I’d laugh about it later. Much later. For now, I prayed there wasn’t an actual video. Surely, people had better things to do.
It took Jason crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair to assess me in more depth for me to snap back to the present. I glanced at the kid again, checked my watch, then questioned my friend with a gentle arch of my brow. I was sophisticated like that.
Jason’s expression was both curious and cautious. He squinted and circled an index finger at me as he went through a mental checklist. “Same dark hair with the requisite bad haircut.”
“Bad?” I asked, only slightly offended.
“Same shifty eyes.”
“Shifty?”
“Same stubborn jaw.”
I lifted one corner of my mouth. “Some would call it strong.”
“Even with all of that—”
“Masculine.”
“—you’re different.”
“Rakish, even.”
“You’ve changed.”
I picked up the beer, downed it, and set the bottle on the table before tossing the guy a reassuring smirk. “You haven’t.”
He scoffed. “You might be surprised.”
I gestured toward Betty. “Besides the fact that you’ve upped your game, that is.” I studied the brunette, who was several years older than Jason, and peered into a moment nobody had a right to see. Nobody in their right mind, anyway.
Sadly, I’d never been in my right mind, even as a kid. But a traumatic event five years ago made me even more of a freak, and over time I learned to do things that would challenge even the most open of minds.
And this instance was no different. I relaxed and let the moment drift into my mind. Decades from now, Betty would lay in a hospital bed, surrounded by the diverse family she’d accumulated. A ragtag collection of castoffs, children she and her husband had taken in, a surrogate aunt here, a lost-and-found grandfather there, and a small but tight-knit army of bikers, the most loyal people on Earth. And by her side, holding her fragile hand, was her husband, Jason, aged yet somehow still handsome. Fucker.
I gestured toward the brunette with a nod and looked back at said fucker. “She’s a good person.”
“She meets your approval?” Jason asked, surprise registering in the barely perceptible rounding of his hazel eyes. “That’s a first.”
It was, indeed. “Maybe you’ll actually listen this time.” Three failed marriages were enough for most people to swear off the age-old tradition. Not Jason Vigil. The man was nothing if not determined. “There’s just one problem,” I added.
Jason made a resigned hissing sound and sat back in his chair. “Here it comes.”
“She’s too good for you.”
After a long, contemplative moment, Jason nodded. “I’m very aware.” He watched me, his gaze glistening and sharp as though he were trying to see into my soul.
Good luck with that. It was as black and murky as a thunderhead at midnight. No amount of staring could penetrate that much swirling darkness.
“Someday, you’re going to have to tell me how you do that,” Jason said. “How you always know.”
I made a half-hearted attempt at a smile. “Someday,” I lied.
I’d grown up with gut feelings about people. Everyone has them, but my instincts were never wrong. So much so my friends accused me of being psychic. But after an ancient demon who wanted to take over the world possessed me five years ago, before a sassy, godlike creature from Albuquerque ripped it out of me—with the help of a Rottweiler named Artemis—my powers of intuition had multiplied tenfold. They’d morphed into an actual supernatural ability, for lack of a better phrase. A sleep-depriving, morbid, nightmarish ability. One I was still trying to come to terms with.
I glanced at the kid yet again, then at my watch, growing more anxious as the time drew near.
“You got somewhere to be?” Jason asked.
“Not yet.” I took note of the kid’s dirty hair and torn denim jacket, which looked three sizes too big. “What? You don’t card people here?”
Jason followed my line of sight. “Zachary Church. He’s a kid from the neighborhood. Looks younger than he is.”
“There is no way that baby-faced punk, who’s about two shots away from puking his guts out, is twenty-one.”
“As of last week.”
“Ah.” I reached for the second bottle of Corona, but Jason swiped it from under my nose and downed half the contents before I could utter a single protest.
“What?” he asked when he paused for a breath. “You were taking too long.”
Realization dawned. “You just did that so you could call that cute server over again.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Not in the least. I was thinking about asking for her number.”
Jason’s jaw went slack seconds before he slammed it shut so hard the muscles jumped in protest.
“You know, a test of sorts.”
His hand tightened around the bottle.
“Make sure she’s really into you.”
His other hand curled into a fist.
I let my second-best grin, the slow and calculated one, spread across my face. “That’s what you get for drinking my beer, asshole.”
Jason held onto his irritation for a few gloriously tense seconds before letting the agitation drain from his body. Good thing. The guy punched like a sledgehammer. He drew in a deep breath and chose his voice over violence. “Does that mean you’re actually going to pay for your drinks this time?”
“As long as I get the ninety-seven percent friends-and-family discount.”
It was Jason’s turn to arch a sophisticated brow. “And you think you qualify?”
That hurt. I grabbed my chest, hoping to generate some Oscar buzz, and whispered, “Ouch.”
Jason scoffed and ordered two more beers while I returned to my drawing. He gave me a minute before clearing his throat.
I ignored him.
“Now that I have your undivided attention—”
He didn’t.
“—I have a confession to make.”
Getting closer.
“And a favor to ask.”
Intrigue won out. Damn it. I put the pen down. My drawing sucked, anyway. “Don’t tell me that rash came back. That was a one-time deal, buddy.” I held up an index finger to drive my point home. “I smelled like menthol ointment for three days.” That stuff would not wash off.
“What? No.” Jason scooted closer to shush me. “My invitation wasn’t one hundred percent altruistic.”
I blinked at him, waiting for more info.
“I have a friend in trouble.”
Dread slithered up my spine, leaving a trail of ice in its wake. Jason was the most down-to-earth guy I knew. He didn’t have a manipulative bone in his body. Why would he invite me to Idaho without giving me the real reason unless he was certain I would flat-out refuse? And there was only one reason I would do that.
“Your kind of trouble.”
Oh, hell no.
I was done. No more dead people. No more hellhounds trying to cuddle in the middle of the night. And no more asshole demons attempting to worm their way into my brain. That was the plan, anyway, and I was sticking to it. Through sheer force of will, I held the fact that my abilities followed me no matter how far I ran at bay. Swimming in a luxurious state of denial. And I would’ve stayed there if not for the kid.