"Yeah, I met him at the party," I explain. "The one that I met you at."

He sketches along the folds of my fingers, sending tingles all over my skin. "Did you meet him before or after I talked to you that night?"

"After," I reply. "It was right before I left to chase down Raven... He told me someone was messing around with my car."

"And then your car's brakes went out." He cracks his knuckles on the steering wheel as he cogitates. "I wonder if..."

"If what?" I press. "Asher, do you know this the guy? And did he mess with my brakes that night? Because he told me someone else was messing with my car, and I'm starting to wonder if it was him and maybe he was also the tailgater."

He slips his hand from mine and places it on the shifter; it feels like a glove slipped off my fingers and my hand feels bare. "Ember, have you ever heard of the Anamotti?" he asks and I shake my head. "Well, it's this term that got thrown around a lot in the neighborhood I lived in New York... It's kind of like this hush-hush secret society thing."

"What kind of a neighborhood did you live in?" I wonder.

He hesitates. "The Upper East Side."

"So it's a secret society for rich people."

"Kind of."

"I'm confused," I confess. "What does this have to do with Garrick? Is he part of it?"

He fiddles anxiously with the air freshener on the rearview mirror. "Yeah, he was... He is part of it."

"So Garrick's from New York too?" I question. "I don't mean to sound rude, but I'm not sure I believe that you, Cameron, and Garrick, all moved here at the same time and from New York."

"Garrick didn't move here from New York," Asher discloses in a subdued voice. "I said the term got thrown around a lot in my neighborhood, but it doesn't mean every member from the Anamotti lives there."

I ask, "But then how do you know Garrick is part of the Anamotti?"

"That X tattoo he has," Asher makes an X motion over his eye with his finger, "is the symbol of the Anamotti."

"So what are they?" I inquire, thinking about what I read on the internet about X symbols. "What is their secret society all about? And why do they have X's?"

He restlessly drums his fingers on the shifter, lets out a shaky breath, and laces his fingers with mine again. "I'm afraid it might scare you, especially because Garrick is interested in you."

"No, he seems interested in Raven." Unable to help myself, I caress his palm with my thumb. "I think he was with her that night when Laden disappeared."

"Maybe," he says sadly. "But I think he's using Raven to get to you."

"For what?" I begin to pull my hand away. "And how do you know all this... Are you part of this Anamotti?"

"I can't tell you that right now." His hand tightens on mine. "Trust me, I want to. Desperately. But not yet, okay? I need to... we need to spend some time together first. " Honesty blazes in his eyes like smoke over a fire. "Please just trust me, Ember."

It's a strange answer, but not accepting it would be like the pot calling the kettle black. "Okay, I can wait, I guess."

He runs his fingers through my hair, gently tugging at the roots and sending a shock of pleasure through my body. Wow. Dear G.o.d Almighty.

"Thank you for trusting me," his voice perpetuates my body with heat.

We leave the sunnier part of town behind and enter the rougher side. The old-fashioned shops and restaurants become old and dilapidated houses. Rusted cars clutter the yards and bars and smoke shops fill up the business areas. It's frightening how much this side of town feels like home.

My concentration centers on Asher. "So where's this mysterious place you're taking me?"

Still holding my hand, he downshifts. "That's kind of a surprise, but I thought we could get something to eat first. I mean, if that's okay with you."

I crack the window and let in a cool breeze. "Yeah, that's fine with me."

"Are you sure there's nothing bothering you?" he asks. "You seem a little... sad. Or sadder than usual."

The wind gusts through my hair and I shut my eyes, breathing in deeply. "I'm fine. I promise." I erase my sadness as much as possible, and open my eyes, summoning up a small smile. "I'm actually just really hungry."

"Good." He grins and turns the car into the crowded parking lot of Phil's Shenanigans and Fun. "Hmm..." Asher observes the sign. "I wonder what kind of fun it's referring to."

"No, you don't," I say unintentionally. It's the bar where my dad hung out.

