“She doesn’t look like she’s that into it.” I tipped my head at Spencer. “Maybe you should let her go back to the party.”
“Maybe you should mind your own damn business.” He shoved his thick fingertips into my chest, knocking me backward a step or two.
“I don’t think you want to do that.” I brushed a hand over the shoulder seam in my shirt. “Come on. Have a little respect for the girls who were nice enough to invite you to their party.”
“Listen, dipshit,” the guy said. He took a step toward me, but I didn’t flinch. “You have about twenty seconds to get the hell out of my face before you get your ass beat.”
I chuckled. “How about you go ahead and try now and save us both the twenty seconds?”
His red face purpled, and he swung. I leaned away from his clumsy right hook easily, then dodged his left. Frustrated, he barreled toward me, hunched forward like a wrestler. I sidestepped his charge and pushed my hands into his back as he passed, using his own momentum to send him sprawling to the floor behind me. He slid into the wall with a grunt. I didn’t know whether he’d stay down or not, but I wasn’t waiting around to find out. I grabbed Spencer’s hand and pulled her from the alcove.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I FOLLOWED THE music back into the main room of the sorority house. The crowd had thinned, but there was still less chance of the drunk coming back for more out among other people. I pushed past a few dancing couples, pulling Spencer along behind me until we were in the middle of the room. I stopped and turned so fast that she crashed into my chest. She tipped her head back to look up at me. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were flushed, but she didn’t try to pull away when my arms wrapped around her. She gripped my shoulders with trembling hands.
“I’m sorry—” I said.
“Thank you for—” she said at the same time, then smiled. “Go ahead.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry about that.” I gestured toward the hall with my chin. “I know it was none of my business, but…” I shrugged.
“Shane, don’t apologize. That was… I don’t know what that was, but thank you. I knew that guy from my chemistry class, and he said he needed to talk to me about something. I can’t believe…” She pressed closer to me, and I could feel her heartbeat slowing to a more normal pace.
I shrugged a second time. “To be honest, it’s not the first fight I’ve been in and definitely wasn’t the worst.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Is that supposed to be charming?”
The song ended, and a new, slower one started. For half a second, I thought she might pull away, but when she didn’t move, I tightened my arms around her waist and looked down into her face. “That depends. Do you find it more charming when guys tell you what you want to hear or tell you the truth?”
“It has to be one or the other?”
“It doesn’t have to be, but it usually is.”
I’d finally succeeded in coaxing out a smile. “I guess, if I have to choose, I’d go with the truth, even if it’s not always what I want to hear.”
I smiled. “Good choice.”
Spencer dropped her face and relaxed into my arms, resting her cheek against my chest as we swayed together to the haunting melody of a tin whistle. The warmth of her face soaked through my shirt to the skin beneath. Her hair smelled faintly of honey and vanilla. I couldn’t help pressing my face to the top of her head and inhaling deeply. Breathing her in.
Another song ended, and I felt her pull away just a little. I scrambled to find a reason why I wouldn’t let her go. “It’s getting a little close in here.” I pulled on the top button of my shirt to make my point. “Do you want to go outside? Get some fresh air?”
Spencer gave me a long look. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth—no doubt a nervous habit, but an adorable one. Still, it meant she was wary about being alone with me, which didn’t do much for my cause. I adopted a mask of casual indifference. After another few seconds of silence from Spencer, I shrugged and moved my foot as if I were about to walk away.
“Anyway, thank you for the dance,” I said. I flashed a grin and stepped around her.
“Hold on.” She caught my hand. “I’ll come with you.”
This time I let her lead the way. We weaved through the party and toward the back of the house, passing through a formal dining room. Spencer took in the mounting piles of trash that littered the table with a frown as we reached a pair of French doors, and she pulled on one of the brass handles to open it.
We emerged onto a stone patio where a handful of guests had come to enjoy the warm night air. Despite the heat, a fire crackled inside a clay chiminea on the patio. Another nod to the Celtic holiday, I guessed, though I wasn’t sure why they’d even bothered trying to mimic the bonfires usually associate with Lúnasa in this heat.
A welcome breeze blew through the trees surrounding the backyard of the OIA house. It lifted the wide strand of ribbon that cinched the waist of Spencer’s dress, and I caught it in one hand, ran my thumb across its silky surface, and then let it unfurl from my fingers. The breeze set it to its rippling dance again, and I took her hand. We descended the stone steps that led down from the patio and followed a path through the backyard to a mercifully deserted courtyard hidden behind a circle of hedges. Spencer pulled her hand from mine and walked to a wooden swing set off to one side. I pushed both hands deep into the pockets of my shorts and followed after her. I held the swing still and waited for her to get situated before I sat beside her. She rested her hand beside her leg and gripped the swing’s edge. I did the same, careful to leave a small distance between our fingers.
“So,” she said after a long moment. “Is your family still in New Orleans?”
I nodded, grateful for the question. She seemed so nervous that I’d started to worry my usual talents wouldn’t be much use in winning her over. “My mam and my older brother are both there,” I answered, neglecting to mention the entire village of Travelers who were mostly distant relatives in one way or another.
She arched a questioning eyebrow. “Your ‘mam’?”
Dammit. I cast about for an explanation, then simply decided on the truth. “She’s Irish—my mother. I mean—actually-from-Ireland Irish. It’s just what we call her.”
“That’s cool. Have you ever been?”
“To Ireland?”
“Yeah.”
“No, but she keeps threatening to take us.” I laughed. “She says every Irishman needs to see the ‘land of saints and scholars’ at least once before he dies. I’m sure she’d say the same thing for Irishwomen, too, of course.” I bumped my shoulder into hers the way Kay had done.
Spencer smiled. “I’d like to go someday for sure. OIA has a program that allows you to study at Trinity College for a semester. I’ve thought about applying, but the idea of being on my own in Dublin for a semester is a little scary.”
“Yeah, being away from home can be rough.” I’d only been gone for a few days, and already I missed Maggie, Jimmy Boy, and the dogs.
“I’m surprised you knew I was Irish. With a last name like Costello, most people assume I’m Italian.”
“Well, you’re in OIA, so I just guessed.” I left out the fact that Costello was a pretty common Traveler name. There were at least two dozen of them back home—probably even related to her, though they’d never claimed Tommy as far as I’d ever heard. Of course, they wouldn’t, given what he’d done.
She grinned, and it quickly brought my attention back to the present moment. “So what does yer mam do?” she asked, affecting a convincing Irish brogue.
“Oh, a bit o’ this, a bit o’ that.” I mimicked Maggie’s airy, lilting speech. “She’s a diviner. She reads tarot cards and tea leaves for the tourists and for the locals who believe in that sort of thing.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Many women in the Village came to Maggie to learn how a particular season of traveling might work out or to get assurance that a marriage arrangement would lead to a happy life for a child, but for now, it served my purpose for Spencer to imagine her as one of the fortunetellers in New Orleans’ Jackson Square.