Color-Gifted (Color-Gifted, #1)

Chapter Seventeen

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

We’re still at the bar when James walks in. I see him first; as he weaves his way towards us he holds up his finger, shhh, and I keep quiet. When he reaches Myra he wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her neck. Myra squeals and then turns to plant a kiss on his lips.

“You made it!” she yells.

He nods and resumes his place behind her, his chin on her shoulder. I have to admit, despite the fact that I don’t really know James and I’m not quite sure what to make of him, they look good together. I’m happy for Myra.

“Hey!” I wave at him. He raises and eyebrow and juts his chin my way, by way of response. Mr. Intense is right.

“Where’s everyone?” He doesn’t seem to really care, but that may be just a facade. I believe Myra knows what she’s doing, and I won’t stop giving him the benefit of the doubt until he gives me a concrete reason to do so. Besides, I don’t get any sinister vibes from him or anything.

Ever since my instincts were proven right with Neveah, I’ve been trying to be more deliberate in working on them and, more importantly, trusting them.

And James doesn’t feel like a bad guy—cocky, yeah, and most probably with some baggage. But overall, he seems good for Myra. Challenging, a definite pain in the ass—but good.

And I have a feeling she can help him if he needs it. Myra’s a strong person and won’t stand for any bullshit, but at the same time she really seems to care about him, so I think she’ll do what she can to help him out.

We’ll just have to see.

I’m sitting there, thinking all this, when Neveah, Jerry and Dwayne appear. They’re drenched with sweat, faces red, but everyone—especially Neveah—looks bright and happy. Most of the people are on the dance floor, and there are few free stools left. I feel rested, and hop down off of mine to offer it to Neveah.

“Thanks!” she shouts, taking a seat. I grin back.

After the necessary introductions are made—James seems easygoing enough, if a bit standoffish—I lean in so the others won’t hear me. “Having fun?” I ask her.

 “Yeah!” She pulls her corn rows up in a ponytail, the rainbow scrunchie a bright contrast against her dark hair. “I didn’t think it would be possible . . . but I am.”

“You know, I think Dwayne likes you.” I lean back to see her expression; her eyes are wide and she just stares at me.

I nod as if to say, You know it, and she motions me closer. “Nah, I don’t think so. We’re just friends.”

I look at her and raise my eyebrows. “I don’t think he sees you just as a friend.”

But Neveah is stubborn, and she won’t believe me. She slants him a quick look—he’s trying to get the bartender’s attention behind James—then shakes her head.