Airel: The Discovering (Airel Saga Book Two)

Chapter III

Boise, Idaho—Present Day

 THE CHEESECAKE FACTORY WAS one of my favorite places to eat. It stood connected to the side of Boise Towne Square Mall and was right next to a bookshop—one of my favorite haunts.

I always had to go browse the books, even if I wasn’t done with the one I was currently reading. I loved to read. I felt like the turn of each page echoed inside the world between the book’s covers—and each book had its own rules. There, within the mystique of that connection, was something special. It was addictive.

Michael found us a parking spot—actually, four of them—about fifty miles from the doors. I will never understand how guys are about their machines. One minute they’re burning rubber and playing in the mud, and the next they’re crying because some heartless soccer mom dinged their door. And they think we have issues. So he was going to make me walk fifty miles for dinner.

But I really didn’t mind too much. It meant I got to hold his hand that much longer.

That’s exactly what we did—we held hands from the passenger door of his truck to the front door of the restaurant. I felt the deliciousness of his warm, almost hot skin, and I fluttered inside. His fingers gently gripped my own, making me feel like glass.

I liked it.

I felt that there was no safer place for me to be, especially in that moment.

“How’d you know I like the Cheesecake Factory?” I wondered if Kim had ratted on me. It was no fun if he didn’t have to at least try.

“I have my ways. I figured that we could go hang out at the bookshop afterward if you want.”

Oh, yeah—Kim was the big fat rat.

Michael followed me inside. As he did, his hand brushed the small of my back, sending a shiver up my spine. Come on, get hold of yourself. The shiver ran its course, ending up somewhere in the back of my head where that new flutter, She, had lately taken up residence, watching the whole thing with silent curiosity. I had a feeling She disapproved somehow.

Inside the Cheesecake Factory, there were enormous domed ceilings held up by huge columns, and painted angels pranced across the domes, playing together. Colored glass and European-style plastered walls accented the interior. I liked everything about the ambience.

“Table for two?” The hostess smiled at us, showing us to a booth near the back.

The place was packed. How Michael got a table with all the people waiting in the lobby was beyond me. I didn’t ask, though. I felt like a princess, and my prince had connections.

We sat down. I left my menu where it was. I always got the Orange Chicken, at least the three or so times I had been there before. I loved it, so why change now?

“You already know what you’re getting?” Michael asked as he looked at the menu.

“Yup. Orange Chicken’s my favorite, and I just can’t ever seem to get past it.” I smiled and avoided his eyes, knowing I might blush. “I’ve heard that everything here is good, though.”

He studied the menu, his eyebrows lowered in thought, and I took the chance to look again at his face. He had such a smooth complexion, not a single blemish in sight. My dad used to talk about “gunslinger’s eyes,” the kind of eyes you’d expect to find glinting at you from underneath a black Stetson, along with a single-action .45 revolver. Dad was a bit of a gun nut, and some of that rubbed off on me, but I thought about the eyes. That was the important part. As I looked at those eyes, I knew: they were gunslinger’s eyes.

“I think I’ll get the steak. It sounds good, and I’m hungry. I need more protein, anyway. All that running for football gives me a killer appetite.” He leaned his impressive forearms on the table and looked at me. There was a question sparkling in his cold blue eyes. I knew what he wanted to know.

“Later,” I said. “I promise, but not here. I have to show you … not tell you.” He gave me a doubtful look. Then he sat back and folded his arms across his chest.

“Okay, but I’m holding you to it. You look good. I mean … your forehead looks perfect. I mean, no, it looks fine. No welt, not even a bruise or anything.”

In spite of his awkwardness, he was cute. He leaned forward again and I felt my skin heat up.

“Stop staring at me like that. I’m not some experiment. I’m a human being with feelings.” It came out of me a little too forcefully and I wondered where this sudden aggression came from. After all, this was Michael Alexander I was talking to here.

Wings fluttered and She calmed me down, but I still gave him “the look.” It was what my dad said I needed to work on, that ultra-serious “I-ain’t-takin’-none-o’-this” look. Dad had told me that I needed practice before it would strike fear in the heart of a man. I secretly hoped it wasn’t too effective.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare at you.” He sighed. “I just can’t help it when you’re around me. Here. How about we try this,” and he closed his eyes, looking down. When he opened them, he looked directly at me, and now, instead of the gunslinger, there was something that made me want to give myself to him, forever. Deeper still, savage wonder was there, as if he saw something to be feared when he looked at me.

My eyes must have widened. “Okay, stop, just—if you don’t stop it, I’m going to cry.” I was getting in over my head. “You can only use that on special occasions.” My heart was racing, and I was starting to feel like I needed some fresh air.

“But isn’t this a special occasion?” He looked at me with calm curiosity and a sly smirk on his face. He knew what he was doing, and at once I felt like he was so much older and experienced then me.

“Well, yeah. Yes, it is. I mean, it’s our first date, and I have to say, so far you’re picking up some points: perfect restaurant, and … you look good.” I raised my glass of ice water to him, and like a perfect gentleman, he clinked his against it.

“Thanks, Airel. I try. I practice my ‘Blue Steele’ look in the mirror every morning. Glad it worked on you.”

I laughed and kicked him under the table. He thundered with a deep, low laugh that was absolutely wonderful.

I was trying to savor everything. This, I thought, was a moment that I would be able to look back on and remember, maybe even tell stories about. Not that I was making long-range plans or anything, but a girl can dream. Even if it’s a little wild. But even though I was literally having the time of my life, something was nagging at me, pulling me from—or in—a direction that was uncomfortable. My stomach was a little unsettled, which worried me, but it went beyond that. Something wasn’t right. I didn’t know what it was, or even if I was sure about it. But I wasn’t about to let it ruin my evening.