beat of the music, she gives the area a quick scan and, with short, randomly spaced steps, starts inching closer to an open space at the bar. Not quite understanding why, I follow along, jerking my head to the music as well—though sadly not nearly as rhythmically.

“Uh, Cat,” I ask a moment later, “what are we doing?”

“Shh,” she replies tersely, doing another sweep of the space around us.

I wonder if she is unaware that the ladies’ room is located right behind her.

Then her gaze sharpens, and I twist around to see a blond waitress talking with a man behind the bar. Before I can ask what she finds so fascinating, two boys walk up to us wearing low-slung, oversize jeans and matching suggestive grins.

The modern word
ew
leaps to mind.

The one closest to Cat leers and, sliding a hand through unnaturally shiny black hair, asks her, “You looking for me, honey?”

She steps back and sneers. “Hell, no, but your mirror is.” She wiggles her shoulders in a display of disinterest, then waves an exaggerated farewell. “Buh-bye now.”

Their grins fade, replaced by matching expressions of detachment. The thought flitters across my mind that they must coordinate these bizarre façades at home. The previously silent boy—the one closest to me—shrugs. “Your loss, baby.”

I am unable to conjure a fitting reply.

Muttering ungentlemanly curses under their breath, the duo moves on, heading toward a group of girls propped against the wall. This time, however, the response they receive is much more welcoming.

As they strut to the dance floor in pairs, Cat says, “Guess there’s no accounting for taste.” I wrinkle my nose. The look we exchange is equal parts incredulity and bewilderment.

At the other end of the bar, an inebriated woman yells out, “Two rum and Cokes!” before promptly falling backward, having missed the stool behind her entirely. With a telling huff that says it is not the first time this has happened, the male bartender jumps to attention, leaving a tray of approximately two dozen freshly poured drinks, and Cat exclaims, “Finally!” With hands darting out so fast they blur in the dim light, she snatches one of the short glasses off the overloaded tray and shoves it at me. Bright red liquid sloshes onto my hand.

“Here,” she says in a rushed voice. “Before someone sees, down this.” I hesitate and she rolls her eyes. “Dude, I just watched the guy pour it—it’s a shot. I think a double, actually. It’s alcohol, and you, my friend, look like you could use it. But be quick. There’s so many they won’t notice right away, but eyes are everywhere in these places.”

I stare at the glass of ruby red alcohol and sigh. Having grown up in a time where drinking wine at meals was the norm, I know the effects alcohol can produce, and perhaps it
will
take the edge off my frazzled nerves. Releasing a centering breath, I look down and laugh—the hand holding the stolen shot is the same one bearing the stamp.

Whatever happened to sweet, innocent, rule-abiding Alessandra? The answer comes and I grin: Austin happened. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Before I can second-guess my behavior, I tilt my head back, part my lips, and swallow the alcohol.

The burning is instantaneous.

Tears fill my eyes. My chest tightens, and a cough explodes with such force, it feels as if my lungs are rebelling. This alcohol is not weakened, such as the cups of wine I have always consumed in Italy. This is full strength. And it is
potent
.

After plucking the glass from my hand and thumping it onto a nearby tabletop, Cat slings an arm around me and pushes me into the women’s restroom. The area is blurry through my watery eyes, and as I sputter for breath, I watch her crouch-walk before the stalls until she finds an empty one. When she does, she kicks it open and pulls me inside.

“In and out, girl, in and out,” Cat instructs, demonstrating the God-given ability to breathe. I nod weakly. That is, after all, what I have been trying to do. But as I stare into her calming eyes and drag oxygen through my nose—in, two, three, out, two, three—the burning in my throat recedes.

And glorious lightness enters.

“Oh,” I say, startled, as the peculiar feeling seeps from my neck and down my spine. My legs tingle as if the bones supporting them have softened, and I wiggle my newly sensitized fingers. “Well, that is splendid.”

Cat grins. “Yeah, you definitely don’t need more than one. But feel better?”

I nod and then continue nodding as I realize my head no longer feels as attached to my neck as it did a moment before. “Quite so.”

