The Last Superhero (7 page)

“
I'm
not throwing myself, if that's what you think.”

“
You're
pretty accurate not to be a mind reader.”

“
Are
you afraid of heights?”

“
Nope.”

But it's cold and my long
sleeves aren't exactly warm.

“
Come
on.” He invites me stand with him on the ledge. “I won't
let you fall.”

“
Don't
touch me.” I dodge his hand when he reaches out for me and
stand to his right, arms crossed over my chest.

It's a weird feeling,
standing on the ledge, but no wind is pushing me, no vertigo
arresting me.

Cars come and go, people
walk up and down the sidewalk below us.

“
So
many people and yet so peaceful.”

“
Peaceful?”
I scoff. “With the crime rates rising every year?”

“
Your
generation has no idea how it was before. When there was evil, when
there were villains.” He stares blankly at the sky. “But
that was all over years before you were born.”

“
I
only know what I've been told. My mother used to tell me stories
about the time when superheroes roamed free.”

“
Before
me, there were all types of people with exceptional abilities, the
so-called superpowers. Good and evil. And everyone was used to them.
The villain attacked, the superhero saved everyone, all in a day’s
work. Then came the time when the superheroes got rid of all the
villains and we became obsolete.” He shoots a glance my way and
yeah, I'm listening. “I come from a long legacy of heroes and
villains. It all came down to me, and I was a little of both.”

“
But
it wasn’t your fault.”

No, it wasn't. I knew all
about his tragic past. Sneaky way to turn the evening around, I might
say, since now I was feeling all mellow even when my arms around my
chest weren't enough to keep out the cold.

“
I
grew up without a family and without a mentor. There was this anger
inside me that nothing could get rid of.”

“
Mhm.”

“
Are
you cold?”

“
Yeah.”

“
I
must apologize for all the storytelling.”

“
It’s
all right. I said I'd listen.” And, believe it or not, I'm not
angry anymore. “But not to that music all night long.”

“
Shall
we dance, then?”

Oh, he's thick.

“
Please?”

Shit, those eyes.

I pull my sleeves to cover
my hands.

He chuckles.

“
I
said no touching.” I'm about to take the hand he's offering me
when I have to ask. “Or you can do it through fabric too?”

“
No,
not through fabric, and only through my fingertips on the person's
temple or forehead. The nearer the brain, the better.” I still
hesitate. So much for covering my hands. “If I do it I'll let
you push me off the ledge.”

“
You'll
float back up.”

His eyebrows ride up to his
hairline. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Jackass.

I let the sleeves uncover my
hands and put my right hand on his left and let him hold on to my
waist.

It feels good.

Dammit.

It's slow and romantic and
I'm craning my neck to look into his eyes and they talk, no, they
scream, that he's not bad, that his intentions are good.

He didn't do anything I
didn't want him to do, or that I secretly wished for, after all.

I'm so caught up in his
smile that I don't notice we're floating until we sway too close to
the edge, the floor disappearing for a moment.

“
Fu-”

“
I've
got you.”

His hold tightens around my
waist and his chest feels so warm against mine.

I try to fight him.

Nothing happens.

I snake my arms over his
shoulders and clasp my hands behind his neck.

Another mental push, try to
block my thoughts, force him away.

Everything remains the same.

He's literally sweeping me
off my feet; we're levitating together to the music and he's doing it
for real.

“
Not
a fantasy,” I say.

He bites his lower lip. “No.
Not a fantasy.”

Don't do that, the lip
biting, just don't.

If anyone looks up the
building, they’ll see us. He doesn't seem to care, though.

Neither do I now, not while
he's beaming at me like that.

The song ends, we land on
our feet on the gray floor, and I think he's about to kiss me when he
turns away, doubled over, trying to catch some air.

Right, like with the thief.

“
Are
you all right?” I touch his heaving back, wait for him to
recover a bit.

“
I'm
okay,” he gasps.

I grab his hand and take him
back. To the elevator, to my floor, to my apartment.

“
Here.”
Push a glass of water into his hand while he's leaning back on the
sofa.

“
Thank
you.” He takes it to his lips.

Having seen him choking
after dancing makes me feel kinda guilty I wished it upon him before.

