7. Never negotiate with a demon #2
I need another lead, an extra one that will put me ahead. One I can cash in for more money if I ever want to earn enough to get out of here. My thoughts continue to tumble over each other as I streak through the night, back to my empty apartment with not even a cranky cat for company.
I debate not going to Tempo for hours as I intermittently wear the same circle into the carpet that I was pacing last week.
This time, the cat isn’t here to glare me out of it, though.
I didn’t see even a hint of headlights behind me on my drive home last night, so the bartender must have kept his word.
Which means I have to stick to mine, too.
A weight lifts off my chest with the decision. It’s a reaction I don’t look at too closely, for fear of what it might mean. I definitely don’t want to see him again, but I also don’t want to bring on any bad karma or whatever. So I figure I kind of have to go.
Really, I don’t have a choice.
My thoughts circle as I walk the few blocks to the club, my boots scuffing against the sidewalk.
I shove my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket, hunching against the wind and trying to convince myself this isn’t a terrible idea.
Sometimes I like people. This might even be…
fun? I shiver in revulsion at the thought.
I don’t think I’d know fun if it slapped me in the face.
I have been looking for someone to hook up with, though.
Perhaps he could scratch that itch? My steps slow as I contemplate it, imagining that wicked smile, his lip ring glinting in the low light as he stretches out on wrinkled sheets.
Messy hair gripped in my fist, eyeliner smudged as he pants beneath me.
My breath hitches in my chest.
It’s a tempting image.
But then I realize, if I hook up with him I can never go back to Tempo.
I’ve been spending lonely nights there for years now, and I won’t let one man steal my spot.
No, a hookup is out of the question. I mentally brace myself to face his irritating cheerfulness again as I pull open the door and stride inside.
Sure enough, he bounds over to me before I’ve even reached the bar.
“You came!” he says.
“I did…”
My eyebrows twitch together as a new feeling tightens my muscles. I feel strangely cautious in the face of his positive energy. It’s something I haven’t experienced before, but that in itself isn’t new with him, this mystery bartender-turned-stalker.
“Ro,” he says, apparently taking my trailing off as an invitation to share his name again.
Right, Ro. That was his name.
“Is that… short for something?” I ask as I settle into a spot at the bar.
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I mentally kick myself for letting my curiosity and interest in him get the better of me.
His eyes brighten at the question and he answers it happily, providing his full name—Foras Astaroth Cromwell, such a strange name for a human—as well as a lengthy explanation of why his parents chose those names.
It’s far too much information, much more than I anticipated or cared to know, and it’s unexpectedly bewitching.
I don’t want to know that he’s named after a goddess of lasciviousness and a powerful nude demon, or that one of his namesakes is known for discovering treasures and recovering lost things.
It’s an overwhelming number of things to take in all at once, and I don’t have the capacity to deal with that much energy right now.
The way his eyes sparkle while talking about ancient gods above and below, his fingers glinting with rings as he waves them around, gesturing to emphasize his words.
His expressive face and the slight bounce he can’t seem to quell as he overshares.
It’s far too endearing, and that simply adds to my overwhelm.
I can barely manage small talk on a good day, let alone a full family history with ethical considerations to boot. Not to mention that the only emotions I’m competent at dealing with are depression, anxiety, and numbness. All these other things he’s been sparking in me…
I blink once, realizing it’s been far too long since the last time I did so, and my eyes immediately tear up. An irritating and unnecessary reaction. Before he can see, I shove away from the counter, spin on my heel, and stride out the door.
The wind hits me and I flare open my jacket, letting it cool my overheated skin. The way I was reacting to him, wanting to lean in, to feel him speak against my lips and run his hands through my hair. To absorb his words until they sink beneath my skin into the heart of who I am.
Terrifying.
I spent hours barricading myself against him, and he blasted through all of my walls in mere seconds.
It’s too much.
I don’t know how to handle it. Besides that I can’t afford to let anyone get that close to me.
What am I supposed to say if he asks about my family?
I can’t tell him my mom is a star-chaser so she never stays in one place for more than a few months, and she’s well on her way to going mad.
And oh, by the way, I’ll be going mad if I live long enough, too.
I don’t do relationships because no one can know about my curse.
It would only bring them tragedy, as it does for me and everyone else in my family.
No one can know I’m a star-chaser, or about my involvement with the black market.
Plus, that awful, murderous boss man would put anyone I’m close with in danger.
They could be used against me, and I’d be even more trapped, or worse, they could get sucked into that world of evil right alongside me.
Ro wants to share about his name, his family, his life? Fine, he can share it with someone else.
I don’t want to know, and I don’t care.