white. The lights flickered again. Thunder boomed.
"I'm, uh, just going to turn off the signs and get cleaning. Excuse me," I said.
He smiled and raised his glass to me in a toasting gesture before bringing it to his lips again.
I ducked out from behind the bar and shook my head. He made me feel all kinds of weird, and I wasn't sure if it was the creepy kind or the nice kind. It wasn't like I had a whole lot of experience with dating or men or women or anything. Not much at all. None, in fact. Never been kissed or any of that.
I didn't think about it anymore as I pulled the chains on the neon signs in the windows as quick as I could, just in case the lightning outside decided to flash while I was close to a window. It always seemed to do that. Sometimes I wonder if I attracted it. Who knows. Maybe I did.
I pulled the shades in the windows down. "Murray's Bar & Grill" shown backwards through the streetlight that filtered through them. Just as I reached for the last shade, lightning flashed, thunder boomed and the lights went completely out.
I couldn't help it. I dropped the rag in my hand as I let out a frightened shriek and brought my hands to my mouth.
In moments I was wrapped in strong arms. My face pressed against a hard surface, my head cupped against it by a warm hand on the back of it. I realized it was the man's chest. His t-shirt was soft against my cheek.
"Shh," I heard him soothe. "You're all right."
I couldn't help but stand there, shocked. No one had ever touched me like this. I'd never been held like this. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't sure if I liked it. I thought I did. Still. I didn't even know this guy. My hands flattened against his chest.
"Uh, thank you, uh -- Mr -- uh -- sir."
"Rogers."
I looked up at him. Even in the dark, I could make out the chiseled outline of his jaw. "Mr. Rogers? Seriously?"
I could almost see that sly grin of his. "Yeah. Seriously. My name is Stevain, but I go by Rogue."
"Rogue? How'd you get a nickname like that? Are you one or something?"
"When I was a kid, I couldn't say our last name. It stuck." He loosened his hold on me. "You OK now?"
Just as I nodded, another flash of lightning turned the shades translucent and thunder shook the windows. I couldn't help but cringe against him again and bury my face against his chest.
His hand cupped the back of my head again as his arm around my waist tightened again. "Shhh," he soothed again. "It's all right. Just a bit of bad weather."
"I'm such a baby," I murmured against his shirt. "I mean, like you said, it's just a bit of bad weather. What's it going to do? Eat me? What's to be afraid of?"
He shrugged. I felt the movement all around me and closed my eyes. He was so warm! "Some fears are irrational. Some have a perfectly reasonable foundation. Did you have a bad experience in a storm before?"
I nodded and sighed. You could call it that.
"Then there's your reason," he said. "Though if I'm going to stand here comforting you, I should at least know your name, shouldn't I? Your nametag says Emmaluna. That's pretty. It suits you. Where did it come from?"
I looked up at him. "What do you mean? From my dad."
He laughed. It warmed me again and that electric tingle danced through my limbs, weakening my knees.
"I meant like a country or something. Spanish or French or something," he said.
"I don't really know," I said. "What about yours? Stevain is unusual. Interesting. Where'd yours come from?"
The lights came back on. He abruptly let me go and was back at the bar with his drink in his hand so fast it was like he hadn't ever moved.
Maybe he hadn't. Had I imagined it all? I saw my cleaning rag on the floor and bent down to pick it up. The kitchen door swung open and a worried-looking Pedro hurried over to me.
"Em! You OK? It was so dark and I had my hands in the sink. I didn't dare move because I couldn't see. Last thing I need is to trip over the mop bucket and break something!" Pedro said.
"I'm OK," I assured
"I'm, uh, just going to turn off the signs and get cleaning. Excuse me," I said.
He smiled and raised his glass to me in a toasting gesture before bringing it to his lips again.
I ducked out from behind the bar and shook my head. He made me feel all kinds of weird, and I wasn't sure if it was the creepy kind or the nice kind. It wasn't like I had a whole lot of experience with dating or men or women or anything. Not much at all. None, in fact. Never been kissed or any of that.
I didn't think about it anymore as I pulled the chains on the neon signs in the windows as quick as I could, just in case the lightning outside decided to flash while I was close to a window. It always seemed to do that. Sometimes I wonder if I attracted it. Who knows. Maybe I did.
I pulled the shades in the windows down. "Murray's Bar & Grill" shown backwards through the streetlight that filtered through them. Just as I reached for the last shade, lightning flashed, thunder boomed and the lights went completely out.
I couldn't help it. I dropped the rag in my hand as I let out a frightened shriek and brought my hands to my mouth.
In moments I was wrapped in strong arms. My face pressed against a hard surface, my head cupped against it by a warm hand on the back of it. I realized it was the man's chest. His t-shirt was soft against my cheek.
"Shh," I heard him soothe. "You're all right."
I couldn't help but stand there, shocked. No one had ever touched me like this. I'd never been held like this. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't sure if I liked it. I thought I did. Still. I didn't even know this guy. My hands flattened against his chest.
"Uh, thank you, uh -- Mr -- uh -- sir."
"Rogers."
I looked up at him. Even in the dark, I could make out the chiseled outline of his jaw. "Mr. Rogers? Seriously?"
I could almost see that sly grin of his. "Yeah. Seriously. My name is Stevain, but I go by Rogue."
"Rogue? How'd you get a nickname like that? Are you one or something?"
"When I was a kid, I couldn't say our last name. It stuck." He loosened his hold on me. "You OK now?"
Just as I nodded, another flash of lightning turned the shades translucent and thunder shook the windows. I couldn't help but cringe against him again and bury my face against his chest.
His hand cupped the back of my head again as his arm around my waist tightened again. "Shhh," he soothed again. "It's all right. Just a bit of bad weather."
"I'm such a baby," I murmured against his shirt. "I mean, like you said, it's just a bit of bad weather. What's it going to do? Eat me? What's to be afraid of?"
He shrugged. I felt the movement all around me and closed my eyes. He was so warm! "Some fears are irrational. Some have a perfectly reasonable foundation. Did you have a bad experience in a storm before?"
I nodded and sighed. You could call it that.
"Then there's your reason," he said. "Though if I'm going to stand here comforting you, I should at least know your name, shouldn't I? Your nametag says Emmaluna. That's pretty. It suits you. Where did it come from?"
I looked up at him. "What do you mean? From my dad."
He laughed. It warmed me again and that electric tingle danced through my limbs, weakening my knees.
"I meant like a country or something. Spanish or French or something," he said.
"I don't really know," I said. "What about yours? Stevain is unusual. Interesting. Where'd yours come from?"
The lights came back on. He abruptly let me go and was back at the bar with his drink in his hand so fast it was like he hadn't ever moved.
Maybe he hadn't. Had I imagined it all? I saw my cleaning rag on the floor and bent down to pick it up. The kitchen door swung open and a worried-looking Pedro hurried over to me.
"Em! You OK? It was so dark and I had my hands in the sink. I didn't dare move because I couldn't see. Last thing I need is to trip over the mop bucket and break something!" Pedro said.
"I'm OK," I assured
Similar Books
The Corpse Exhibition
Hassan Blasim
Heavy Planet
Hal Clement
For His Protection
Amber A Bardan
Arrow's Fall
Mercedes Lackey
Can and Can'tankerous
Harlan Ellison (R)
Devil's Keep
Phillip Finch
Here Comes the Bribe
Mary Daheim
The Juliet
Laura Ellen Scott
In Too Deep
D C Grant
Throw Like A Girl
Jean Thompson