Feel (7 page)

Andy’s trying to get in some brunette’s pants as he flashes a grin before popping the hood of her Porsche.  I’ll bet a million dollars there’s not a damn thing wrong with that car when Andy calls me over to take a look.  Glancing at the door, I swear under my breath as I walk over to Andy, the brunette, and her blonde friend.

“This is Angie and her friend Stacey,” Andy states, waving his hand in their direction.  He turns his back to them and wags his brow.

Looks like I’ll be sleeping in the van tonight.  Not in the mood to try to make any polite chitchat, I lean under the hood, ignoring them. 

A cherry red high heel bumps into my scuffed work boots and I feel a hand slipping inside my back jeans pocket as a sultry voice asks, “What seems to be the problem?”

Letting out a frustrated breath, I shake my head and groan.  I’ve had enough meaningless one night stands to be sick of them.  I’m tired of all the shit.  I only want one girl, and I’m doing a bang-up job of crashing and burning on my own so far; I don’t need some misunderstanding fueling my piling-up failures before I get a chance to make things right.  Standing up to politely blow this chick off, I see I’m already too late. 

Saige’s eyes are spitting fire when Stacey places her other hand against my chest, simultaneously squeezing my jean clad butt cheek.  Saige’s gaze follows my hands as I move Stacey’s off me, then travels up my arms.  Her lips part as she takes in all the different tattoos covering every exposed inch of skin from my wrists to the cuffs of my short sleeve shirt. 

I see a spark of life in her eyes before she presses her lips tightly together and glares at Stacey, then turns that lethal glare at me.  “Oh God, you’ve become one of them!” she groans, dropping her head backwards and rolling her eyes.

“One of them?” I ask, already knowing that I’ll regret it in less than thirty seconds.  Damn if she doesn’t prove me wrong and burn me in half that time.

“One of those tattooed, cocky assholes who shows off their inked arms and abs while smirking at all the brainwashed bimbos, just waiting for their panties to drop because you graced them with your attention and highly overrated dick.”

Stacey huffs and pouts as she crosses her arms. 

Andy bites back a smirk and shoots a cocked brow my way. 

I give him my best ‘go to hell’ look.

Saige storms towards the road, sprinting across the street in between a short lull in traffic. 

“Get back here,” I yell after her, but she shakes her head.

“I’m useless to you when the bomber’s not around and I can’t read what he’s feeling.  So, for now, I’m going to go practice how
I’ve
taught myself to control the emotions.  It’s a helluva lot more fun than your way,” Saige calls back.

There’s a dark, reckless look in her eyes that scares the hell out of me.  I throw my hands in the air, wanting to scream, and decide that I’m going to take my frustration out on Andy and kill him as I wait for the traffic to clear so I can go after Saige.  Andy has his arms around both of the girl’s waists when I look over my shoulder. 
Oh, hell, yeah, he’s definitely going to die.
 

Saige

Un-freaking-believable!
Jensen’s spent every damn minute trying to touch me the past two days and the second my back is turned, some other girl has her hands down his pants…well, close enough.  It doesn’t matter; I don’t want him.  I don’t! 
Dammit, I don’t want to want him!
Seeing that slut shoving her hand down his back pocket made me want to punch her.  I felt exactly what she wants to do with Jensen and there’s no way in hell that I’m going to hang around and watch him take her into his room and fulfill every single one of her wanton desires.  It’s only a block or so to a bar I saw on the way to the restaurant, if I can find it in all these businesses, and it’s been too long since I’ve drowned my senses.  Tonight I need to do that more than I have in a long damn time.

My anger is thrust full force by the time I reach the bar and swing open the door.  The bar is full of varied patrons, from underage college kids, like me, with cheap fake IDs to burly men who look like they would rather cut your throat than crack a smile.  The music is just as loud as it is bad, and my head begins to painfully pulsate with the erratic beat. 

The place is a bit run down, but it has a full bar and plenty of doused patrons playing pool and poker.  I suck at billiards, but being able to read emotions is very beneficial with gaining some extra cash with poker; it doesn’t do a damn thing to help me shoot a decent game of pool. Taking a glance at the tables, I only go after the ones who deserve it, which saves me from the guilt knowing they cheat anyway.  Zeroing on a table, I order a vodka tonic and a beer while I take a few seconds to study the players. 

Alcohol affects everyone differently with either heightening or dulling their emotions.  It does both to me, dulling the feelings of those around me while heightening my own.  I’m sure to only drink enough booze to get a good buzz but keep sharp enough to read my new friends.  I wish to hell the liquid magic could dull my emotions tonight, too.  I don’t want to feel anything of what happened today.  I don’t want to feel all the old and new emotions Jensen’s stirring in my head, heart, and between my legs.  Just as long as I can read my opponents, I’m good to go. 

Approaching the table full of men, I feel the eyes and all sorts of sick things from a perv in the back corner.  I make a mental note to stay far away from that table.  Flashing my best innocent smile at the crew cut dealer, I nod at the table, “Care if I join in the action?”

