Unable to meet Lisa’s condescending face, Helen trained her gaze on a random target, in this case a toddler eating popcorn off the ground when his parents weren’t looking. She was done. Done feeling dismissed, unheard.
Somebody needed to give her a shot, some encouragement.
“You know what, Lis? Spare me the quotes from your Neil deGrasse Tyson meme collection. I believe in what I experienced. I know my experiences don’t align with your worldview, but that doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”
“It’s like I’m trying to show you two plus two equals four, and you’re insisting the equation adds up to potato.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you should open your mind to the possibility that realities exist outside of the scientific method. Potato, po-tah-to.”
“Nope. I’m out. Don’t call or text me again until you’re ready to listen to reason. I’m going to go home and rest so I can face our bankruptcy lawyer with some degree of dignity tomorrow.” Lisa sprang to her feet, snatched up her leftovers, and stalked off into the masses of people.
“I can go with you to talk to the lawyer. Don’t play the martyr. It’s a bad look.”
Lisa said nothing and blended into the crowd.
Talk about best laid plans going splat. Before she could degenerate into self-pity, Helen got out her bag of crystals and shook the contents into her palm. Lisa would come around or she wouldn’t, but in the mean time Helen had to figure out a solution to the supernatural debacle.
With an index finger, she sifted through the colorful chunks in her cupped hand. Fourteen total, two for each color of the rainbow.
Interesting, how the even number of tokens divided into two sets. Did the balance have to do with the Right Hand and Left Hand paths? What did the clear ones represent? The colors of the crystals aligned with the colors of the chakra wheels, energetic disks that yogis believed ran up the spine. An opportunity to explore color magic, maybe.
Lots of uncertainty in the mix right now, but one witchy person in particular could offer answers. Helen re-bagged the minerals and rose from the bench.
“We need to talk.” The stern, English male timbre snapped Helen out of her thoughts. “I’m hoping you’ll be able to offer an explanation for what I found on my tour bus.”
Five
Alone on the bus’s granite island, the second crystal resembled a several-carat cubic zirconia on a black sand beach. The rest of the tour bus lobby, from a leather couch to the subtle scents of lemon and bleach, projected order and tidiness in lieu of rocker debauchery.
Helen treated herself to a taste of enjoyment in the violation of her expectations. Not a bong or a groupie bra in sight.
Brian turned to her, eyes a touch hooded and one corner of his mouth quirked in a curious expression. “What?”
“I didn’t say a word.”
He took a step closer, tapping an index finger twice on the island. The gesture stirred excitement in her, the deliberate manner of his touch a subtle act of flirtation the weird context failed to repress or squash. The air flexed as unseen but potent masculine power insisted its way out out Brian. Awareness flickered under her bra cups.
Details of him rose to her perceptual surface. Jeans worn to a comfy, faded blue hugged the sculpted planes of his thighs. On a more intangible level, he carried himself in a way that was neither casual nor tense. Brian moved with grace suited to a dancer. Self-aware without being self-conscious. Dignified. Regal. Artistic.
“You giggled.” His rumbling cadence lilted as he delivered the faux accusation.
“I did not.” Okay, she’d made a slight peep that could be interpreted as edging into the vicinity of a chortle.
“What’s on your mind? Tell me.” He dashed a look over her face in a hesitant flick, like a lost part of him reached for a forgotten memory of how to desire.
Helen ran fingertips over the cool, smooth surface speckled like a robin’s egg, aware that Brian was watching her hands and enjoying the feel of his gaze. “Your bus is so clean and neat. I guessed I’ve watched too many trashy documentaries, because I assumed a rock band’s tour bus would be all cocaine and blowjobs.”
In a moment as sudden as it was inappropriate, Helen became aware that Brian was a man with biology like any other. He got hard and shot his seed. Did he swear or moan while he came? A hazy fantasy of his stiffness in her mouth drifted through her mind. In her scenario, he tasted as pleasing as he smelled, healthy and clean.
A big part of his allure involved how much he left to the imagination. An aura of propriety swirled around him, a primness that begged her imagination to picture him reduced to a grunting mess of lust.
Oddly enough, nothing about his upright personality was incongruous with his life station. Brian was no oversexed party animal who got lucky, shoving a groupie off of him in time to run on stage and stagger through a show drunk with a needle hanging from his arm.
Nope, she’d wager he conquered the music industry by sheer force of will, achieving his meteoric rise thanks to peerless focus, determination, and drive to succeed. What was going on with her all of a sudden? Male power had never worked on her as an aphrodisiac before, quite the opposite until now.
She forced her attention back to the crystal. Twin strands of beaded light flowed upward from rows attached to the floor, altering the hue of the rock into a prism of milk and butter tones.
Brian cleared his throat, the gesture neutralizing whatever sensual current wove through the lounge seconds ago. “Yes, well, I don’t do drugs, and my nonexistent sex life is the farthest thing from my mind at