"You've been here?" Asher shuts off the engine.

"Once or twice." I omit some of the truth. "And I think they card here."

"I heard they don't." He points a finger at the front door where a young couple is walking inside. "And I think we go to school with them."

"Yeah, you're probably right." I sigh heavily. "I think they do let in minors."

My dad came here a lot and brought me with him. I'd sit in the corner booth, coloring, while he drank himself into a stupor, ranting about his philosophical ideas on life and death until he'd p.i.s.s off someone enough that they'd take a swing at him. Then Phil, the owner-who was like a second father to me-would load us up in his Chevy and drive us home.

"Do you know if the food's good here?" Asher opens the car door.

"Yeah, the food, the service-it's all great." Except for the memories.

Before I can climb out of the car, Asher hurries around, opens the door, and helps me out. The boy blows my mind with his gentleman skills. He holds my hand as we walk across the parking lot. There is a row of motorcycles in front and a bench where people are smoking. The windows of the bar are shielded with flashing neon signs and flyers. At the entrance Asher releases my hand, but only to open the door.

I fan the smoke from my face as the door swings closed. Asher returns his hand to mine. The bar is packed, the music's loud, and there are no barstools available. Paper-mache spiders and witches hang from the ceiling and each table has a miniature pumpkin.

"Hi y'all. My name is Amy and I'll be your waitress today." A perky girl in her early twenties appears in front of us. Her black skirt barely covers her legs and her white shirt is tight enough that the poor girl probably can't breathe. "We only got booths tonight. Is that okay?"

"What do you think?" Asher asks me. "Is a booth good?"

"A booth's better," I answer.

"Okay." The waitress leads us through the smoke and people with a cheery skip in her walk. We settle in the corner booth, sitting across from each other, and she hands us our menus and sashays toward the bar. Phil's the bartender tonight. He's a large man with tattoos casing his arms and neck. His shaved head reflects in the low light and his goatee touches the bottom of his neck. He has a T-shirt on with the sleeves torn off, jeans, and biker boots. He's pouring a shot when the waitress says something to him. His eyes lift to me and I slump down in the booth, holding the menu in front of my face, ducking for cover.

"Please don't come over here. Please don't come over here," I chant under my breath.

Asher guides the menu away from my face. "Okay, what's up?"

I pretend to be very interested in the list of appetizers. "Nothing. I'm just reading the menu."

He eyes me suspiciously and aims his attention to a person standing next to our table.

"Holy biscuits and gravy, it is you."

I know that voice. "Hey, Phil." I plaster a fake smile on my face and look up at him.

He grins and opens his arms, waiting for a hug. Internally cringing, I get to my feet and wrap my arms around him. He smells like cigars and booze. Both will be the cause of his death, something I've known for years.

I pull away and drop back down in the booth. "I thought you were going to quit smoking."

He rubs his neck tensely. "I did for a while, but old habits die hard. But look at you. All grown up. I haven't seen you since the night your..." he trails off. "Well, anyway. How are you doing? And how's your mama doing?"

"She's doing good." I pick at the peanut sh.e.l.ls wedged in the cracks of the tabletop.

"Is she still working down at the diner?" he asks. "Or did she finally get away from that s.h.i.thole."

"No, she's still doing the waitress thing," I say and his eyes wander to Asher. "Oh, this is Asher. Asher, this is Phil."

They nod and say their "how do you do's."

I grow fidgety and fiddle with the pumpkin, spinning it on the table. Being around Phil brings back the memories of the nights at the bar with my dad. When Phil would drive me and my dad home, he'd tell me things would get better-that eventually my dad would get his life together. It's not Phil's fault it never happened, but it reminds me of a time when I was naive enough to believe it would.

He can tell I'm uncomfortable. "Alright, well if you need anything, let me know." I nod and he returns to his position behind the counter.

Asher turns the page of the menu. "I thought you said you'd been here once or twice."

I shrug, not ready to veer down that path. Awkward silence builds and we flip through the menus. By the time the waitress shows up to take our order, I wonder if Asher's going to tell her we're leaving.