“Honey, you can join in on anything I’m doing.”

Taking a long sip of my drink, I choose a seat next to a long haired, mustached muscle man and throw in a twenty.  “Then, let the fun begin.”

The dealer tosses out the cards, giving me a wink, “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

It’s four games in, and I force myself to join in the banter being thrown back and forth between the players when all I really want to throw back is a few more vodka tonics before cleaning the table.  The chill of the iced vodka slides down my throat, leaving a fresh taste of lime on my tongue.  I chase it with beer, wiping my hand across my mouth when a little rolls down my chin.  I’m way beyond the buzzed level and it feels so damn good, but it’s getting harder to tell what the other players are feeling.

The sexy dark-haired opponent sitting across from me keeps eyeing my blouse.  He’s a helluva lot more interested in seeing me lower my tank top than lowering the stakes and giving them a break from my kicking their asses. 

Two more rounds and I give a playful wink before laying down my flush.  Groans and a few nasty slurs fill the air.  I laugh, sliding the cash through my fingers to quickly count it, “Don’t worry, I’m all done, boys.”

“I hope you’re not done,” the dark-haired man offers in his smooth voice.  “I’d like to see if you have any other dirty talents.  Beating Dawson’s one thing, but busting Jack’s balls in poker isn’t easy.”  His vibe is definitely leaning more on the horny end than angry. 

Throwing up my finger at the bar tender for one more drink, I give an innocent shrug before holding my arms out, “I’m not hiding any cards on me.  It’s all talent.”

He leans close to me, brushing his lips against my ear, “Why don’t you come home with me tonight and prove it.”

Nothing about his touch feels like Jensen’s.  When Jensen touches me, my heart soars, my head spins wildly, and I have to remind myself to breathe.  This man’s touch does nothing to me, which seriously pisses me off.  I’m desperate to feel something from some other man, any other man.  It hurts too fucking much to feel everything I can’t have with Jensen.  Letting out a soft laugh, I shake my head, “Sorry.  Not up for a strip search or talent audition tonight.”

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’ve been killing me over there.  I’m ready to see that sweet ass in action,” the brass Casanova wannabe whispers, rolling his tongue across his bottom lip before he reaches for my drink with one hand while sliding his other down the bare skin of my shoulder.

“The only thing you’ll see of mine is my knee crashing into some very sensitive areas if you touch my beer,” I warn. 

The man wisely pulls his hand away from my drink and lets out a loud laugh, “I have a fridge full of those, honey.  Bring your beer and I’ll give you plenty more when I get you home.”

Taking a step forward, I’m a little more unsteady on my feet than I thought I would be and stumble, landing in sweet talker’s arms.  Righting myself, I brush my hair off my shoulder, trying to appear somewhat sober as I’m getting ready to brush him off, until I feel a hand on my elbow.

A low growl rumbles with a familiar voice, “How many of these have you had, Saige?”

“Lost count,” I reply flippantly, trying like hell not to look at Jensen.  Yeah, that’s a fail.  When my eyes land on his, a toxic mix of emotions rips through my soul.  Forcing a tilted smile, I refuse to let him see how much he’s hurt me, “What are you doing here?  Playing Superman again?” I slur, cracking a smile, pleased with my smartass remark.

“We were just leaving,” the man I almost forgot about states, reaching for me.

Jensen pulls me flush to him, “That’s not going to happen.” 

“Jensen, knock it off,” I snap, my eyes never leaving his eyes staring down the man staring at me.  All the pent up emotional bullshit slams into me and I jerk my arm from his, “I’m a big girl, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want.  And, right now, I want to go with him.”

“No, you don’t,” he states simply. 

I don’t, but that doesn’t give him any right to know that.

“You heard her.  She wants to go with me; now let her go,” the man demands.

I cock my brow and stifle a giggle at the pissing contest going on in front of me, “Um, he wants to kick your ass, Jensen.”

“I kinda figured that out on my own,” he smirks sarcastically before studying the man who already has his fist coiled.

I know Jensen could take him.  I’ve seen him take on men a lot bigger, but I’m not sure he can take him and his three poker buddies who have stepped behind him.  My buzz begins to wane as I worry about Jensen getting hurt.  I just wanted to forget everything for a little while, not get Jensen’s ass kicked.

“Yeah, well, she’s my wife, and I don’t share too well, so she’s going home with me tonight,” Jensen replies coolly, never backing down, as his eyes darken, bouncing between the four men.

Unable to hold back the laughter, it spills through my lips, softly at first, then almost hysterically as I laugh so hard I have to clutch my stomach as Jensen drags me towards the door.  “Wife?” I manage between sputters. “Please!  You hate me.  I’d love to see how fucked up a marriage between us would be.”

Jensen stops short, pain blazing dark green when he grabs my arms, turning me so I’m forced to look at him, “You think I hate you?”  He lets out a frustrated breath.  “I don’t hate you,” he tells me, his words strained. 

