Rock N Soul by Lauren Sattersby Page A

creepy.
    “You’re going to watch me eat this,” I deadpanned.
    “Yeah,” he said, not taking his eyes off the pastry. “I told you I was.”
    “I thought you were joking.” I took a sip of my coffee and moaned happily as the warm liquid started raising my body temperature. Chris just kept staring at the pastry.
    “Are you going to eat it?” he asked after a few seconds.
    “Yes,” I told him, “but you’re going to have to stop staring at it like that. It’s weird.”
    “I can’t,” he said. “I’m starving.”
    I raised both eyebrows. “You’re hungry? But you’re a ghost.”
    “I’m not . . . physically hungry. I think my body still thinks it’s alive because I’m feeling . . .” He paused for a second, tilting his head. “It’s hard to describe. It’s like when you’re bored-hungry, you know? You don’t need food but it’s all you can think about and you can’t get the idea of eating something out of your head.”
    I lifted the scone. “I guess I can understand that.”
    Chris’s eyes snapped back to the pastry. He licked his lips.
    I put the scone up to my mouth and took a bite of it. Chris let out a borderline-sexual sigh and swallowed hard.
    “Dude,” I said, putting the scone back on my plate. “Did you just go from six to midnight?”
    “Shut your face,” he snapped. “I fucking love scones.”
    “Wow. With the rare steak and the scones and the very specific grape needs. Who knew you were such a foodie?” I thought about asking if it was a junkie thing instead, but that seemed mean, so I just picked the scone up again and took another bite.
    He waited until I was done chewing and then answered: “I don’t think that liking seedless grapes makes me a foodie.”
    “It makes you picky as hell, though.” I grinned at him and took another bite, trying not to notice the way he watched my lips and throat while I chewed and swallowed.
    That went on until I’d finished the scone, and he made me pick up even the smallest crumbs and eat those too. I’d polished off my coffee and had gotten up to leave when I saw a girl sitting at a table in the corner by herself, holding a deck of what appeared to be tarot cards. She drew several, then scowled at them as if they’d personally offended her.
    I took a step closer.
    “Dude,” Chris said. “Are you going to go hit on that chick?”
    “Shut up,” I muttered, then walked over to her. “Hi. I’m Tyler.”
    She looked up at me and did not seem impressed. “Can I help you?”
    I glanced at the deck in front of her. The illustrations on them were beautiful, patterned like stained glass with gold foil leafing for highlights. The one I could see best was a picture of a woman holding on to the mane of a lion. It was labeled Strength .
    “They’re tarot cards,” she said like she got this question a lot, even though I hadn’t actually asked it out loud.
    “For telling the future, right?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. For telling the future. I’m busy. Can you maybe leave me alone?”
    I leaned over to inspect the cards again. “What’s that one mean?” I pointed to a picture of a crumbling castle turret.
    She followed my gesture and frowned deeply when she saw what card I was pointing to. “That’s the Tower.”
    “Cool. What does it mean?”
    “It means I’m fucked.” She gathered up the cards and put them back in the deck.
    “Well, at least you know about it,” I said. “Whatever it is. So if you know it’s going to happen, you can change it, right?”
    She shook her head. “That wasn’t the future. It was the present.”
    “Oh.” I shifted on my feet. “That sucks, then.”
    She shrugged. “Yeah, well, not much I can do about it at the moment. What do you want?”
    “Can you tell my future?” I smiled at her.
    “Oh my God,” Chris said. “You’re not as smooth as you think you are.”
    I ignored him and kept smiling.
    The girl gave me a once-over and then sighed. “Fine. But it’s not as much