Flirtinis with Flappers (19 page)

"I told you. I can make decisions. I don't need to ask Jackie." He looked enraged. The male ego sure was a fragile thing.

"So?"

"You can go out for a smoke. I'm deciding. Just come right back." He puffed out his chest in pride over his manly decision.

I wanted to puff mine out over my feminine wiles, but instead, I just grinned. "Ooh, I just love a take-charge man," I cooed, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks, darling. See you in a minute."

I dashed out the door before the bouncer could change his mind. I had to say, I was pretty proud of myself. Sure, Tommy wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but I still gave myself major points for being able to talk my way out of the situation. Something I used to always leave for Nick to do.

Speaking of, hopefully I wasn't too late to find the guy. I looked up and down the street.

Bingo!

I spotted a lone figure, just turning the corner down the end of the road. Yes! I hadn't lost him. I hastened down the street, trying to catch up. It was really cold out, I suddenly realized, and I'd been so eager to escape Tommy the Brain that I'd forgotten to grab my coat. I hugged my arms around myself in a useless effort to get warm. Hopefully wherever Nick was going wasn't far.

He turned the corner, and I continued to stalk him. It was kind of fun, in a way. Reminded me of the old days when we used to do reconnaissance in Baghdad. Of course, back then we were on the same side.

I got to the corner, then stopped as I realized he was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the street. The blinding white sun reflecting off the snow made it difficult to see. Where the heck did he go? I picked up my pace, hurrying down the road to the next cut-off, hoping I could still catch him.

"Looking for someone?"

The voice from behind made me nearly jump out of my skin. I whirled around. Nick stood there, hands stuffed in his overcoat pockets, eyebrows raised in amused smugness.

And…he'd caught me. He must have sensed being followed and ducked into one of the alleyways.

"Uh, just taking a stroll."

"Without your coat?"

"I'm not cold," I retorted. "In fact, I dare say it's rather balmy out here."

I was proud of my answer, but less so when my body decided to betray me with a wracking shudder.

Nick chuckled. "Yes. Balmy. I see." He gallantly pulled off his heavy wool coat and proceeded to drape it over my shoulders. At first I thought about shrugging it off, but my body wasn't about to let me discard this kind of free warmth.

As he swathed me in the coat, his fingertips grazed my shoulder blades, and I immediately forgot all about the cold. In fact, I suddenly burned hotter than a Fourth of July picnic. The idea that his touch could do that to me made me frown. How annoying. Even now that I knew Sam was really Nick, it didn't stop me from getting completely turned on by the guy! In fact, if anything, knowing Nick was under there made things all the worse. I shivered again, this time more with desire than cold.

Satisfied with the coat placement, Nick turned to look at me. His blue-green eyes studied me with an intensity that made my legs go all gooey.

What was he thinking? Was he wishing he could just throw me up against the wall and kiss me senseless? No words, no casual introductory caress, just his mouth claiming mine? Taking what he wanted without asking first?

Uh, not that something like that would appeal to me on any level…

"What?" I asked finally, averting my eyes from his. His stare was making my heart beat too fast.

"Your lips are blue," he noted, reaching out to press a finger against them. I had the inexplicable urge to bite the finger, but was thankfully able to restrain myself. "Come on, let's get you inside."

I wanted to refuse. To tell him I'd rather eat a snake. Mainly because I was so annoyed at myself for wanting him so badly. But I couldn't do that. I had to get him to help me fix history. My libido would have to behave itself for a little longer.

He put an arm around me, clamping his hand on my shoulder, and led me down the street. It would have been natural for me to wrap my arm around the back of his waist, but I resisted the urge. The less I touched him, the better.

What had I gotten myself into? How was I going to convince him to help me? It seemed much simpler when talking to The Rat back in my room. Now, I had no idea how to even start the conversation.

Hey, Sammy dear, want to help me save the world?

I shook my head. I'd just have to bide my time. Keep my cards close, wait for the right opening. Besides, I had to get him in my good graces first, before I could move in for the kill.

Soon we came to a small bar tucked away in a nondescript alleyway. Like with Machine Gun's place, there was no sign, just a burly, heavy-coated bouncer at the door.