An unpleasant sound erupts from the neighboring stall, and the air becomes tinted ever so faintly with the appalling scent of vomit. Cat says, “That’s what can happen when you have more than one. And that’s our cue. Ready to dance now?”

“Absolutely.”

Modern dance moves remain a mystery—where I come from dances are coordinated couple affairs—but with the liquid fire surging through my veins, I feel as though I can excel at them all…though one more taste of that marvelous elixir couldn’t hurt.

Even with the alcohol numbing the edges of my anxiety, I still feel flustered knowing that Austin is waiting for me. Tonight, after our kiss, everything feels different. And I’m entirely out of my element. Just one more drink should calm the lingering butterflies in my tummy and the hammering of my heart. Contrary to what my cousin thinks, I
can
handle another one. I’m not the little girl she still sees me as, and if she will not help me, I’ll simply acquire it myself.

If Cat can be sneaky, so can I. We are blood relations, after all.

Giggling, I stumble out the swinging door.

Cat laughs. “You, my dear, are what we twenty-first-century peeps call a friggin’ lightweight.”

Raising a pointed finger, I feel the words of disagreement sitting on my tongue. But then I see an opening. “Perchance you are right. I think a glass of delicious water will be just the thing. Go ahead and tell the boys I shall be right there.”

“Less, it’ll just take a minute. I’ll wait—”

“No,” I interject, a tad too forcefully. I widen my eyes and smile broadly. “How difficult can it be? Let me do this on my own; I promise I will not tarry.”

She eyes me for a moment, undoubtedly because my grasp of modern lingo is slipping in my alcohol-kissed state, and she doesn’t quite trust my motives at the moment—and well she shouldn’t. But then she shrugs. “All right, but be careful. And don’t accept any drinks from strangers—you never know what someone could put in it.”

She walks a few steps away and pauses as if rethinking her decision. At the bar, the blond waitress returns and says, “Hey, Mike, you missed a shot of Red Snapper—I needed twenty, and you only gave me nineteen.”

At that, Cat takes off, disappearing into the crowd.

And I make my move.

“Excuse me, kind sir,” I say, stopping a gentleman wearing a bright blue band—and no stamp—on his way to retrieve refreshment. “But could you please procure a short glass of red elixir for me? The one I had was quite scrumptious, and I believe I’d like another.”

The corners of his whiskered mouth twitch as his eyes do a leisurely sweep of my dress. “Sure thing, darling, I’ll fix you up.”

Remembering Cat’s words, I touch his leather-clad elbow and frown. “Now, I must watch you procure it. Apparently it is possible for you to put something unpleasant inside.”

The twitching gives way to a side grin. “Why don’t you stand right there and watch me? I promise not to slip anything in it. Scout’s honor.”

He holds two fingers up in some form of a salute, and, not wanting to be rude, I salute back.

Watching the entire transaction for any misdealing, my mouth begins to water. And a few moments later, the kind gentleman returns with my drink. “One shot of Goldschläger for the lady in red. Wasn’t sure what your ‘red elixir’ was, but this’ll do you right.”

“Goldschläger,” I say, testing the name on my tongue. The slurred sounds make me smile, and I say it again. Then I lift the drink to eye level and gasp. “Why, it has tiny specks of gold floating in it!”

He puts his hand over mine and lowers the glass. “Yeah, it does. But try to be more stealth-like, sweetheart…this is kinda illegal.”

Grimacing at that truth, I stoop my shoulders, close my eyes, and gulp the golden liquid. The taste of hot cinnamon courses down my throat. Warmth chases after it, heating my chest, my limbs, and pooling in the center of my stomach. My shoulders do an involuntary shake—a
shimmy
, Cat calls it—and I lick my lips.

A taste of pure heaven.

Cool fingers pry the glass from my fingertips and I open my eyes. “Thank you,” I say…or try to say. Oddly, my lips feel numb. The whiskered gentleman grins, and I ask, “What is—” But my breath catches, and an unseemly loud hiccup sound rises in my throat. I wait for my cheeks to flame in mortification at my grossly unladylike behavior, but they do not respond. It appears embarrassment does not exist in my current pleasant state. “—your name?”

