Aphrodite's War (13 page)

Poetry peered around at everything except him as they sipped. “Well,
I’d give you the grand tour, but this is really it.” She motioned at the few
walls. “Not much to see.”

Jenny shot a visual snarl and gave them a wide-handed shushing
gesture. “I’m at Poetry’s place.”
Adrian crammed his hands in his pockets. ”How about your work?”
he asked. “Would you show me?”
“Really?” Poetry’s face lit up. “You actually want to see my art?”
“Sure.” Great way to get away from Jenny’s manipulative sweet-girl
voice…which got louder with every sentence.
“I missed you too.”
“If I have to listen to another cutesy squeal from her, I’ll be sick,” he
said.
Poetry guffawed, and received another filthy glare from her friend.
She leaned close to speak in a whisper. “Jenny has that effect on people.”
He motioned toward the exit as Jenny gave them her back and put a
finger in her free ear.

“Lead the way.”
Poetry brought him to the main floor. “Watch your step,” she said.

They meandered past tables littered with metal parts, half-finished
projects, and tools he couldn’t guess what function they served.

Adrian’s skin began to bead from the heat of the ovens. In the dim
lighting he noticed the sheen of sweat on Poetry’s neck and breathed in
her iron musk. Over the collar of her uniform he could make out shades
of sunrise pink and blue. He stared so intently that when she stopped he
nearly buried the back of her head in his chest.

“This is my bench. This is where I work.”

“Interesting.” It looked clean enough, no shaving piles or scraps like
the others, but it had an organized chaos that Adrian figured only Poetry
would understand. Boxes of beads jammed next to spools of leather and
wire, stacks of papers and photos stuffed in cubbies.

“What’s this?” he asked.
“What? This?” Poetry picked up the chain and held it up for Adrian to
see. “It’s a necklace I’m working on.”
The metal appeared to be darker, like pewter, and half the decorations
were almost black. They resembled roses.

“May I?” he asked as he pulled the unfinished piece from her fingers
and brought them to his eyes. Yes, they were roses, and well crafted ones
at that. It almost appeared as though she’d placed the petals individually.
“Nice work.”
“Thanks. Do you recognize them?”

“Yeah, they’re roses.”
She smiled. “They’re modeled after the ones you gave me.”

He handed her project back. “You mean the one I gave you at
Louisiana Purchase.”

“Yeah, and the one you sent here.”
What?
“Say that again?”

“You know,” Poetry seemed to shrink as she balled the jewelry in one
hand. “The other one you left here. At my door.”
“No…” Adrian cringed as the blood drained from her face. “That
wasn’t me. I’ve never even heard of this place before today.”

Adrian had no clue who sent it, and obviously neither did she. Her ex
was probably out of the clink by now. The asshole couldn’t have found
her yet, could he?

“Sorry.” He realized how dumb that sounded. He never knew what to
say to this girl.
“Don’t be.” She deposited the necklace on the counter with distinct
and abrupt loathing, and curled away from him. “It’s not your fault.”
Adrian licked the salt from his lips. Between the lack of noise and the
unnatural temperature, his comfort level bottomed out.
“It’s very nice,” he said.

Poetry shrugged as she picked a roll of silver wire from a ledge.
“Thanks.” She pivoted to face him but her eyes were on the shining
thread in her grip.

“I’m thinking of trying something different,” she said. “I don’t know
exactly what…”

She peered up at him, and even with the dim lighting Adrian didn’t
miss the dilation of her pupils. Big as dimes. Her breath stirred
gooseflesh on his neck as she strode forward; her scrutiny awakened long
quiet sensations and tickled nerves in his gut.

He watched her gaze as they wandered over his features. First his
eyes, then his lips. It lingered along his jaw as though she longed to
touch it. Her mouth parted, and Adrian became aware of her reaching
hand…

A door slammed, jarring Adrian from his trance. He heard Poetry
inhale as he spun toward the sound.

“Poetry, come up here and get changed,” Jenny said. “Time to go.”
“What?” Poetry asked.

Jenny skipped toward them, at risk of cracking her skin with her
smile. “Gary and I are going to work things out.” She faced Adrian. “You
don’t mind driving us, do you Adrian? Seeing as how you’re meeting
him too?”