"Want to try this place?" Nick asked. "I've never been, but it seems nice and out of the way. Probably won't run into any of your boyfriend's thugs here."

"Sure," I said with a shrug. It was kind of funny, now that I knew Nick was inside Sam's body, to see him try to act like he knew his way around 1929 Chicago. In reality, he was probably just as lost as I was, feeling his way around, hoping he didn't get caught in a mistake. It gave me an odd feeling of power. For once, I was in control. I held all the cards.

We stepped inside the joint. It was a small place, nothing like Machine Gun's lavish speakeasy dance hall. This was more of a dive bar, really, with a few rickety tables and chairs, a small stage and a bar on the back wall. The kind of place you'd expect peanut shells on the floor. Nothing fancy but there was an oil burning stove radiating heat in one corner, and that was good enough for me.

Nick led me over to one of the tables, and I sank into a seat, soaking in the warmth. I shrugged his coat onto the back of the chair.

"Want a drink?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Water's fine."

I actually could have used a drink—or maybe seven. But I worried about imbibing alcohol around him. A few sips and I'd lose my edge. And with what I had to convince him of, I needed all the edge I could get.

"Awh, come on. Have a drink," he cajoled. "I hate to drink alone."

I frowned. He really thought he was something, didn't he? Even in someone else's body. Always had to get his own way,

"Water," I repeated, then pressed my lips together firmly.

He rolled his eyes. "You know, babe, sometimes you remind me of my ex-girlfriend. She was just as uptight and high-strung as you are. Never could relax. Enjoy life."

What?!

How dare he? I narrowed my eyes and glared at the jerk across the table. I wasn't uptight! I wasn't high-strung! Sure, in Iraq I took life more seriously than he did. I didn't go out and party with the soldiers the night before we had to
work. But that didn't make me uptight or high-strung.

Did it? Evidently Nick thought so. Was that why he'd gone off with that Iraqi girl while I languished in prison—because he thought I was unable to have a good time?

I huffed. Uptight. Puh-leeze. Just 'cause I was responsible and took my job seriously and didn't think my time in Baghdad was some Sandals vacation. It was easy for him to be the life of the party. He already had a great career. A good track record with the network. I had to scramble. To prove myself. And that meant long hours and hard work. Sure, I didn't have as much time to hang around the bar with the other correspondents. It didn't mean I didn't know how to have a good time in the right situation.

"You know, life isn't just one big pub crawl," I growled.

He gave me a funny look. Oops. That didn't sound very 1920s, did it? I needed to start thinking before just spouting off random twenty-first century-isms around him. Not that he even had a shot at guessing that I was really his ex-girlfriend, sent back in time to stop him from committing another St. Valentine's Day Massacre, but still, I didn't need to rouse his suspicions, or I'd never get what I wanted out of him.

Luckily, he lacked the technology to fire up Wikipedia to see when the phrase "pub crawl" was coined. For all he knew, it could have been a standard part of the twenties vernacular.

"I never said it was," he replied at last. "But it's not a funeral either."

I had the serious urge to reach over the table and strangle him—or kiss him senseless. One of the two. But I restrained myself on both ends. My mission was to get him to help me, and that meant I had to sweet talk him, not annoy him or molest him.

"Fine. I've changed my mind," I said. "I'll have a gin and tonic." I paused, then added bravely, "But hold the tonic."

He wanted to have a good time? I'd show him I could have a good time. Besides, maybe a drink would help me relax. I could then get out what I had to say without as much bumbling and hesitation.

Nick raised an eyebrow but nodded in response. "Excellent choice, Madame. I'll be right back," he said, reaching over to pat me on the forearm. I grimaced, as even the most casual of touches shot electricity through my bones. Stupid traitorous Roaring Twenties body. If only I was myself, his touch would do absolutely nothing to me. In fact, it'd probably feel slimy. Disgusting.

Yeah, right, Dora. You keep telling yourself that.

