A Tale of Two Centuries (21 page)

“Goldschläger?”
Cat asks with a laugh. “So that explains
that
performance.” She looks away and juts her thumb to where Austin stands with the redhead—Kasey, the bitch. “Don’t worry; I had my eye on her the whole time. If you hadn’t shown up when you did, she would’ve gotten the hint soon enough. But then, watching you do the equivalent of peeing on the boy and staking your claim was pretty awesome.”

“I concur,” Lucas chimes in, and they share a grin. He takes Cat’s hand in his and places them on the tabletop.

Despite the dawning fact that I will regret a few of tonight’s more illicit choices in the light of day, the sight fills me with joy. At the very least, my amusing exploits are bringing the two of them together. Smiling at the sparks flying between them at last, I shift my gaze and watch the fearsome female foursome slither away.

Austin smirks as he strolls up to our table. “You know, all that unleashed estrogen’s got me needing to burn off excess energy. And I think I made someone here a promise.” Offering me his left hand, he asks, “Dance with me, Alessandra?”

The intoxicating sound of my name on his lips has me jumping from my chair. I lunge for his hand and end up jostling the table, sending a plastic cup of brown soda gushing over the surface. Cat laughs, and I stick out my tongue teasingly.

Walking to the invisible line dividing the bar from the dance floor, Austin turns to Lucas and says, “Hey, man, in case Ms. Inebriated here gets in another scrape, do me a favor and keep close, all right?”

Lucas flashes me a grin and agrees. I’d like to argue their concern is unneeded and unwarranted, but even I know that’s untrue. It would seem that Cat was right—I
am
a friggin’ lightweight. But I take solace in the fact that I do not care, for soon I will be in Austin’s arms.

The band changes songs, and we step onto the packed floor. Entwining his long fingers with my own, Austin tugs me toward a back corner, away from the crowd of dancers and near a shadowed row of half-empty tables. My feet carry me forward, following where he leads, as a sensation that feels like falling fills my stomach. My head spins, and it’s becoming difficult to catch a breath—but none of it has a thing to do with the alcohol I consumed, and everything to do with the boy stopping under the glow of amber light and pulling me in his direction.

I lift my head and stare into the deep blue of Austin’s eyes, hoping this delicious feeling never ends. He takes our entwined hands and places them behind his neck, then catches my other hand and drapes it along the first. The movement crushes me tighter against the firmness of his torso.

The only other time I was this close to a boy, I was kissing him. And that boy was Austin.

Callused fingers slide down my bare arms, and shivers explode in their wake. My own fingers curl into the soft wisps of hair at his nape. Locking his hands together at the small of my back, Austin begins swaying our bodies to the slow, exhilarating beat of the music.

“I’ve never done this before,” I tell him. I don’t know why I do, but it feels important that he know.

He grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

A blush erupts under my skin. Austin’s grin widens, seeing the power his words have over me, but I’m not embarrassed. I’m tired of trying to hide how I feel. “I know I don’t have to worry,” I say. “You’re always good to me.”

Austin’s mischievous grin fades as his gaze holds mine. His fingers contract, and he draws me even closer.

I lose myself in the music, in the words, and in Austin’s strong embrace. The buzz of alcohol and the close proximity of his body electrify my blood, and my head grows heavy. Resting it against his shoulder, I strengthen my grip by clasping my wrists. If I could live in this moment for the rest of my life, I would.

I press my lips along the warm column of his neck, and he sucks in a sharp breath. His body tenses, and I wonder if I am being too forward. But then he releases a low noise in the back of his throat and spears a hand through my hair, possessively splaying the fingers of his other low on my back.

One song bleeds into another like this, the next with a noticeably faster tempo, but we do not change position. I nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder and breathe him in.

I feel Austin hesitate, and with reluctance I lift my head.

“Alessandra—”

The glide of roaming fingers on my backside causes me to jump, cutting off whatever Austin was about to say. I widen my eyes at him in surprise, but then register the dual pressure of his hands where he left them minutes before—one threaded in my hair, the other spread low on my back.

Whipping around to discover just who had dared to take such liberties with my body, it doesn’t take long to catch the arrogant smirk of a man taking his seat at the now crowded table behind us. The desire once thickening my blood from Austin’s proximity transforms into molten lava.

I have been dishonored.

I don’t think past that; I just act, fueled by Goldschläger.

Marching the three and a half steps to their table, I fist my hands on my hips and do my best to level the brute with an aggressive, haughty look—it aids me greatly that he is seated and we are now at similar heights. Heedless of the man’s mocking, lifted eyebrow, I plow ahead.

