As soon as I enter Millennium Arcade, my head buzzes, a reminder that this Seattle isn’t the same as the one of the pre-IgNiTe attacks two weeks ago. My eyes drift toward the pool table, where Xave puts the laws of physics to the test with his insane skills. I immediately identify the usual crowd: diehards who might as well keep sleeping bags under the green-velvety tables. They never seem to leave. Behind Xave’s friends, watching the game over the rim of her glass, I spot the tall brunette who’s responsible for the buzzing in my head. She gives me a raised eyebrow. I do my best to ignore her. She’s here scouting future victims, I’m sure. It takes all I’ve got not to cause a scene and act as if I don’t know our city has gone to crap.
Fortunately, Xave is not among the pool players. Instead, I spot him by one of the red, faux-leather booths.
I nod and change direction, boots padding on the space-themed carpet. He must have really been hungry. Normally, I find him, cue in hand, wringing a few dollar bills out of foolish amateurs who don’t realize they’ll never be able to beat him. The computerized sounds of gun fire from one of the video games mark my steps.
He stands and wraps me in a tight hug. I relish his solidity and the fact that he lingers for several, long seconds. As he pulls away, I look up, surprised.
“Hey,” I say, my cheeks going warm. Being Xave’s girlfriend still makes me feel self-conscious and nervous and wonderful. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it. He’s a bear of a boy, tall and muscular, with a penchant for slightly tight t-shirts and ripped jeans.
“I didn’t think I’d get to see you today,” he says. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad family dinner didn’t last very long.” Before I can reply, he places a hand on my cheek, gently lets it slide to the back of my neck and pulls me in for a kiss.
His lips are warm and supple as they move against mine, sending such a wild current down the length of my legs that I feel like I’ll take off and shoot through the ceiling. I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him closer, forgetting where we are. He responds by sliding a hand down my back and deepening his kiss. I’m at the verge of moaning in pleasure when I remember myself and manage to break the kiss.
Xave growls in frustration, his forehead pressed to mine. My eyes surreptitiously check the room, noticing a few people watching—one of them a girl that looks as if she’d trade places with me even if it meant growing a third eye.
I clear my throat. “People are watching,” I say.
“It never mattered to me before,” Xave says, brushing my lower lip with his thumb, “but you make me care.”
With his previous girlfriends, he had no qualms about making out in public. With me, he always stops before it gets out of hand. My heart smiles like an idiot.
His beautiful hazel eyes are warm and happy. He gestures toward the booth. “I know you already ate, but I ordered you the special, anyway. Rolo had one of his Southern creations today.”
“Oh, yum!” I sit and my mouth waters at the sight of a plateful of Cajun jambalaya. I much prefer Rolo’s specials than the regular fare and Xave knows that. Is he a wonderful boyfriend or what?
God, I love him.
I stab a piece of sausage and stuff it in my mouth just to stop me from baring my heart in those three words. It’s too soon. We’ve only been dating for two weeks. I don’t want to freak him out. And what if he doesn’t say it back? I think he would, but what if he doesn’t? I frown. Ugh, what is wrong with me? Have I become one of those spineless girls who bases her every action on how her boyfriend will react? No. I can’t allow that. I should tell him. Right now. I look up.
He’s watching me closely. “Everything all right?”
“Um, yeah. I—I …”
Xave looks concerned. I realized that I have become one of those spineless girls. Stuffing another forkful of spicy sausage into my mouth, I chew and make sounds to indicate how delicious it is—although all I can really taste is the worst kind of girly cowardice. I’m not any better than all my boy-crazy classmates.
“Did family dinner get you rattled? Wanna talk about it?” he asks.
I shake my head and finish my mouthful. “I was late.”
Maybe I should tell him about Ape Man and his squeezy fingers, but that’ll just worry him, and I don’t want that. I want him to have a clear head at all times and only worry about himself. Not me. He’s still working with IgNiTe, going on who knows what kind of dangerous missions. I wish he could tell me about them, but James instructed him not to share any details with anyone.
Xave thinks James is being unreasonable by keeping me away from the crew, thinks the man’s just trying to make an example out of me for being reckless, for taking unnecessary risks that almost get me killed and for hanging out in coffee shops when I’ve been told specifically not to do that. He says once James is done making his point, he’ll come around and let me back in. God, I hope Xave’s right.
I sigh and continue, “And Luke didn’t show. At all. I think he had some hot date or something.”
Xave winces.
“Yeah,” I spear a piece of shrimp this time. “So, at first, Mom decided to take it out on me ’cause, of course, her precious son can do no wrong.”
“That’s bullshit!” He tosses a ketchup-soaked fry in his mouth. He went for a Philly steak sandwich tonight. He’s not much for exotic cuisine. “If you had to get a twin brother, why couldn’t you get someone cool like Luke Skywalker or Quicksilver?”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind being Darth Vader or Magneto’s daughter. That would be ultra-cool.”
“Oh, my dad would be so jealous.”
I laugh. Xave’s dad never grew out of his comic book obsession, so much that he named all his kids after fictional characters: Xavier, Clark and Selina.