Nah, not telling him that.

“
So...”
To sound accusing or not? That is the question. “That was not a
fantasy.”

“
It
wasn't.”

“
It
was nice.”

He sets the glass on the
coffee table. “I rather liked it.”

“
But
don't go thinking it undoes the previous incident.”

He rolls his eyes and it
looks so cute.

Mental slap.

The music stops.

We glance at the ceiling in
tandem.

“
Well,
there goes that.”

“
I
should go.”

I don't want him to.

He gets slowly on his feet.

“
Are
you sure you're all right?”

“
I
am,” he blurts, then peers into my eyes, considering the
question a bit further. “It's late and you have to work
tomorrow.”

“
Yeah.”
Snap out of it! “Work.” Smile, come on. “Let's get
you home.”

The drive back goes
smoothly. He's happy, looks happy, talks happy.

I can't help but feel the
same.

Anger forgotten, locked
away.

“
Here
you are, mister.” I park the car in front of his house.

Say the word and I'll
turn this motherfucking car around and take you back to my place.

Where the hell did that come
from?

“
It
was great.” Apprehensiveness shines through his eyes. “Thank
you.”

It was awkward, and weird,
and yes, great. “I have to pick up my mother at the airport
tomorrow at six. Maybe you want to tag along?”

His face lightens. “I'd
love to.”

So would I.

His hand goes for the door
when mine lands on his leather jacket's sleeve.

Eyes cast down, exhale, then
look me in the eye.

I come up with the widest
smile I can and hope it doesn't look like I'm going through a series
of horrible spasms.

I lean forward, he leans
forward, and our faces meet over the gear stick. His lips brush mine
before I push myself a bit and then they're pressed together, and
then they're parting, and then we're exploring each other's mouths
with our tongues.

And then we're pulling back
with gleeful grins and tingles all over.

“
I'll
see you tomorrow,” he says with his crinkly eyes.

“
Tomorrow
then,” I answer through the pounding inside my chest.

Watch him get out of the
car, shut the door as slow as he can, open the gate, and head inside.

Hit my forehead against the
steering wheel and think that the moment she sees him, Mom is going
to fucking die.

What's that sting?

Broke my glasses with the
hit.

Crap.

7

Everybody hates getting
preached at.

Funny that, in recent years,
it hasn't been my mother who's done the preaching.

But Daphne.

“
What
were you thinking?!” Her arms are crossed over her chest, never
a good sign.

“
Really?
I'm old enough not to have to listen to this.” I scoop up some
books from the box between us and go back to shelving them.

Her eyes are on the tape
keeping the two halves of my glasses together.

“
What
did he do to you?”

Oh, believe me, you don't
want to know.

“
Nothing,
Daph, he did nothing to me.”

Push the books together so
they fit snugly on the shelf.

Like when he pushed me
against the dining table... file those thoughts away, for fuck's
sake.

“
What
happened to your glasses?”

The man can be a predatory
sex god if he wants to and she's worried about my glasses!

“
I
told you I tripped on a box in my living room.”

“
Did
you...?” She narrows her eyes.

“
Did
I what?” I furrow my brows.

“
Did
you two...?” Her hands are doing some incomprehensible gesture.

You
can preach, but you can't say
that
.

“
We
did not have sex, intercourse, coitus, fucking,...”

“
OKAY!”

“
He's
nice, you know? And, if you really look at him, kinda cute. It was a
bit awkward at times, but the end of the evening was perfect.”

“
Oh,
shit.”

“
No,
really.”

“
No,
not that. Look.” She nods towards the front door, where a man
with a badge pinned to his belt stands surveying the place.

Fuck.

“
Can
I help you?” I approach him with my best 'What could possibly
bring a fine gentleman like you to this establishment?' smile.

“
Yes.
I'm looking for Giana Armstrong.”

Double fuck.

“
That
would be me.”

An unwelcomed head-to-toe
look and now he's holding the winning raffle ticket for Giana's daily
slap across the face.

The flip of a photo ID I
can't read because he shuts it again too quickly brings me back.

“
Can
we talk in private?”

“
Follow
me.” Come right in!