Page 12 of Siren’s Mark (The Siren’s Mark Duology #1)

AVA

“ I want you?? ” Jen squeals. “He actually said that??”

Jen turns to me in shock, her hands slightly turning the wheel. I grab the wheel to steady it.

“Geez, Jen, watch the road!” I shriek.

“I’m sorry, I’m just stunned. Like, what kind of Jane Austen crap is this? People don’t say this stuff in real life. Especially men! So, are you guys a thing now?”

“I don’t know…” I say with a shrug.

Are we a thing? We had this whole conversation, but then we never really got into details. It seems like we are… maybe a thing? Or on our way to becoming one?

“How do you not know?” she asks.

“Well, you walked in during our conversation and we never really got a chance to finish it.”

“My bad. I didn’t expect you to be having this intense moment in the hospital at 7:30 in the morning. Really, I should’ve known.”

Jen has always had quite a penchant for sarcasm.

“I’m not blaming you,” I say. “I’m just saying I don’t know. I think we’re not-not a thing.”

“Well that’s helpful,” she says. “You’ve gotta keep me updated on your not-not boyfriend then.”

I roll my eyes and rest my forehead on the passenger side window.

“Ow!” I yelp, having just leaned directly on my wound.

“Don’t put pressure on it!” she scolds. “You just got stitches! You could pop them!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose! And it was only two stitches; it’ll heal fast.”

She chuckles for a moment.

“Shayna said the bar is gonna be closed tonight while they clean up. Sounds like it was a real mess. You’re gonna have to watch who you kiss, or lover boy’s gonna tear up the whole town.”

“I don’t plan on kissing random strangers anytime soon, thanks. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“And you’ve got the wound to prove it!” she says with a laugh.

“Oh, shut up. You’re just gonna mock a poor, helpless, injured lady?”

“Only because she totally has it coming for all the times she has mocked me.”

As we pull into the parking lot of my apartment building, I notice a familiar white Range Rover in the parking lot.

Shit.

It’s Mike.

“If it’s Mike’s car, then why isn’t he in it?” Jen asks as we step out of the car.

We turn the corner toward my apartment and I instantly recognize Mike’s silhouette in front of my door.

“Hey,” he says softly. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his jeans and he’s shifting awkwardly back and forth.

“Hi Mike,” I say.

He seems to register that I have a bandage across my forehead.

“Jesus Christ, Ava, what happened?!” he gasps.

Jen pulls me aside and asks me if I want her to stay or give us some privacy. I tell her to go and she leaves as I turn my attention back to Mike.

“Hey,” I say as I unlock the door. “Come in, we’ll talk.”

Mike follows and closes the door behind us.

“What’s with the bandage on your head?” he asks as I plop my keys on the counter by the door.

“I slipped,” I say. I’d rather not get into the other details with Mike.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, lightly touching the bandage with his hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I shrug away. Mike’s touch feels foreign, unwelcome. The few weeks that we’ve been apart feel like a lifetime.

“I’m sorry, okay? I know things were tense and we both said some things.”

“Did we, Mike?” I ask. “I feel like I remember you being the one ‘saying some things.’”

“Come on, Ava, I’m trying.”

“You’re right. I appreciate that you’re trying to make amends.”

“So we’re good?” he asks.

“I mean, I think I need some time. But maybe in a while we could try being friends.”

“Friends? Are you serious?” he asks, his tone shifting from kind to aggressive.

“What do you expect, Mike? We didn’t break up because of what you said in the heat of the moment. We’re not what each other needs or wants.”

“I expected you to come to your senses and stay with the only person in the world who loves you and has stayed with you through everything.”

I want to tell him he’s not the only person who loves me. I want to tell him that he doesn’t deserve a medal for staying with me. But I’m exhausted and confused, and I don’t want this conversation to keep going on all day.

“Well, then you expect wrong,” I say.

“Are you fucking someone?” he asks.

“Oh my god, Mike. Are you serious? You’ve always been so freaking sure I’m cheating on you.”

“Because you flirt with every fucking guy you meet!”

That’s such crap.

“We’re not together, Mike. So if I flirt with someone, it’s not your business is it?”

“Did you fuck the British guy?” he asks.

I feel a pang of guilt. I didn’t have sex with Zane, but I can’t say that nothing happened between us.

“You did?” he asks, attempting to read my expression. “Of course you did.”

He stomps over to the door and slams it as he storms out. I lock it behind him and drop to the floor, my back against the closed door.

Freaking men.

As I sigh, I feel a vibration in my pocket.

Mike

cheating skank

Way to make me not regret leaving you.

ZANE

I knock on the door and hear footsteps descending the stairs.