She poises her pen above the order book. "What can I get y'all?"

Asher taps his fingers on his lips and I catch Amy licking her own as she eyes his. "What exactly are Rocky Mountain oysters?" he asks.

I restrain a laugh as Amy's face twists in confusion.

"Well... I think they're a kind of meat. I'm not sure what kind, but I like them." She presses the end of the pen against her chin.

I shake my head at Asher. "You don't want those. Trust me."

Amy shoots me an aggravated look. "They're not bad. I mean, the meat's a little tough, but they taste good." I feel bad for her. Kind of. She leans over the table and her b.o.o.bs practically pop out of her top. "Look sweetie, get whatever you want, okay?" she says to Asher.

Asher's gaze connects with mine. "I kind of like to know what I'm eating."

I lean over the table, cup my hand around Asher's ear, and whisper what Rocky Mountain oysters are.

His eyes bulge. "Yeah, I'll have water, cheese fries, and a hamburger with extra mayo."

"I'll have the chicken sandwich and a c.o.ke." I shut my menu and Amy s.n.a.t.c.hes it out of my hand. She takes Asher's menu more delicately and saunters off to the order window.

"Thank you," he says with a smile.

I rest my elbows on the table. "For what?"

"For not letting me eat that c.r.a.p."

We laugh quietly and then silence builds again. A woman in a bright red dress and cowgirl boots is belting out the lyrics to Faith Hill's "This Kiss" from the stage. The whole scene is super cheesy, but I start to relax, like I'm finally home after being gone for three years.

"My dad and I used to come here," I finally say over the music.

He gives me his undivided attention. "Really." He glances at the rough people, the smoky atmosphere, and the bar lined with bikers. "How old were you?"

"I was four the first time he brought me down here, and it kept up until I was thirteen-until he died, basically," I say. "My dad really liked his Jack Daniels."

"So did my dad... Well, actually it was Jim Bean." He pauses and his smile brings soft invisible kisses to my skin. "See, that wasn't so hard. And we learned we have something in common."

"I'm not socially impaired," I retort, dusting some salt off the table. "I just like my s.p.a.ce... for personal reasons."

He crosses his arms on the table. "I know you do and I actually kind of like that about you. You're not always giggling and trying to run your fingers through my hair."

I wonder if he's talking about Raven. "Some guys like that."

"No they don't." He flicks his tongue ring against his teeth. "I want you to give me a shot-I want you to let me in and let me get to know you."

My chest squeezes with elation, but thankfully my voice holds rhythm. "What do you want to know about me?"

He rolls the pepper shaker between his hands. "How long have you known Raven?"

I shrug. "Since we were born."

"Does she always act so..." he bites back.

"s.l.u.tty?" I finish for him.

He laughs and it's the most beautiful sound that's ever touched my ears. "I was going to say guy crazy, but I thought that'd make me sound like a jerk. She's a little intense, and that whole thing with Garrick. How did she even meet him?"

"At the same party I met him," I explain. "But I have no idea why she was with him that day at school."

He zips his lips together and studies the cracks in the table. "When Garrick had a hold of you at school... you looked like you were going to pa.s.s out."

"I just don't like being close to people like that." I tousle my hair with my fingers and stare at the karaoke stage area in the corner.

He slides his hand across the table and interlaces our fingers. "But you don't seem to mind when I touch you. In fact, I have this idea in my head-and please let me know if I'm overshooting it here-that you like me a little."

I shrug. "I guess you could say that... You make me feel calm."

"Calm, huh?" he muses. "And that's a good thing?"

"Yeah, that's a good thing." I smile and his eyes zone in on my lips.

"You have a beautiful smile," he says sensually. "And beautiful lips. I wonder what they-"

The waitress interrupts us with our food. "Here ya go, honey." She slides Asher's food in front of him. Then she drops my plate in front of me and it clanks loudly against the table. "If you need anything, let me know."