The Undead Pool. Kim Harrison

      I beamed, tickled. “It’s your choice. But it’s got a charm or two in it, I bet.”

      Looking annoyed, he hefted the pink monstrosity, his expression changing as he probably tapped a line and felt the energy circulating through it. Saying nothing, he came back to our lane and set it beside mine. “I am so going to regret this, aren’t I?”

      I leaned forward, heart pounding. “If you’re lucky. You first.” Feeling sassy, I stood, almost touching his knees as I edged into the scoring chair. The masculine scent of him hit me, mixing with the smell of bar food and the sound of happy people. My heart pounded, and I focused on the scorecard, carefully writing Bonnie and Clyde in the name box in case anyone was watching the overhead screen.

      What am I doing? I asked myself, but Trent had already picked up his pink bowling ball, giving me a sideways smirk before he settled himself before the line, and made a small side step, probably to compensate for a slight curve.

      I exhaled as I watched him study the lane, collecting himself. And then he moved in a motion of grace, the ball making hardly a sound as it touched the varnished boards. Trent walked backward as the ball edged closer to the gutter, then arced back, both of us tilting our heads as it raced to the pins to hit the sweet spot perfectly.

      “Boohaa!” I cried out, since that’s what you are supposed to do when someone pulls a gutter ball back from the edge, and Trent smiled. My heart flip-flopped, and I looked away, scratching a nine in the first box. “Ah, nice one,” I said as he waited for his ball to return.

      “Thanks.” His fingers dangled over the dryer. “But I swear, if you tweak this ball like you do my golf balls, I’ll put fries in your beer.”

      My head snapped up, and his smile widened until he laughed at me. “Leave my game alone,” he said, the rims of his ears going red.

      “You’re going to regret that statement. I promise you that,” I said, and he smirked as he took his gaudy pink ball and set himself up to pick up the spare. Damn it, this was so not smart, but I couldn’t help but watch him. My fingers were trembling as I wrote down his score and stood for my first roll. I enjoyed flirting, and to be honest, it was almost a relief after biting back so many almost-said comments the last month.

      And after all, it was only one date. One night of freedom so we both had something to compare the last three months with and know that they were not dates.

      Just one night. I could do one night.

Five

      He eats his fries with mustard? I thought, watching Trent put the yellow squeeze bottle down and pull his basket closer as we sat at the bar and finished our dinner. The burgers had been heavenly and the conversation enlightening, even as it had been about nothing in particular.

      Happy, I made a final notation on the scorecard and let the tiny pencil roll away. “Okay, okay, I’ll give you that last one, but only because I’m nice.”

      “Nice, smice.” Trent dipped a fry and pointed it at me. “I took that pin fair and square. I can do magic while bowling.” He ate his fry and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “You not knowing the charm doesn’t make it illegal.”

      “Well, no, but it was kind of cheesy.”

      “Cheesy?” He chuckled, looking nothing like himself but having everything I liked about him. I’d had a great time, and I’d been watching the clock with the first hints of regret. It had been unexpected, that feeling of forgetfulness, free for a time of who I was, and who he was, and what was expected of us. I didn’t want it to end. “Where did you learn to bowl?”

      Trent watched his fingers, carefully picking out his next fry. “University. But you can’t use magic at the West Coast lanes. It’s not illegal, but it’s too unpredictable. How about you?”

      I chuckled, glad when the music turned off. We were closing them down, and it felt good. “My brother belonged to a young bowlers’ league. When my mom worked weekends, he had to watch me. If I promised to leave him and his friends alone, he’d buy me a lane at the outskirts where I could mess around.”

      Trent’s gaze went behind me to the last of the bowlers finishing their games. The cleaning staff was making inroads, but they wouldn’t shut the door for almost an hour. “Sounds lonely,” he said, dipping a fry.

      “Not really.” But it had been. He was looking at my mouth again, and I wondered if he wanted to kiss me.

      I dropped my head, and he shifted on the bar stool, the motion holding frustration.

      “That was the best burger I’ve ever had to pay for,” he said to fill the silence. “I’m going to have to stop in the next time I’m in the area.”

      “When do you ever get out here?” I could look at him now that he wasn’t looking at me.

      “Never,” he admitted, his attention falling from the TV. “But I’d drive for this. Mmmm. The fries are good, too.”

      “You should try them with ketchup,” I said, and then not knowing why, I pushed my basket toward him. There were a few fries in it, but it was the puddle of ketchup I was offering.

      “I have,” he blurted, eyes wide to look charming. “I mean, I do, but not in public.”

      I looked at his pointy ears, and he actually blushed.

      “Right,” he said, then dragged his fry through my ketchup, not meeting my gaze as he chewed.

      He used my ketchup, I thought, and something in me seemed to catch. “The good with the bad, yes?” I said, and when I lifted my pop, we clinked bottles. “Hey, I’m sorry about losing it today at the golf course. I should have handled that better. Bullies get the best of me.”

      Absorbed with his fries, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It surprised me when he brought up my background. I’ll do better next time. I’ve got a response now and everything.”

      I took a swig of my drink and set it down. “Good luck remembering it. I always forget.” I wasn’t hungry, but I liked the idea of sharing a puddle of ketchup with him, and I ate one last fry. “It’s worth it, though, don’t you think? Not hiding?”

      “God yes. I’ve not had to make any ugly decisions since Lucy came home.”

      His voice had softened, and it was easy to see the love for his child. I knew he loved Ray just as much even though she didn’t have a drop of his blood. Ray was Quen and Ceri’s child. Trent had only repaired her damaged DNA, but the girls were being raised as sisters, especially now that Ceri was gone.

      “So they come back tomorrow,” I prompted, wanting to see more of that soft look.

      Trent nodded, the beer he’d nursed the last hour hanging between two fingers an inch above the bar. There was only one couple left at the lanes, the cook scraping the grill, and the guy at the shoe counter cleaning each pair before calling it a night. I liked Trent like this, relaxed and thinking of his kids, and I quashed a fleeting daydream. I couldn’t picture him in my church, living with the pixies, waking up in my bed. Stop it, Rachel.

      A siren wailed in the distance. It felt like a warning, one I needed to heed. I wasn’t attracted to Trent because Al told me to leave him alone. I liked Trent because he understood who I was and would still sit at a bar with me and eat french fries. And it ends tomorrow.

      “I’ll be glad when Quen gets back,” I said, eyes down.

      “Oh? Has watching my back been that onerous?”

      “No. It’s just that you take up a lot of my time.” And after tonight, I’m not going to have a damn thing to do.

      Trent set my basket atop his and pushed them both to the side, making no move to leave. “You definitely have a different style than Quen. But you did a wonderful job of it. Thank you.”

      Almost