I feel my eyes mist, and I blink, looking away.  My hands begin to shake, and I don’t know if it’s from my over-indulgence in alcohol or what I’m trying to drown in it.  “Why did you come after me?”

“There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you alone after all the shit you’ve been through tonight,” he states, his words as sure and as steady as his gaze.  “I went to every shop on the side of the road looking for you.”  He stops, raking his hand through his hair.  “Looks like I got here just in time,” he mutters, and I know he’s referring to what I said about leaving with a complete stranger. 

“I’m not a whore,” I blurt out of nowhere, wishing the vodka tonic would drown the guilt or blur my vision a little more so I can’t see the pain in his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, “I never said you were.”

“You were thinking it,” I mumble, chewing on my bottom lip. 

He traces his thumb softly across the bitten skin.  “No.  I wasn’t thinking it, either.  What I was thinking was why in the hell you came here to do something you obviously don’t want to do.”

“I wanted to go with him,” I whisper flatly, the lie twisting my gut as my eyes remain glued to the fingers I’m nervously fidgeting with so I don’t have to look at him.

“No, you didn’t.  You’ve always reared your wild side when things became too emotional, usually doing things that scared the shit out of me.”  He points towards the poker table, “Like scamming men at poker who look like they’ve just been released from prison.”  Jensen takes my hand, pulling me closer to him.  “You wanted to numb the pain.  I get it, Saige,” he almost whispers, looking at me like I’m so damn fragile right now and might crumble into a million shattered pieces in a second if the wrong thing is said.  I hate feeling this weak, him seeing me this weak.  The back of his fingers slide against my cheek, “You just want to be normal.”

Tears brim my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall as rage spirals, darkening everything inside of me, “No, dammit!  I don’t want to be normal.  I want to
feel
normal,
my
fucking normal, not what everyone else feels.  I just need to feel my own emotions for once without every damn emotion from everybody else clouding them!”  My chest heaves up and down.  My breaths are ragged as I fight to calm the tsunami of all that’s happened. 

Jensen goes to pull me into his arms but I push him away.  He just stands there, giving me my space for a few seconds, before he runs his finger across the lip of my beer bottle. “The alcohol blocks you from feeling other people’s emotions?” he asks.

He’s seen me take a few sips of beer, but I’ve never been even close to buzzed around him before.  It was a few months after he was gone that I found the numbing effects of alcohol.  “When I drink, that’s the only time I can feel me without being tainted or overpowered.”

“Does sex do the same thing?” he asks, and I can hear how much it hurts him to ask those words despite him trying to keep his voice neutral. 

“I feel things with sex,” I mumble, not wanting to talk about this anymore.  Not wanting to admit that the only things I felt the one time I’ve had sex was heart-wrenching sorrow and so much pain from missing him, wanting to be making love to him, not Wes.

Jensen steps closer to me.  His voice is as gentle as his touch when he tilts my chin, “Things?  Good things or bad things?”

I lightly shrug my shoulders, knowing he can see right through me.

“Is it worth doing something that makes you feel like shit just so you can feel something?”

It’s so hard to swallow with the tears threating to fall.  “Sometimes, I’m afraid I’m losing my mind.  If I don’t block out everyone else every once in a while, I’m going to go insane.”

“It’s dangerous to put yourself in situations like this.” His voice isn’t accusatory, just concerned.

“It’s not like I drink much.  I hardly drink at all, but, when I do, the alcohol only blocks most of the emotions,” I explain, “I still feel the underlying vibe.  I make sure to only be around the ones who are safe.”

“He didn’t look safe to me,” Jensen chastises.  “He looked like he wanted to do a helluva lot of things to you.”

“He just wanted in my pants,” I try to shrug it off.  “I know to stay away from the dangerous ones, like the man over there who’s into way more than just wanting to do some kinky crap with me.  I never drink enough to completely shut out my ability to read others so I don’t get hurt by someone like him.”

Jensen follows my gaze to the creepy man in the corner.  “What do you mean that he wants to do more to you?” he growls.

  My eyes land on the man and a shudder of fear runs through me, “He’s into pain,” I whisper so quietly, I can barely hear myself.  “I know I can’t read his mind or anything, but what he’s feeling is definitely dangerous.”

“He wants to hurt you?” Jensen’s voice is lethal and I look away, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.  “You knew that guy wants to hurt you, and you stayed anyway, Saige?” he nearly yells.

“I didn’t go near him,” I shoot back.  “I made sure to stay with the other guys.”

“Stay here,” he demands, heading straight towards the guy in the corner, slamming his fist fiercely against his jaw when he reaches him. 

My hands fly to my mouth.  I cringe when Jensen grabs his shirt collar, lifting him off the ground before sending him crashing back down again with another harsh blow. 

Jensen says something to the man that I can’t hear, but it was bad enough to make him cower and scramble out the back door as the bartender makes his way towards Jensen, yelling at him to leave or he’s going to call the cops.  Jensen throws up his hand, “No need.  We’re done here.”