“Excuse me,” I snap, not feeling at all guilty for interrupting their table’s conversation, “but the beauty of this world is that I don’t have to accept such vulgar behavior—especially not from distasteful little men like you.” I have no clue where the word
little
came from, for the man is
far
from that. Nevertheless, I carry on, throwing my shoulders back and folding my arms across my chest. “You, sir, defiled my person with your unwelcome advance, and from now on I ask that you—uh, I ask that you…”

And it is about this time that I lose steam. I’ve never been very good with insults, and I already used the word
bitch
once this evening. Palming either side of my head, I long for another insult to come, preferably one that will make sense in this generation. I very much doubt calling the man a knave or miscreant will have the desired effect. But then an expression I learned from a humorous movie of musical, rock-band children zaps into my brain, and I snap my fingers. “I have it!”

Paying no heed to the derisive snorts from the table, I shove a forceful finger into one of the man’s brawny biceps and shout as loud as I can, “Step off!”

In response, a muscle ticks near the man’s eye. He glances down at his arm, and then gradually, deliberately taking his time, back up at me.

An outbreak of tingles surges over my skin, but this time they are not from the effects of alcohol, Austin’s kisses, or even from the venom in this miscreant’s eyes. They are from the pure thrill of standing up for myself and for all womankind.

Unfortunately, Austin cuts short my dance of victory by whisking me into his arms and carrying me toward the club’s side exit.

“But wait,” I say, pounding his shoulder and fighting his hold. “I wish to continue our dance.”

He ignores my protests and lengthens his stride. I twist around in his grip just as he kicks open the door and manage to see Lucas acting yet again as peacekeeper, this time with my foul offender.

Then Austin hauls me outside.

Chapter Twenty-one

Austin doesn’t stop walking or even let me go until we are halfway down the street.

Unlatching the rear gate of his truck, he sets me down and cages me in with his arms so I cannot escape. Not that it was my plan to do so. Being this close to him in relative privacy is almost as good as dancing.

Chest heaving, Austin lowers his head to my shoulder, muttering a string of curses under his breath. Confused over his winded reaction—he carried me farther than this on the beach earlier today without any difficulty—I run my fingers through his soft black hair. “Austin?”

He nods once, as if to let me know he is still coherent. But he does not lift his head. Moments pass to the sound of his labored breathing and the whistle of the passing cars before he finally raises his eyes to mine. At the emotions swirling within their blue depths, I gasp.

Austin stands there, letting those emotions wash over me, before asking in a voice laced with surprising tenderness, “Alessandra, who was that girl back there?”

His rough, disappointed timbre and the sadness in his gaze let me know that he isn’t talking about the brazen redhead; he is asking about
me.
Unsure of the exact reason, my heart begins to pound, and any lingering effects of the alcohol burn away.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says, raking a hand through his already disheveled hair, “I’m glad you told that dickhead where he can stick it. Once I realized what he did, I wanted to rip his fingers off myself for even thinking about touching you. But all of that back there? Confronting him, the showdown with the girl before—that wasn’t just the alcohol talking. And it wasn’t your newly dyed hair. That was you.” He releases a weary breath. “And you’ve changed.”

My shoulders stiffen, even as I fight the urge to be defensive. After all, wasn’t my changing what he wanted all along? Swallowing around a thickened throat, I find my voice and say, “Of course I have changed, Austin. This is the new me, the one
you
inspired. It was you who issued the challenge to shake me up. And everything you told me at Rush the other day about your dad and your past and not caring anymore? You were right. Being perfect all the time is exhausting! Some days, it’s hard for me even to lift my head off the pillow. I’ve spent my entire life trying to be everything for everyone, but this…this is so much easier.”

I take a breath in preparation to speak again, and in the space of a second relive the arguments the new me found herself in tonight. While I wouldn’t deny the confrontations were terrifying, the freedom I felt to speak my mind in both of those moments was nothing short of liberating.

I give Austin a reassuring smile and wonder why the action suddenly feels forced. Brushing it off as exhaustion, I add, “And your way is a lot more enjoyable.”

Yet for some reason, the words ring hollow in my ears. And from the slant of Austin’s rueful smile, he hears it, too. A nagging inner voice breaks in to ask,
But is it really more enjoyable?
And grudgingly, I admit that perhaps I’m not as certain as I’d like Austin to believe.