“Wait.” Poetry tossed the spool and waved her reluctance. “Why do I
have to come with you?”
“Because you’re my best friend, silly. If he has his buddies with him
I’m taking mine. I need someone on my side.”
“Oh, no…” Poetry said. Adrian gave her a pleading stare and cleared
his throat. He did not want to spend the night listening to Jenny pout.
Poetry got the hint. A smirk crept up her cheek.
“Okay. Since you put it that way,” she said, her twinkling eyes never
leaving his. “Just let me wash up.”

Adrian released the air in his lungs. Thank God. He’d have something
else to do other than referee for Gary and Jenny. If he knew Ranjan, he’d
find ways to excuse himself from the drama, leaving Adrian to endure it.
At least Poetry had some personality. They might actually find something
to talk about.

Stranger things have happened.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
This beer is going down way too good.

Poetry tried to savor a mouthful, to take pleasure in the subtle hint of
hops before gulping it. Why did she agree to come? Oh right. Because
I’m Jenny’s best friend. Another swallow and another nasty thought
wormed into her mind.

Best friends don’t abandon you at the first sign of trouble.

She reflected on that. Of course, Jenny had tried to warn her. Several
times. And she’d been right. Kevin was the worst thing to ever happen to
her. Beside her, Jenny and Gary alternated between words of adoration
and biting criticisms and blame.

Poetry was getting drunk but refused to feel bad about it. She deserved
alcoholic tranquilizing after her terrifying run from Jasper Ave. She had a
tendency to think of Edmonton as a really big small town. Riots didn’t
happen here. Not like say, Vancouver. It freaked her out to see it
firsthand.

She glanced at Jenny. What had happened to her? Did she even
remember it? She’d been like a beast, snarling and scratching to join the
violence. Yet here she sat, the same old Jenny, crazy only for guys in
pricey suits and stepping into a relationship at breakneck speed.

Adrian looked worse, and he hadn’t even been there. He kept fiddling
with his cell, nervousness etched creases between his brows. She
couldn’t figure out why. He’d shut his phone off.

He caught her staring. “Are we having fun yet?”
Poetry smiled as she took another sip of her lager. “Sure. Who needs
reality TV when the drama’s right here?”
Adrian chuckled and she caught a whiff of his beer breath.
“I think Ran’s got the right idea,” he said, pointing his chin toward a
dark corner. “Looks like he’s having a good time by himself.”

“What’s he playing?”
“Arkanoid.”

“Are you serious?” Poetry could picture the grainy screen from the
mother of all ping-pong games with its rolling capsules of goodies. “I
didn’t know any of those were still kickin’ around.” As though to
emphasize her point, a series of loud pops resounded accompanied by
grunts of frustration from Ranjan.

“Uh-oh,” Adrian said. “That sounds like the one with the extra balls.”
“The light blue?”

“Can’t remember, but it always kills him. I don’t know why he picked
it up.”

Ranjan let out a loud groan and the game buzzed in triumph. He
glowered at the screen before downing the rest of his drink. He spared
their table a nod and retreated to the bar.

Poetry heard him order an ‘Apple Jack’ from an exotic beauty Poetry
hadn’t noticed last time she’d come to the Rosemount.
“What’s an Apple Jack?” Adrian asked. Apparently he’d overheard as
well.
“I don’t know,” Poetry said with a shrug.
“It’s Jack Daniels and apple juice and I think maybe cinnamon,”
Jenny said.

Nice of you to acknowledge us, Poetry thought.
She held her tumbler toward Poetry. “Wanna try it?”

“No, thanks.” Poetry eyed the unpleasant shade of Jenny’s brownish
cocktail. Gut instinct told her she wouldn’t like it. “I’ll stick to beer.”

“They’re good,” Gary said. “They kind of have this sweet and sour
thing going on.” He drained his glass and signaled the waitress with a
spin of his finger, ordering another round.

“But as I was saying, honey,” Gary said, focusing on Jenny. “It’s the
principal of the thing-“
“Is that all you care about?” Jenny asked, her voice reaching shrill
levels.
Poetry went back to gazing into the bottom of her mug, tuning out the
circular bickering. It sounded too much like high school.

The Rosemount seemed quiet tonight. Either Tuesday’s weren’t busy
here or the loving couple’s side show chased away the rest of the
customers. Their group remained the only people in the place.

Gary and Jenny barely paused to breath between subjects and moods
and Ranjan chatted with the woman behind the counter.

“You want to play?”
Poetry faced Adrian. His eyes were on the corner Ranjan vacated.
“What? Arkanoid?”
“Sure. Why not?”
The server arrived with two Apple Jacks and two Kokanee.

