Player glanced back at Preacher, who was nearly on his heels. “What the hell. Go away, Preacher. I mean it. I’m going in, and I don’t want you to get this woman upset at me. I’m already in enough trouble with Zyah. For all I know, they’re best friends.” He kept one hand on the door to prevent Preacher from opening it.
Movement inside caught his eye, and he turned away from Preacher’s grinning face to see that Hannah had moved away from the window and was coming to the door again.
“Damn you, Preacher,” he hissed and opened the door before the woman could get there. He had no choice now. Trying to look casual, he sauntered in. He did his best to close the door fast, but he heard the heavy, ornate wood hit Preacher’s motorcycle boot. The little floating hats tinkled merrily, and Preacher joined him in the fragrant shop. The moment Player stepped inside, he felt a tremendous shift of power sweep over him. There was nothing subtle about that energy. It passed over and through him. He glanced uneasily at Preacher to see if he’d noticed. Yeah. He’d noticed.
Hannah smiled at them and then glanced over her shoulder. Another woman, leaning on the counter, straightened slowly. She was much smaller, with pale, delicate features and a wealth of black hair that could have overpowered her face had she not pulled it back. She was smiling as well, although Player could see she wasn’t quite as genuine as Hannah. In fact, she picked up her cell phone. Player was pretty certain he knew who she was texting. He wasn’t going to have very much time if he was really going to work up the courage to ask Hannah for help.
“What was that?” Preacher asked.
Hannah looked at him with a faint frown. Mild inquiry. “What was what?”
“Outside. With the boys,” Preacher persisted.
Hannah smiled a sweet, vague smile that could have meant anything. “Aren’t they darling? They come by regularly and say hello. May I help you find something, or did you just want to look around first?” Hannah’s voice was musical.
There were very faint white lines running along her face. She could have concealed them with makeup, but she didn’t. In Player’s world, those scars were considered badges. He hoped she thought of them that way. She’d survived a vicious attack, and that meant something.
“I’d like to look around,” Preacher said, giving up on any explanation.
“You’re welcome to.” Hannah gestured around the store, half turning away.
Player cleared his throat. “I might need a little help.”
She turned back to him, that same smile in place. Now that he really looked at her closely, the smile wasn’t so genuine. It just appeared that way. It was practiced, put in place to wear like makeup, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her fingers touched her wedding band, and then she grasped it like a talisman, twisting it back and forth.
For a moment, he considered that she was nervous because he was a biker. That happened all the time, but her eyes met his without flinching and he dismissed that idea. It was more likely that the attack on her had been so public, so ferocious and fast, that she still had problems facing strangers. That made her amazingly courageous to do what she was doing, although if the power he’d felt when he walked through the door was anything to go by, she had nothing to worry about.
“I blew it big-time with my woman.” He just put it out there. He might as well get it over with. He glanced out the window at Lana and Alena. They were sitting on the sidewalk straight across from the shop and laughing together until he swore they were crying.
“I suppose you’ve come for a love potion. I really need to make one,” Hannah said, sounding disappointed, again beginning to turn away from him.
“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?” he asked. “Do I really look that hopeless? I’ll admit I was a jackass, but don’t men buy women flowers and chocolate and shit?”
Hannah turned back, her blue gaze moving over his face. This time, her eyes seemed to see right through him in the way Czar’s sometimes did. “Women don’t want men to buy them shit,” she said without a trace of a smile. “I’m Hannah.”
“Player,” he said. “And no, I didn’t cheat on her, if that’s what you think I did. And I wouldn’t. Not ever.”
“That’s a relief. Tell me about her. What is it you love about her? What makes her so special?”
She walked over to a high table-and-chairs set sitting in the corner of the shop. It looked a little more delicate than anything he was used to. He’d seen outdoor furniture that was similar but built along much sturdier lines. She flashed a smile as she stepped onto one of the mauve-and-whitestriped high-backed chairs. “They’re really quite sturdy.”
He wasn’t quite as convinced, but he took her word for it. The chair, really a stool with a back on it, was surprisingly comfortable. The seat was thick and contoured to conform to one’s bottom. “Who made these?” He could tell they hadn’t been manufactured somewhere. Now that he was close and actually sitting in the chair, he could see the work was excellent. Someone had put a great deal of time and love into handcrafting the set for Hannah.
“His name was Pheldman. Casey Pheldman. He passed away a few years ago.”
“He owned the house I bought,” Player said. He didn’t bother to keep the admiration out of his voice. “I was so impressed with the craftsmanship. I haven’t seen that kind of work very often. I really wish I could have met him. He was truly a gifted man.”
“Yes, he was.” Hannah’s smile was much more genuine. “Would you care for coffee or tea while we talk?” She indicated a little teapot and coffee press. “No worries if you’re in a hurry. I can make it very quickly.”
“Coffee, then. Black.”
He watched, fascinated, as she waved her hand toward the two pots and both seemed to start steaming at once. He frowned, looking around to see if there was a button she’d pushed.
“Now tell me about your Zyah. What do you think makes her so special?”
There was more than one person in his club who could use their voice to compel others to do as they wished. Player was one of them. His talent was subtle, not at all like Absinthe’s or Master’s or Maestro’s, but he could still persuade others when he wanted something. Hannah was a force to be reckoned with. Player felt the need to answer her, and he knew she wasn’t deliberately using her talent on him.
Player found himself wanting Hannah to know, mostly because he felt that the woman was gentle and kind. She wasn’t the type to hurt anyone on purpose, ever. She was asking him because she genuinely wanted to help him—if he deserved it. He knew she was asking questions partially to make certain he wasn’t a man who had in any way deliberately hurt his woman.
“Before I tell you about Zyah, I’m going to let you know right up front, she’s nothing like me. I don’t in any way deserve her. I don’t. I never will. Still, she’s the one, the only one for me, and I’ll work every damn day of my life to make her happy. It’s just that, if you’re going to try to work out whether you think I’m a good man, I’ll tell you I try to be. That I have a code I live by, but I fail more than I win.”
She poured coffee into a mug. “That’s refreshing to hear. The truth. You must really love this woman.”