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A rip—or ripple—was like seeing the same scene from a film on a loop, over and over, except it’s a person stuck in time and superimposed on the present. Not corporeal, and not visible to anyone who didn’t carry the specific time travel gene.
Until lately. Because now, I could see rips, too.
Which probably explained the jazz trio people kept walking through. When Em appeared and walked around the trio toward me, my rip theory was confirmed.
From the expression on her face, I was about to get hell handed to me on a platter.
“Kaleb Ballard. I should kick your ass.”
No one as tiny as Emerson Cole should have so much power over me. She dropped her parasol on an empty table, pushed her hoop skirt to the side, and did her best to wrestle me into a sleek leather booth. I put my fingertips on the edge of the table to gain equilibrium, but I was too unsteady on my feet. I sat.
“I thought we’d cured you of your drinking problem.” She punched my bicep. Twice.
“Ow.” She could hurt me physically, too. “I thought we’d cured you of your violence problem.”
With her blue silk dress, white gloves, and blond hair curled into perfect ringlets, she looked like a deranged escapee from Gone with the Wind’s Tara. Or from a Southern-themed wedding party whose bride really hates her bridesmaids.
“Seriously, Kaleb.” Her concern sliced the cut a little bit deeper. “Why?”
“You know why.” At least part of it. I breathed in, blew out a deep sigh, and lowered my forehead to the table.
“Seeing the rip after school freaked me out, too. Although I guess it was seeing you see the rip that freaked me out. But I went for a run. You knocked back a fifth of … what? Lighter fluid?”
“Cut me a break, please.” I looked up at her with what I hoped was effective pleading. “You know it’s different for me than it is for you. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Getting trashed wasn’t the answer.” She plucked a glass of ice water off a passing waiter’s tray and pushed it into my hand. “We all need to be alert—all the time—until we figure out what’s going on.”
“I’m not trashed. Just buzzed.” Unfortunately. I took a long drink of water and eyed her outfit. “Why are you dressed like Scarlett O’Hara?”
“It’s a private joke,” she said.
“With who?”
“Myself.”
“Are you going to sit down?”
She frowned and pointed to her huge skirt. “I haven’t figured out how yet.”
I shook my head and took another drink, letting my laugh escape into the glass, but I couldn’t hide from Em.
Instead of allowing her fist to hit my arm again, I caught it in my much bigger hand and held on for a fraction of a second too long. A tall shadow fell across the table.
“Hey, guys.”
Michael.
Em pulled away from me, turning and rising up on her tiptoes to greet Michael with a kiss. The light above us dimmed for a millisecond, and my stomach dropped. I focused on the tabletop as the rush of angry heat in my chest made its way to the tips of my fingers. Since they’d become a couple, the “setting off sparks when they saw each other” side effect had started to become a problem. I made sure all my major electrical appliances were plugged into a surge protector. I hadn’t yet found a way to protect myself.
er 1
Maybe getting drunk and dressing up like a pirate for the masquerade was a bad idea.
Okay, definitely a bad idea. At least the pirate part.
I stared openly at the girl standing in line next to me, who did everything she could to avoid looking in my direction. Her mouth was a masterpiece, the lower lip slightly fuller than the top. Or it could’ve been a pout. Either way, it was the kind of lip that begged to be between my teeth. I had no idea how she got that ridiculously curvy body into a skintight golden cat suit, but I was all for helping her get out of it.
I leaned toward her. “Meow.”