I can’t believe I’m dating again. Dating a human, no less.

The door opens to reveal Ava in a green blouse and short black skirt. Her hair is wavier than usual and one side is pinned up with a barrette. She smiles as our eyes meet.

“Hey,” Ava says.

I feel my heart thumping in my chest.

What kind of magic is this girl working on me?

“Hey,” I reply.

“So, where are we headed?” she asks, grabbing her purse and draping it over her shoulder.

“I thought, er…” I start to say, but I’m at a loss for words. Those grey eyes have practically drained my focus and I find myself momentarily questioning my every move.

Is this what humans feel when they’re affected by venom? It’s horrible.

“Table?”

“Did you literally just say table? As in the piece of furniture?” she asks with a laugh.

I’m distracted, but I’m not that distracted.

“The restaurant is called Table,” I say.

“That sounds familiar,” she says.

“It’s good. We should get going; I made a reservation.”

I open the door to my car and let her in before getting in on the driver’s side.

“I forgot how cool your car is,” she comments.

“Thanks. It’s the newer version of the Dodge Challenger. I like the classic look.”

“That’s like, really expensive, right?”

I smirk. Money isn’t hard to come by when you can have anything you ask for.

“I guess,” I say. “Money isn’t really a big deal to me.”

“Ahh, so you’re super-rich then?”

“You could say that.”

“Wow. Rich people never admit they’re rich. You must be, like, really really rich.”

I can’t help but laugh. Ava always tells it like it is.

“Americans are always about money, aren’t they?” I ask.

“I don’t care if you have money,” she says. “I’m just being honest. You have a lot of money for someone who doesn’t have a job. It’s weird.”

She’s got me there. I’m probably coming off like a drug dealer right now.

“What happened to your dashboard?” she asks, pointing to the crumpled fist-sized dent I left in a fit after that first night we kissed.

I’m trying to think of a good excuse for such a specific mark. Chemical spill? On second thought, maybe one that doesn’t make me sound even more like a drug dealer.

“My air freshener exploded,” I say.

What the hell am I talking about?

“It uh… I had an oil air freshener thing and it got too hot on a sunny day and it exploded. Weird fluke thing,” I explain.

Yeah, that doesn’t seem suspicious at all.

AVA

The doors open to an expansive restaurant with high ceilings and a giant lit-up tree in its center.

I get the impression Zane kind of undersold how expensive this restaurant is.

A woman walks up to us and immediately recognizes Zane, welcoming us both and seating us right away.

Our table is secluded and by the window.

I wonder if he requested this spot specifically, since it’s definitely the best seat in the house.

The host hands us our leather-bound menus—which of course, don’t even list the prices. I’m pretty sure this is one of those places you don’t come to if you even think to ask about the price of your meal.

She takes our drink orders and steps away.

“So this is uh… fancy,” I say.

“Yeah, I thought… it’s really good. And when we had coffee that one time you mentioned you really liked French food. I thought you’d maybe like it.”

He seems more unsure than usual and is kneading his hands together a bit.

“It seems great,” I say. “How do you know about this place?”

“I know the owner.”

“Oh, wow! Are they a chef?”

“No,” he says. “They just like good food.”

“This place must be pretty new. I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Have you always lived in Port Charlotte?”

“I lived here during high school, moved back after college.”

I figure I’ll leave out the part about moving back because I couldn’t afford to live in San Francisco and still pay my extra medical bills.

“Do your parents live here?” he asks.

Should I also leave out the dead mom and drug addict dad? Yeah, probably.

“Nope,” I say. “What about yours?”

“My parents?” he asks. “Yeaahhh… that’s a complicated story I rather not get into.”

He looks embarrassed, so I reach out to hold his hand. He freezes at my touch and his eyes widen.

I don’t get this guy. He’ll kiss me and will say he wants me, but then I have to make all the moves and he flinches every time I do.

“Fuck…” he mumbles.

“Shit, sorry,” I say, pulling my hand away. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I thought…”

“No,” he says, grabbing my hand between both of his. “Love, I didn’t mean it like that. I… I’m just nervous, I guess. I’m just feeling… It’s complicated.”

“Nauseous?” I ask.

“No,” he says with a laugh. He pauses, clenching his jaw for a moment before his eyes find mine. “I’m… losing control a little.”

“As in, you’re going to murder me?” I ask.

I’m joking of course. Mostly. I hope.

He lets out another laugh.

“No,” he says. “I’m just… losing my ability to stay away from you.”

Wow. That was smooth.

“I feel like if you wanted to stay away from me, you could’ve just not invited me out tonight,” I say.

“True,” he says with a smirk. “Maybe I lost that ability a long time ago.”