“Daniel,” he answers with a grin.

“Well, Mister Daniel, that was rather tasty. How much”—my words catch again, but thankfully, no additional emissions spring forth—“do I owe you?”

Covering his mouth, which does a horrible job of hiding his chuckle, he shakes his head. “Believe me, it was my pleasure. But take some advice. If I were you, I’d think about stopping for the night.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, nodding at his sage wisdom. “That…was all I wanted.”

Daniel laughs outright this time and then wishes me a good night. He heads in one direction and I go in another, trying to recall where it was that I left Austin. Alas, doing so with a fuzzy head proves to be problematic. I narrow my eyes in the direction I believe he is in, hoping the action will somehow help things, and zone in on a cascade of long red hair.

My eyes widen, and my nails bite into the flesh of my palms. It’s the girl from outside.

Plowing through the crowd, racing to Austin, the only thought in my head is getting her away from him—and reminding her precisely who he came here with.

Just as I arrive, Cat looks up from her conversation with Lucas. Her jaw drops as I grab the girl’s shoulder and spin her around. “Retreat, you bitch,” I tell the girl, applying the derogatory name that Cat and Jamie use so often. People used it in my time as well, but I never cared to utter such a vile, contemptuous term. Until now, that is. “Austin is
mine
.”

Chairs screech as Lucas and Cat bolt to their feet. The redhead angles her hip, and her friends appear out of nowhere. Austin pulls me to his chest.

“Ladies, let’s not get crazy,” Lucas says in a calm voice, taking a position to my left. My cousin comes around to my other side and grabs my hand as Lucas continues, smiling in such a way as to highlight the dimple in his cheek. “We’re all here to have a good time. Obviously there’s some kind of mix-up, but we don’t have a problem, do we?”

“Looks like Tie-Dye here’s the one who has the problem,” the brunette friend says, referring to my hair and looking at me as if she smells something foul. “And if Kasey needs us, we’re here to solve it.”

Bending at the waist, she gestures at the other girls in tight dresses flanking her. I close one eye and tilt my head, puzzled. Why would the redhead need any help? The solution is not one that requires assistance—she must simply leave the premises. And perhaps buy a longer dress. What is so difficult about that?

Then I realize in the midst of that strange reply, the redhead’s friend inadvertently slipped me her name.

Kasey.
The vixen’s name is Kasey.

I inhale a steady breath through my nose and square my shoulders, ready for battle.

But before I can give utterance to the jealous rage roiling inside, Austin lowers his mouth to my ear. The warmth of his breath on my flesh weakens my resolve—and my knees. “Princess, I can smell the alcohol on you,” he says in a low voice meant for only me to hear. “And I know this isn’t you…though I ain’t gonna lie, this possessive streak of yours is a turn-on.”

He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin right under my jaw, and my heartbeat stutters.

Across from us, watching our whispered conversation with disdain, Kasey shrinks her eyes into little crescent-shaped slits. Austin shifts behind me, and the scent of his yummy cologne invades my senses. My eyelashes flutter, and I decide I don’t really care about the shape of Kasey’s eyes.

“So since this isn’t you,” Austin continues, his nose skimming the column of my neck, “and you’re not really in control of your brain at the moment, why don’t you let me handle this…
situation
before your drunk ass gets us kicked out?”

My euphoria from his touch fades at his choice of words. That was not exactly the romantic banter of a Shakespearean sonnet. But not wanting to leave tonight without my promised dance, I nod my consent.

He steps away, bringing with him his warmth and bodily support, and I sink into a chair. Propping my head on my hand, I motion for Cat and Lucas to sit.

“Somebody had more than water,” my cousin says as the two of them take their seats. “Just tell me you didn’t do anything stupid.”

I shake my head, and my elbow falls off the tabletop. Righting myself, I assure her, “I was completely safe. I asked a kind gentleman to get it and watched him the entire time.” Recalling the taste of cinnamon, I say, “This drink had lovely flakes of gold in it.”