"I'm sorry … it's. Your aura is so … " She sighed, head shaking. "There's something about you and I can't figure it out."
"Maybe it's my bitchin' about that." Again I nodded toward the record. The turn table went on spinning and as I pointed it out, the woman moved toward it, flipping down the power button so that spinning stopped.
"It's not that. And I'm sorry." She faced me, curling her arms together again. Her body was stiff and I got the feeling that holding herself like that was something she did to keep her hands off me. Wasn't real sure why that bothered me, but it did. She took a step closer, body still ridged but her eyes still held that hungry, eager look again and I wondered what she thought of me and why the look on her face seemed so familiar.
"I'm a little thrown off, to be honest," she said.
"By me?" I tilted my head to watch her close, not getting what I'd done to throw her off.
She watched as I took a step, that hungry, confused expression not moving from her face. There wasn't any fear or worry in that look, but her stance didn't change and she kept on holding herself together, knuckles white as she balled her hands into fists, like she was worried what she'd do if I got too close.
Took all I had to not smirk like an asshole at that thought.
"By your aura … your … presence." She waved a hand, again motioning at something around me, not at me exactly. "There's something I can't put my finger on."
I didn't buy any of this aura mess. I knew I had a body, a good one for how hard I worked it. I knew, somewhere inside there might be a spirit or soul, wasn't real sure the difference but I suspected there was more than zeroes and ones to this world. I still believed I was part of it. But auras and cleansings and all the hippie crap she seemed to believe in? Nah. That was a pill she offered that I didn't have the stomach for.
But that didn't mean I couldn't shake the feeling of there being more to her. More to the feelings I caught in the half hour I'd been around this crazy white chick.
My mentor Roan had always taught me to listen to my gut and right then, my gut told me not to jet. Not just yet.
"You … you wanna finish?" I grabbed at anything that would keep me in that apartment. The juju shit was weird, but seemed to be strangely ... good. "You know, finish with the … " quick wave around my body, at the invisible whatever-it-was that I guessed was supposed to be my aura, "the ju … ah … the aura cleansing?"
The whites of her knuckles had returned to their original pink color and I relaxed a little, moving slowly back to the sofa, arms spread wide on the back; an invitation to work me over again. Her frown disappeared and she dropped her arms to her side, relaxing as she moved toward me.
She knelt in front of me, still cautious, movements slow as she dragged her fingers to the back of her head to braid her long, chestnut hair. She worked quickly, efficiently, flicking long strands behind, in between, around another as she worked, not watching me as she spoke. "Not sure how good it'll be now."
"Not sayin I believe all this," I waved a hand, grinning when she rolled her eyes, "but I'd hate for you to blast that chanting nonsense all night because you couldn't finish the job." She smiled when I shrugged and I guessed she didn't buy my nonchalant act. "You seem like a chick that likes to finish a job."
She purposefully ignored my crappy attempt at flirting and moved her hands to her lap, sitting straight. "I like solving problems." She was dead serious.
"You think I got a problem?"
"Hello, you can't sleep. Even without my 'chanting nonsense' music playing." Her laugh was quick, a little loud and I liked the way it sounded, even if it was poking fun just a bit. Reminded me of the noises blue jays made when I went to the park on my lunch break. The woman recovered from her humor, head shaking.
"You got a point?"
She moved slowly, but all those colors and sounds came with her as she crawled closer, a few loose strands of hair falling out of the braid as she sat next to me on the sofa. "You offered. And yeah, maybe I do need to finish the job."
"I'm Nash, by the way. Nash Nation." It came out in a whoosh of air, like something I'd kept to myself but wanted out in the open. Had no idea why I'd said that.
"Oh … okay." She started to say something, and I interrupted her, answering what I knew would be the same smartass question I'd heard my whole life. "No, I'm not from Nashville. Never been. Don't much care for country music. Nash was my granddaddy's best friend in the war. I got landed with his name because he'd saved my granddaddy and their entire unit on the beach in Normandy." The small pillow at my feet was blue and red with small sparkling rhinestones edging the seam. I picked it up, to have something to do with my hands as she watched. The silence stretched. "You got a name?"