Poetry couldn’t help but stare. The girl’s eyes had the upward tilt of a
cat and shone like the purest jade. The waves of her silken hair made
Poetry finger her dry strands self-consciously. She wondered if the girl
was part Asian. She had pale luminescent skin. Stunning.

No wonder Ranjan gave up Arkanoid to sit with her. Even Adrian,
who struck Poetry as being too cool for ogling, sat with his mouth
hanging open until the super model sauntered away.

Poetry sucked in her gut. “You ready to get your butt kicked?” she
asked, stealing his attention. Not that she was jealous or anything.
“I don’t think so,” he said, pushing back his chair. “I’ll be doing the
butt-kicking.”
“Whatever.”
She pawed through her purse for quarters on her way to the low video
box. She found handfuls; she’d get more for laundry later.
“My quarters,” she said as she scooted her chair to the glass top. “So I
get to go first.”
“No problem,” Adrian agreed, awkwardly rolling his seat to the other
side. “I like to know what I’m up against.”

Arkanoid twittered to life and Poetry got comfortable. She cracked her
knuckles just for show and positioned her hands on the wand and the red
button like a pro gamer. Time to make the ball sing.

Sure enough, the controls in her skilled hands did their thing as she
spun the knob and sent her silver bar across the screen. Another pill
tumbled toward it, and Poetry chose the navy-colored oval. A hum
sounded and her ark grew in size.

“Good one,” Adrian said, sipping his beer. “Did you play this a lot?”
“Some. I used to play it in the Wizard’s Castle at West Ed.”

“Me too. I hung out there when I was a kid. Funny we never ran into
each other.”

“Nah. I only went when my dad gave me his change.” They shared a
silence that Poetry found surprisingly nice, listening to the beep and
chime of the game. Poetry blinked against the dryness of her eyes while
piano music played in the background and Jenny’s voice had returned to
a melodic metronome.

“Is that where you met Jenny?”
“At the mall? No.” Poetry’s brow tensed. The game sped up. “I met
her at work. We’ve both been at Denny’s for two years.”
“Oh, yeah.” He maintained his nonchalance.
“You and your posse seem inseparable,” she said with a toss of her
head. “Where did you meet them?”

“We went to U of A together.”
“Same fraternity?”
“No. Fraternities are for sheep.”
Poetry grinned, unsuccessful at squelching her approval. “I agree.”

The incessant chime of the computer ball couldn’t compete with the
crescendo of Jenny’s whining. Like a dentist drill. Poetry darted a glance
over her shoulder to check on her…

…Only to hear the deep zipping noise of her loss. “Damn.”
“Too bad.” Adrian straightened his spine and positioned his hands.
“My turn.”
Poetry settled in, her eyes on the screen and her ears trained to hear
Jenny and Gary’s repetitive griping.
“They sound like they’re already married,” Adrian said.
“At the rate they’re going, it wouldn’t be a shock if they did run off to
Vegas.”
He smirked. “The two of them kind of dove in head first, didn’t
they?”

“They definitely should’ve taken things slower.”
“Relationships are like Kendo,” Adrian said.

Poetry frowned into her mug. The foamy head of her beer bubbled
against her upper lip. “How so?”
“Everyone’s quick to learn the basics, but you spend years practicing
to master them. It looks simpler than it really is.”

Poetry knew nothing about Kendo. But she remembered the stance
he’d used at her apartment, the graceful fluidity as he slid on the balls of
his feet. His posture remained perfect and the hands holding the
improvised weapon never shook or wavered. He did it so naturally it
made her forget he’d wielded a broomstick. He obviously understood
more than just the basics of his sport.

Another dull zoom and a sigh from Adrian when his ball crashed.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if we could practice our romances before we
got into them?” Poetry said.
“You mean just going over it, from the same level until we got it
right?”

The mostly empty lounge echoed with their laughter and it gave
Poetry’s heart a lift. She’d needed that and her stomach ached with a
pang of wistfulness. How long had it been since she’d shared a joke? Just
appreciated the moment?

She and Adrian let their chuckles subside while wiping mirth from
their eyes. Poetry expelled a happy sigh as she shifted in her chair. Quiet
had fallen between them again. The game waited with lights flashing for
the next play.

“Poetry.”
His sudden seriousness made her look up. His baby blues held no
trace of humor.

“That’s not such a bad idea.”
“What? Dating drills and mock affairs?