Page 5

Honor

What does one wear on a date at a medieval tavern?

I stare at the clothing in my closet. I don’t want to re-wear my Renaissance maiden outfit, but nothing else looks even reasonably appropriate.

I finally settle on an off-shoulder peasant blouse with a drawstring neckline and a long skirt with boots.

Just like they did in the fourteenth century… just kidding.

I had asked Wes for help in selecting an outfit, seeing as this was his scene and all, but he had been strangely terse in his replies. In fact, he had been acting weird the whole week, ever since the fight last weekend. Or, more particularly, since the car ride home.

What makes it particularly odd is that Wes had been so sweet on the ride home, telling me that he loved me–as a friend, of course.

Just like I love him. Not as a potential love interest. And I definitely haven’t been imagining him in his armor or anything all week.

Because that would be weird. Especially because I haven’t been imagining Mike like that. Nope, just Wes.

Okay, so I have been imagining Wes in his armor. There’s something about a broad-shouldered warrior who also has a heart of gold that does it for me. Apparently.

But Wes is firmly and definitively my friend. No matter what games my imagination is playing. Tonight, I hope I’ll fall firmly into like with Mike and Wes will be banished from my mind–at least in that way.

I smile at my reflection in the mirror. I’ve got this.

Thirty minutes later, I enter the Cup of Swords in downtown Olympia.

Heavy on wood-and-iron decor, there are flickering candles on each table and a drink menu that features mead and ale.

In the corner, two minstrels play a flute and a guitar–o r is it a lute ?

Looking at the clientele, I almost regret not wearing my Renaissance elf outfit as I definitely would have fit in better in this crowd than I had at the Buhurt fight.

I spot Mike and Wes right away. Mike gives me a big easy grin, running a hand through his hair.

Wes smiles, but it looks decidedly forced and there’s a tightness in his expression I don’t normally see.

I quirk my eyebrow at him, and he gives a small shake of his head, a silent conversation passing between us.

“Hey guys,” I say, focusing on Mike.

“Thanks for coming,” Mike says. “Can I get you a drink?”

“A diet coke would be great,” I say.

“Are you sure? This place has some great drinks–real drinks.” Mike winks at me.

I frown. “A diet soda is a real drink.”

“Yeah, but I could ask the barmaid to throw a shot of something into it.”

“Honor doesn’t drink,” Wes cuts in, glaring at his teammate.

“No problem, just the soda,” Mike says, holding up a hand. He heads to the bar where a server in an outfit very similar to my maiden dress is pouring drinks. Wes stares after him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask Wes as soon as we’re alone.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. You look nice.”

“Don’t change the subject. What were you and Mike talking about when I walked in?”

Wes looks off to the side. “Just making sure Mike understood a few things.”

I narrow my eyes. “Like what?”

He shakes his head again. “Don’t forget you’re the one who wanted me to be here.”

“To help me.”

He looks back at me. “Trust me, I am.”

I look over at where Mike is, and see him leaning against the bar, grinning at the waitress behind the bar and running his hand through his hair.

I frown. Seems very friendly with the staff.

Mike laughs loudly at something the waitress said and my irritation increases.

Isn’t he supposed to be on a date with me ?

Wes follows my eyes, then becomes very still, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I’ll go have a talk with him.”

“I don’t need you to have a talk with him,” I say, my irritation immediately turning onto Wes.

“He’s flirting with Sophie.”

Oh, it’s Sophie, is it? Apparently Mike isn’t the only one interested in the barmaid. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need you to manage my date for me.”

“Sure seems like someone should,” he grumbles.

“Seriously, Wes, what has gotten into you? You’re acting like this is the first time I’ve gone on a date in my life.”

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“I don’t need you to do that either.”

“Then why’d you even invite me?” Wes asks.

“To be my friend!”

My response seems to make him even angrier. We glare at each other. Wes opens his mouth to respond, but Mike is already returning with my soda. “Here you are. Feel free to let me know when you want a real drink.”

Frowning, I take the drink. I’d actually like nothing better than to leave both of them at the bar and go home right now.

Mike looks between Wes and I. “Did I miss something?”

“No,” Wes and I say at the same time. Mike raises his hands defensively.

“I’ll just be over here,” Wes says, jerking a thumb at the other end of the bar before stomping off.

“Don’t worry about him,” Mike says, grinning as Wes walks away. “Your friend is just being very protective of you.”

“Best friend,” I say reflexively, watching as Wes parks himself at the end of the bar. “Seems like he’s gotten worse. What did he say to you when I walked in?”

Mike waves his hand. “Something about treating you like a lady, or he will make it hurt next time we are in a fight.”

My eyes widen. That doesn’t sound like Wes at all.

Wes is kind, patient, the last guy who would ever threaten violence.

