The Undead Pool. Kim Harrison

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СКАЧАТЬ Trent dipped a fry and pointed it at me. “I took that pin fair and square. I can do magic while bowling.” He ate his fry and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “You not knowing the charm doesn’t make it illegal.”

      “Well, no, but it was kind of cheesy.”

      “Cheesy?” He chuckled, looking nothing like himself but having everything I liked about him. I’d had a great time, and I’d been watching the clock with the first hints of regret. It had been unexpected, that feeling of forgetfulness, free for a time of who I was, and who he was, and what was expected of us. I didn’t want it to end. “Where did you learn to bowl?”

      Trent watched his fingers, carefully picking out his next fry. “University. But you can’t use magic at the West Coast lanes. It’s not illegal, but it’s too unpredictable. How about you?”

      I chuckled, glad when the music turned off. We were closing them down, and it felt good. “My brother belonged to a young bowlers’ league. When my mom worked weekends, he had to watch me. If I promised to leave him and his friends alone, he’d buy me a lane at the outskirts where I could mess around.”

      Trent’s gaze went behind me to the last of the bowlers finishing their games. The cleaning staff was making inroads, but they wouldn’t shut the door for almost an hour. “Sounds lonely,” he said, dipping a fry.

      “Not really.” But it had been. He was looking at my mouth again, and I wondered if he wanted to kiss me.

      I dropped my head, and he shifted on the bar stool, the motion holding frustration.

      “That was the best burger I’ve ever had to pay for,” he said to fill the silence. “I’m going to have to stop in the next time I’m in the area.”

      “When do you ever get out here?” I could look at him now that he wasn’t looking at me.

      “Never,” he admitted, his attention falling from the TV. “But I’d drive for this. Mmmm. The fries are good, too.”

      “You should try them with ketchup,” I said, and then not knowing why, I pushed my basket toward him. There were a few fries in it, but it was the puddle of ketchup I was offering.

      “I have,” he blurted, eyes wide to look charming. “I mean, I do, but not in public.”

      I looked at his pointy ears, and he actually blushed.

      “Right,” he said, then dragged his fry through my ketchup, not meeting my gaze as he chewed.

      He used my ketchup, I thought, and something in me seemed to catch. “The good with the bad, yes?” I said, and when I lifted my pop, we clinked bottles. “Hey, I’m sorry about losing it today at the golf course. I should have handled that better. Bullies get the best of me.”

      Absorbed with his fries, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It surprised me when he brought up my background. I’ll do better next time. I’ve got a response now and everything.”

      I took a swig of my drink and set it down. “Good luck remembering it. I always forget.” I wasn’t hungry, but I liked the idea of sharing a puddle of ketchup with him, and I ate one last fry. “It’s worth it, though, don’t you think? Not hiding?”

      “God yes. I’ve not had to make any ugly decisions since Lucy came home.”

      His voice had softened, and it was easy to see the love for his child. I knew he loved Ray just as much even though she didn’t have a drop of his blood. Ray was Quen and Ceri’s child. Trent had only repaired her damaged DNA, but the girls were being raised as sisters, especially now that Ceri was gone.

      “So they come back tomorrow,” I prompted, wanting to see more of that soft look.

      Trent nodded, the beer he’d nursed the last hour hanging between two fingers an inch above the bar. There was only one couple left at the lanes, the cook scraping the grill, and the guy at the shoe counter cleaning each pair before calling it a night. I liked Trent like this, relaxed and thinking of his kids, and I quashed a fleeting daydream. I couldn’t picture him in my church, living with the pixies, waking up in my bed. Stop it, Rachel.

      A siren wailed in the distance. It felt like a warning, one I needed to heed. I wasn’t attracted to Trent because Al told me to leave him alone. I liked Trent because he understood who I was and would still sit at a bar with me and eat french fries. And it ends tomorrow.

      “I’ll be glad when Quen gets back,” I said, eyes down.

      “Oh? Has watching my back been that onerous?”

      “No. It’s just that you take up a lot of my time.” And after tonight, I’m not going to have a damn thing to do.

      Trent set my basket atop his and pushed them both to the side, making no move to leave. “You definitely have a different style than Quen. But you did a wonderful job of it. Thank you.”

      Almost depressed, I watched the cook through the long thin pass-through. “Thank you,” I said, meaning it. Again we clinked bottles, and we both took a swallow. I was going to miss it. Miss everything. But the girls would be going back to Ellasbeth in three months. I could wait.

      And then what, Rachel?

      “I had a good time tonight,” he said as if reading my mind. “If things were different—”

      “But they aren’t,” I interrupted. “Besides, you don’t pass my underwear test.” I needed to leave before I started to cry or break things. This really sucked.

      “Your what?” Trent said, his eyes wide.

      I couldn’t help the mental picture of him in tighty whities, then boxers, wondering which way he went. “My underwear test,” I said again, then added, “I can’t imagine folding your underwear week after week. That’s it.”

      Seeming annoyed, Trent turned away. “I have people who do that for me.”

      “That’s just it,” I said, fiddling with my pop bottle. This isn’t how I wanted to end this evening. “Even if you didn’t have this big thing you’re going to do with Ellasbeth, I can’t see you living in my church, or anywhere other than your estate, really, doing normal stuff like laundry, or dishes, or washing the car.” I thought of his living room, messy with preschool toys. I hadn’t ever imagined that, either. “Or trying to find the remote,” I said slowly.

      “I know how to do all those things,” he said, his tone challenging, and I met his eyes.

      “I’m not saying you don’t. I’m just saying I can’t imagine you doing those things unless you wanted to, and why would you?”

      He was silent. In the kitchen, the cook began putting the food back into the big walk-in fridge. Trent’s jaw was tight, and I wished I’d never brought it up.

      “Forget I said anything,” I said, touching his knee and pulling my hand back when his eyes darted down. “Laundry is overrated. I really enjoyed tonight. It was nice having a real date.”

      Trent’s annoyance, startled away from that touch on his knee, evolved into a sloppy chagrin. Nodding, he spun his bar stool to take my hands and turn me to face him. It was ending. I could feel it. It was as if our entire СКАЧАТЬ