In many ways, the gifts of independence and choice in this century
have
been thrilling…and I have discovered much about myself in the process. But at the same time, I’ve hurt loved ones, behaved just as horribly as my old nemesis Antonia ever did back home, and done things for which I have not always been proud—consuming illegal drinks being just one of those things tonight.

As if he can read my thoughts, Austin takes my hand in his. “But Alessandra, everything I said that day in the park was wrong.”

Astonishment colors the thick air between us. I blink, certain that my sense of hearing must be failing. Austin would never admit to being wrong about anything, much less about a philosophy he’s built his entire life around. Blowing out my cheeks, now even more confused than I was when he hauled me from the club, I release a forceful blast of discharged air and ask, “You were?”

He releases a long, low sigh. “I
thought
it was easier this way,” he clarifies. “When I stopped caring what people thought about me—what my dad thought about me—I felt invincible. The pain of never being good enough for him or the fact that he was never there couldn’t touch me if I didn’t care to begin with.”

As the wretched words fall from Austin’s flawlessly sculpted lips, the solid walls he erected to guard himself topple down, just like at the audition, the Snack Shoppe, and this afternoon on the beach when he kissed me…and I’m left staring into the soulful, vulnerable blue eyes of the
real
boy behind the mask.
My chest constricts and all I want to do is hold him. “Oh, Aus—”

He places two soft fingers over my mouth, silencing me with an apologetic look that begs me to let him continue. “From that first day in class, I saw in you the person that I used to be, and I hated it. I wanted to wake you up, make you change. I decided it was my job to teach you how wrong you were for not living the way I thought you needed to.” He scoffs. “As if I know so much about the world.

“But
you
, Princess, you were the one who was right that day at my house—I’m not living, either. All I’m doing is hiding. And being with you this week, watching you and seeing how trusting and honest you are, how much you care about everyone…Alessandra, it changed something in me.”

Austin bends his knees so I no longer have to look up to see into his eyes, and he tucks a strand of loose pink hair behind my ear. Cradling my face in hands roughened from salt water and surfing, he glides his thumbs across my cheeks and says, “Baby, you’re not the one who needs to change, and definitely not for a chickenshit like me. You’re
perfect
the way you are, and I’m an asshole for not realizing it sooner.”

I sit in stunned silence; my face presses into the warm comfort of his palm as the words
you’re perfect
wash over me again and again in spine-tingling waves.

Austin Michaels thinks I’m perfect.

And if that is true, then it has to mean he cares for me.

Drawing on every ounce of courage I’ve attempted to build within myself during this time-travel adventure, I grip the hard muscles of his arms and say, “But Austin, you
did
teach me. In the last ten days with you, I learned more about what it means to live than I have in the last sixteen years. But even more, you make me feel as though you can see all the tiny pieces of who I truly am inside, the real Alessandra that no one else knows—the woman who lives behind the girlish act of perfection I wear for the world. You may not agree with me all the time, and you exasperate me far more often than I’d like, but you respect me…and Austin, that means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

When I finish speaking, I realize I am trembling, but it’s not from the night air. In the distance, I hear the faint sound of music seeping from Lyric, but neither that nor the cars whooshing past just a few feet away on the street breaks the roar of silence between us.

Though I did not profess the full extent of my affection, I have no doubt Austin knows how much I care for him. And as his silence lengthens, I begin to think that perhaps I was mistaken. That he does not feel the same, and that he is now preparing to let me down gently. Pondering that thought, I fortify my heart for another man’s rejection, but even while I do so, I cannot regret sharing my feelings.

My faith remains in the truth I have fought so hard for my cousin to believe: the pain of not having Austin return my feelings may be excruciating, and it may not be worth the turmoil of heartache, but choosing to take a chance and living life
always
is.

Austin interrupts my somewhat dark and profound introspection by dipping his forehead to touch mine. And just like that, all thoughts are whisked away, and my senses are filled with the scent of mint.

With our gazes connected, we share a breath, one now sharpened with the same sting of awareness from the beach. My pulse quickens with the realization that this does not feel like rejection…this feels like desire.

And I’m so ready to experience another one of Austin’s kisses that I almost explode from the anticipation.

His darkened gaze drops to my mouth for a long moment, and the skin around it prickles to life, already tasting him. But instead of lowering his head and capturing my lips, he looks into my eyes. The fullness of my yet unspoken affection reflects back at me.

Then, with eyes so dark they blend into the night, Austin whispers, “I do see the real you, Alessandra.” He smiles. “And I think I’m falling for the girl I see.”