charming?”
“That’s two questions,” she said.
“Nope—it’s the same question, just with two parts. Kinda like some of those hellish essay questions you used to torture us with.”
She smiled begrudgingly at him, and decided to tell him the truth. “Because I find you interesting.”
“And maybe a little charming?”
“Maybe . . .”
“Then why not agree to see me again?”
“Justin, I’m forty.”
He waited, looking at her as if there had to be more to it than that.
She sighed. “Justin,” she tried again, “I’m forty years old and you’re—”
“Yes, I know. I got a C in English, but I did better in math. You’re fourteen years older than I am. You’re also smart and funny and easy to talk to and very, very sexy. Seriously, Candice. Try finding all those qualities in girls half your age. It’s next to impossible.” When she looked like she wanted to argue with him, he took her hand and said, “Okay, if our age difference bothers you that much, how about let’s not call it a real date? Let’s call it . . . an exercise appointment.”
“An exercise appointment?”
“You jog every day, don’t you?”
“Almost.”
“Will you be jogging tomorrow?”
“Probably.”
“Then how about we make an appointment to jog together tomorrow?”
“Okay,” she heard herself say. “I’ll jog by Wolf Creek at about sevenish.”
“You’re awesome! See you tomorrow.” He shot her a blazing smile, kicked into a youthful, athletic jog, and disappeared into the fading light of dusk around the curve in the road.
Laughing softly at her own silliness, she skipped lightly up the stairs into her house. Refusing to berate herself for being a horny middle-aged letch, Candice poured herself a cold glass of water. She had the whole day tomorrow to consider if she really was going to show up for their “appointment” or not. She wouldn’t think about it now. And anyway, her eye caught sight of the notebook and pencil sitting on her desk where she’d left them. She had homework to do.
Candice grinned.
She also had lines of poetry unexpectedly popping into her mind. Godiva had been partially right. Being in the presence of a werewolf had certainly unblocked her—even if an evening of conversation hadn’t been exactly what her witchy friend had been recommending. Eagerly, she sat down and put pencil to the unfinished page, taking up easily where she’d left off.
Candice giggled, and kept writing.
Hmm . . . maybe she would meet Justin tomorrow.
Four
He thought about her a lot more than he’d intended to. He was supposed to show up at a keg party in the forest—rumor had it that several of the not-so-innocent high school seniors from the cheerleading squad were curious about just how well werewolves could use their tongues . . . not an invitation he had declined in the past. But tonight it felt, well,
Actually, if he was being really honest with himself, his life had begun to wear on him. Or, more accurately, to bore him. He hated the restaurant. His older brothers were already firmly ensconced in management positions— hence the fact that he had been relegated to making purchasing runs for them. Not that anyone expected more of him. He’d always been “that Justin—so incorrigible and handsome!” He’d never been taken seriously. But, then again, it hadn’t really mattered to him. He’d always been into having fun . . . feeling good.
When had that started to change?
He wasn’t really sure. But he knew he hadn’t been giving Candice a slick line tonight when he’d told her that she was smart and funny and sexy. Very, very sexy. And that he hadn’t found that combination of qualities in twenty-something girls. She challenged him. She made him think. And she turned him on. He’d had no idea what a lethal mixture those things were before he spent an evening in Ms. Cox’s stimulating company. He wanted to see her again. Badly. More than that, he wanted her to want him. If a woman like that could want him . . . what couldn’t a man accomplish if he won the love of a woman like that?
So tonight, instead of joining the orgy in the woods he was much more interested in searching the back of his closet for an old textbook from a freshman lit class he’d taken before dropping out of the Denver Art Institute. Funny . . . he hadn’t thought about his failed attempt at an art major in years. But those eyes of hers. They’d made him remember. They were mossy green—a color that cried to be painted.
Those eyes . . .
Justin grabbed the literature book and then flipped open his laptop. A few simple clicks took him to the website of Mysteria High School—Home of the Fighting Fairies. He smiled triumphantly. Sure enough, there was a complete list of faculty phone numbers.
Candice jumped when her cell phone made the little three-tone sound it did when she had a text message. She wiped her eyes, stuck her reading glasses on top of her head, and reluctantly took her nose out of Tanith Lee’s
“Why do you insist on reading and rereading this book? You know what happens, and you know it makes you cry. You,” she told herself sternly before blowing her nose, “are a ridiculous romantic. And you’re old enough to know better.” She sighed. Ridiculous or not, she truly loved the story of a robot finding his soul through loving a woman. Not that it could really happen. Even putting aside the fact that it wasn’t possible to make humanlike robots, it was an impossible dream that a man could really become . . . well . . .
Of course, a little voice whispered through her conscience, maybe she hadn’t really loved any of them . . . maybe true love
“Please,” she scoffed aloud at herself, “grow the fuck up.”
Then, remembering what had interrupted her, Candice reached for her phone. Flipping it open she keyed up the one new text message.
Looking forward to our “appointment” tomorrow @ 7:00. J
P.S. you have beautiful eyes
She felt a rush of sweet excitement—a heady, intoxicating feeling she hadn’t experienced in years. No matter