Xave checks his watch, then rubs his chin. “Though, if you were Magneto’s daughter that would make us enemies.”
“To the death, Professor Xavier,” I say.
“Hmm, I guess we’ll have to put up with Luke. Couldn’t imagine you being my mortal enemy.” He reaches for my hand.
I smile and shy away from his touch, suddenly struck by the irony of the situation. If he only knew how close we are to being mortal enemies, how a small miscalculation could turn me into a full-fledged monster, one of the very beings he’s sworn to destroy. How much must I keep from him? I’m worried about my inability to tell him I love him, when what I should be worried about is this monumental lie that would split us apart if I ever put it out in the open. My mouth goes sour with the untold secret.
“Damn, I hate that they had to spoil your Friday night like this,” he says, blaming my slump on Mom and Luke. “Don’t think about it. Eat your jambalaya.”
“The truth is that it wasn’t all bad. Mom and I sort of had a moment. I think she’s decided to try on reasonable to see if it suits her. I kind of think it works very well.”
“Well, that’s something. I’m glad to hear it.”
Xave works on his sandwich. I pick at my jambalaya. In the expanse of thirty minutes, he checks his watch too many times for me not to notice. When we’re done with our food, he empties our trays and walks back, wearing a worried look that makes me suspect he’s hiding something, something that can make a girl jealous, like a date with a clandestine bunch of misfits en-route to kick some Eklyptor ass. God, being away sucks. I even miss Blare and Aydan. Well, maybe not Aydan with his ridiculous lab coat, genius-status aspirations, and huge ego. At least Blare only suffers from a bad temper and a stick up her colonitis.
Xave checks his watch yet again. Something is definitely up. He’s never this twitchy, not on a Friday night and surrounded by the electronic sounds of pinball machines and billiard balls clanking against each other.
When he reaches the booth, his anxious expression changes to one of determination. Without saying a word, he takes my hand and pulls me outside.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we exit the arcade onto a neon-light splattered sidewalk. Millennium’s sign flashes in the night, bathing Xave’s face in a red glow.
He doesn’t say anything, but pulls me to the side of the building and pushes me against the wall. I’m about to ask him what is going on when his mouth falls on top of mine, robbing me entirely of breath. He presses me against the rough brick with a passionate intensity that should make me slap him across the face considering its caveman-like quality. Instead, the traitorous female inside of me arches her back and gives into the kiss with equal force.
My fingers get tangled in his shaggy brown hair, pulling him closer and relishing the silky feel. His hard body pushes into mine with desperate determination, caging me in a way that makes me want to be his prisoner forever. My hands fall to his chest, exploring the contours that I’ve just begun to discover, but have all intentions of becoming very familiar with. Hormones rage through my blood and I forget where I am and how I’ve always loathed girls who make out in dark, but obvious places. The thing is, I never understood, never knew how the body takes over the mind, how you become this primal thing, this single-minded creature who wants and wants and wants.
Xave’s lips leave mine and make a trail to my clavicle. “I’m sorry. I just can’t help myself. I kept watching you talk and dab your lips with that napkin. You were trying to drive me crazy.”
“Me?! I didn’t—”
“I know. I know. You weren’t doing it on purpose, but God, you might as well have been.”
Two guys exit the arcade and peer our way. One of them wolf whistles. Xave leans his shoulder on the wall, turning his back on the rubberneckers and hiding me from view.
“Come home with me,” he says once they have walked away. “Some privacy would be nice.”
“Privacy?” My mind reels. What is he asking, exactly?
“Just for a bit, so we can talk and maybe … kiss a little more.” He touches his wet lips to the spot beneath my ear.
I shudder, wanting very much to go with him. We don’t get many chances to be alone. Kissing would be nice, and maybe I’m even ready for something else.
“Kissing a little more, huh?” I tease him, too, catching his bottom lip between my teeth.
He makes a sound in the back of his throat that sends goose bumps marching like pert little soldiers all down my back. Grabbing me by the waist, Xave ushers me toward my parked motorcycle.
“Hop on,” he says. “I’ll get my helmet and ride with you.” He rushes toward his ever-improving Yamaha, retrieves his helmet, and jogs back. Clark let him have the bike after we crashed it against a tree and, every day, I’m amazed by how meticulously Xave is bringing it back to tip-top shape.
“Why are you still standing there? Hop on, I said.” He puts on his helmet.
“Why don’t you just ride your bike?”
He snatches my helmet from the handlebar and plunks it on my head. I’m grateful he doesn’t notice the scratches. Clearly, his mind is somewhere else.
“’Cause I don’t want to be separated from you for more than a few seconds,” he says. “I can get my bike back tomorrow. Go, go!”
I straddle my Kawasaki, laughing. Xave gets on behind me, presses his chest against my back, and places his hands around my hips, pulling me into him. I drive toward home, the heat of his touch seeping through my leathers, my every nerve hyper-aware of all the areas where our bodies are in contact.
I can’t wait to get there, so I speed and let the chilled wind take some of the heat away.