I watched as Nick approached the bar, leaning onto it casually, with his typical alpha-male arrogance. Even here, he really thought the world was his oyster, didn't he? That confidence he exuded, it used to charm me. Now it just annoyed the crap out of me. How dare he be able to act so free? So happy and unbothered?

Forget
that,
I told myself.
It doesn't matter.
He was a jerk. I was over him. The only reason I was here was to convince him to help me save the world. Finito. End of story.

The plan formed in my mind. We'd have a few drinks. He'd loosen up. I'd flirt and sweet talk my way into his good graces. Then I'd spring my request. I wasn't exactly sure how I'd phrase it—neither Ms. Manners nor Ann Landers ever did cover "how to ask your ex-boyfriend to help you save the world." But I was confident I'd be able to come up with something when the moment presented itself.

In the meantime, I'd show the jerk I knew how to have a good time.

Nick returned with our drinks and handed me mine. "Here you go, princess," he said. "Straight up. Hope you can handle it."

I scowled at his sarcasm, taking the finger of gin and tipping it back, sucking down the contents in one gulp. I clanked the glass back down on the table. Handle it, indeed. I'd show him I knew how to handle it. He wanted to see Louise have a good time? Well, send in the clowns, baby. This was about to become a rip-roaring party.

"Uh," he said, taking a small sip of his own drink. "You…want another?"

"Yes. But I'll get it." I rose from my seat and headed to the bar, my stomach already warm from the first round. I'd never been much of a drinker, really. Not after my sister and I robbed our parents' liquor cabinet in junior high. Having your stomach pumped at age twelve can really convince you to lay off the booze.

But this time, I had something to prove. So I ordered two shots, downed one, and brought the other to the table. It spilled a bit as I set it down.

"For a girl who only wanted water, you seem to have suddenly developed an unquenchable thirst for gin," Nick remarked.

I groaned. "First you criticize me for not drinking. Now you're on my case for drinking too much? There's no winning with you, man."

He laughed. "No judgment here, baby. Just observation." He lifted his drink. "To you, Louise," he toasted. "The prettiest girl in the room."

I scanned the bar. "Uh, hello? I'm the only girl in the room."

"Well, you win by default then, don't you?" he said with a wink.

"Thanks a lot."

"My pleasure." He tipped back his drink. "Me, I'm the compliment mastah," he said with a swagger.

I giggled at his silliness, then berated myself for doing so. I shouldn't be falling for this. Stupid alcohol. If I were sober I wouldn't find him the least bit funny. In fact, I'd find his confident arrogance extremely annoying,

I mean, really! How could he just sit here, in someone else's body, eighty-something years in the past, looking so cool and collected and in control? Effortlessly flirting with the first girl who came along? Here I was, trying to save the world, and to him—just like in Iraq—this was just one big time-travel Club Med.

The idea infuriated me. Why didn't he feel the pain and longing I did? Why wasn't he mourning the loss of our relationship? Why was I the only one in the room still ready to burst into tears at a moment's notice?

Because he doesn't know it's you, you idiot!
My oh-so-gentle brain stepped in to reality check me.

Well, that was true, I supposed. He didn't have the complete 4-1-1 on the situation as I did. And I was willing to bet he'd be acting a tad differently if he knew who was looking through Louise's eyes across the table.

And besides, if I was being completely honest here, I knew Nick's talent at false bravado better than anyone. How good he was at hiding his true feelings from the world. He could be hurting like mad on the inside, but he'd never let on to a stranger.

I flashed back to those rare nights in Iraq after he'd had a few too many drinks. We'd go back to our hotel, and he'd start crying. Crying for all that we'd seen. The dead women and children who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd cry for humanity and all that was lost.

That
was the Nick I fell in love with. The one he kept hidden from the rest of the world. The one he was keeping hidden from Louise now. He didn't love Louise. He wasn't even being honest with her. He was just playing his part in the game.

As I should be playing mine.

Okay, then. I firmed my resolve. I could do this. I just had to think about it as he did, that it was only a game. Sure, the stakes were pretty high but still. Better to bet on the world than my heart.

With perfect timing, the bartender dropped the needle on the record, and the cheery sounds of vibrant jazz drowned out any opportunity to have a deep discussion.