At least until he started Buhurt. The whole sport seems to have sent him into a testosterone-fueled rage–at least, that’s the only reason I can think of why Wes would be acting as crazy as he has been.

“Are you sure there’s nothing between the two of you?” Mike casually asks.

I almost choke on my drink. “No, why?”

“Just checking.” He pauses.

“No,” I repeat. “Absolutely not.”

Mike nods. “Good. Let’s not talk about him. I want to talk about us.”

“Me, too,” I say, holding onto my drink like it’s my lifeline. I scramble for something to get my date back onto the right footing. “Tell me why you started doing Buhurt.”

Mike starts talking and he never stops. I toy with my straw, all the while conscious of a pair of eyes drilling into the side of my head from the other side of the bar.

I can barely focus on anything that Mike says, but by the end of an hour, I know at least three things are true: (1) Mike can talk about himself for an hour straight without pausing to ask a single question about me; (2) his eyes stray to Sophie about every five minutes; and (3) I feel absolutely zero spark with him.

I inwardly sigh. So much for an interest in anyone in a suit of armor.

It’s a relief when Mike excuses himself to go to the bathroom. I stare at the drink in my hand, wondering if I can just slip out of the door and avoid both Mike and Wes.

“Hey there,” a voice says. I turn to see Sophie standing next to me. “Do you need a refill?”

I blink, realizing that there’s nothing but melted ice in my glass. I stop. “I’m all good, but thank you,” I say, waving her off.

She nods but doesn’t leave. “Is that your boyfriend?” she asks, nodding toward Mike’s empty chair.

I shudder. “No. Just a date. Why?”

“Because he gave me his phone number.” She holds up her hand. Between two fingers is a receipt with a number written on the back of it. Her lips purse in a sympathetic frown.

I laugh, even as it cuts through my chest like knives. Perfect. Just perfect. I thought I was getting a knight with honor and instead I’m getting just your average, modern day turd. “You’re welcome to him.”

She shakes her head. “I would never go out with a man who tried to pick up another woman while he was on a date with me.”

“Me neither.” We share a look of mutual understanding. Sophie nods and moves back to the bar.

I sigh and look over at Wes. Our gaze immediately connects, and I have the feeling that he’s been watching me the whole time, just waiting for me to signal for help.

Wearily, I get up and walk over to him. He patiently watches me approach.

Even as annoyed as I still am with him, there is something about just having him there that’s comforting.

“Hey,” I say awkwardly.

“How’s it going?” he asks, but the expression on his face looks like he already knows.

“Well, you were right. Mike’s a self-centered jerk.” I tell him what happened. “Happy?”

“Not really.”

“No?” I quirk an eyebrow.

He shakes his head. “I never wanted you to be hurt. I would never be happy about that.”

“Even to be proven right?”

Wes stands. “Honor, I’d rather be proven wrong a million times over than have you suffer even a second of hurt. You’re worth far more than my ego.”

“That’s, uh, very sweet,” I say, mentally fanning myself.

“There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you, Honor. I hope you know that.”

His expression is so sincere, so earnest, that I don’t know what to say.

“And what’s more, I hope you know that you don’t ever have to waste your time on self-centered jerks. You’re better than that. You deserve so much more.”

“Wow, Wes, you’re going to make me cry.”

“Come here,” he says, opening his arms.

I practically leap into his embrace, hugging him for all I’m worth. He feels comforting and warm and surprisingly solid . I’ve hugged Wes before, and it was like hugging a baby bird–all sharp bones and fragile limbs. It almost felt like I might break him if I squeezed him too tightly.

But not now. Underneath his jacket are packed muscles that press firmly against my cheek. I am suddenly, disturbingly aware that my body fits against his just right. All of his hard edges have been rounded with muscle, and he feels good .

“I just want you to know that I’m always going to have your back,” Wes says.

“You’re amazing,” I tell him, tilting my head back. “You’re going to make some woman very lucky one day.”

“I hope so.” The look in his brown eyes is strangely tender. I force myself to step back, a flush rising to my cheeks.

“What’s going on out here?” Mike calls out as he returns from the bathroom. “You trying to steal my date, Wes?”

I roll my eyes.

“Do you mind if I handle him?” Wes asks, his head dipped toward mine.

An hour ago, I would have protested that I could take care of Mike himself. But right now, I’m tired and all I want to do is go home. “Yes, please.”

“I’ve got you. Text me when you get home safe.

” And with that, Wes turns to head off Mike, who’s walking toward us with an unhappy expression.

Before I leave, I look back one last time at Wes.

He stands between me and Mike like a knight guarding against a fire-breathing dragon.

And no matter how much I know it’s wrong and I don’t want to ruin my friendship with Wes, my foolish heart does a little flip. My hero.