Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Hunter on pancakes covered with syrup and dreams
The rest of the predawn hours passed without incident except for me having to restrain myself from touching Regge’s hair. It was one thing to let your friend use your lap as a pillow but quite another to stroke his hair while he slept.
The wolves were prowling outside the door when Regge was startled awake. He was up with sword in hand before I could stop him.
“Relax, Regge, it’s just our relief. Let’s go home.”
His hair was tousled to the point of extreme sexiness, his eyes squinting to see outside the glass door. “Okay.” He lowered the sword, his grip firm.
Two men, strong, wiry builds and full beards peered through the front glass at us.
Nigel popped in at the desk. “Guests!” he exclaimed with delight.
“No, Nigel. They’re here to watch over you and Master Anu,” Regge said. He opened the front door for the men. “Abraham sent you?”
The first man nodded with a feral smile. “I’m Pery, this is Luke. You guys have any trouble?”
I rose from the couch, shaking my head. “Nope. All quiet.”
Regge walked over to the front desk and handed Nigel the sword. “Put this behind the desk, would you?”
With a sigh, Nigel took the sword, and it popped out of existence.
Regge frowned. “Now how am I going to find it if I need it?”
“Simply look for it of course. Oh. I have a list of things needed for my transference. Though I am sad to lose this vessel.” Nigel looked down at his thin, pale frame, running a hand across his rumply white shirt, his constantly crooked bow tie.
He’d added a pair of black-and-red suspenders, making him look like a sickly tenor in a barbershop quartet.
“We’ll figure something out.” I took the sheet of paper from Nigel and scanned it. “Okay, I will get most of these things.” I handed the list to Regge as we left a worried-looking Nigel with the wolves. Outside, I said, “I texted Cobb last night about Castenada.”
“We need to talk to Ziggy. She can help Master Anu.” Regge settled into the passenger side of my car.
“Call them, see if they want to do breakfast.” I put my feelers out, seeing if the hotel was in immediate danger. Satisfied that all was quiet, I started the car.
“It’s almost six a.m. and you want me to call them?” Regge was doubtful. Damien Cobb was notoriously not a morning person.
“Cobb will be grumpy, but we need to catch them before a day shift,” I said. “We can meet them at Joe’s on Sixth Street.”
Jane Zigfield was a fully licensed medical doctor, but she worked at District 21 of the Philadelphia PD. She preferred her job as a forensic specialist, despite the odd hours and lower pay. Fortunately for all of us, she wasn’t above treating the unusual or the supernatural.
“Yeah, well. A grumpy Detective Cobb is not my idea of fun on no sleep.” Regge sounded rather grumpy himself.
“You slept pretty good.” I let my grin widen. “Judging by the snoring.”
“I did not.”
“Oh, you did. It was adorable. Like a little bear cub.”
“Shut up.” Regge hid a smile as he put his phone to his ear. I listened as he patiently explained the need for Cobb and Ziggy to join us for breakfast.
?±?
Joe’s Diner was bustling at this hour. We hung around the entrance, looking like washed-out college students, until a server waved us over to a booth. We’d ordered our food and drank half a cup of coffee before Ziggy and Cobb showed up.
Ziggy was an average-sized woman, but she looked super petite with Damien Cobb’s large, muscled frame following her.
Her skin was a dark olive tone, which made her blue eyes pop under her curly hair, giving her a definite mixed-race exotic look.
Cobb had cut his locks the year before, but his close-cropped hair and trimmed beard did nothing to make his appearance less menacing.
His typical don’t-fuck-with-me scowl was in full force this morning.
Even knowing that Cobb had a softer side, I curbed my usual enthusiasm around him.
The cop was known to cave to the whims of his girlfriend or his teen-aged daughter.
And his cop partner could make him tear up with laughter.
I’d seen it with my own eyes. I left my side of the booth and went to slide in with Regge.
“Wait,” he said. “Let me sit on the outside.”
We had just resettled in when Cobb stopped at our table. “Do you two fetuses know it’s way too goddamned early for anything but sex or sleep?” He waited for Ziggy to slide across the seat before sitting across from me. “And thanks to you, I’m not getting either right now.”
“Damien, we’ll get you some coffee and hotcakes and listen to what they have to say, okay?” Ziggy leaned into him. “It’s obviously important.”
Cobb harrumphed but jerked his head toward the window. “Is that your weird cat sitting outside like he owns the place?”
Regge smiled and nodded. I followed Cobb’s gaze, and sure enough, Archie was circling the edge of a stone planter outside the front window. It was oddly comforting, knowing the familiar watched over him.
Our conversation was interrupted by the waitress’s appearance at the table. Ziggy ordered for both her and Cobb. When orders were taken, I launched into all that had happened since I’d texted with Cobb the night before.
“Are you sure it’s Ramon Castenada?” Cobb asked.
“Well, Nigel didn’t know which mob guy was which, but one of them was watching the hotel.”
“Nigel the ghost?” Ziggy asked.
“Yes. And the old guy needs a doctor, and we need info on the cartel. So of course we called you guys.”
“My shift starts at eight. But I can swing by the hotel on the way home,” Ziggy said.
“We.” Cobb looked at her. “We can swing by. A dilapidated hotel with ghosts and necromancers and mob guys. Yeah. It will be both of us.”
We chatted until our meals came. Regge had ordered a ton of food. Eggs, hotcakes, hash browns, and sausage, with an extra side of bacon.
“Yours will be right up, darlin’.” The server winked at Cobb, bringing about an awkward moment where Ziggy grinned at the table and Cobb fidgeted and scowled.
Regge chewed thoughtfully for a bit. “We can meet you there at five?”
I forced myself to quit focusing on Regge and eat my breakfast. I shoved a syrup-laden forkful into my mouth. Perfect pancakes. Light and fluffy and good. No wonder this place was packed.
Cobb nodded, mumbling a thanks as the server spread three plates of breakfast food in front of the big man. He slathered the pancakes with syrup, even with Ziggy’s protest.
“She has me watching my blood sugar,” he grumbled.
“He needs looking after,” Ziggy responded, turning to her plate of cut fruit and English muffin. “Cobb and I had our first date here.”
“Really?” Regge asked.
“Yeah. And we met to talk about… God, it was some kind of case, wasn’t it?” She leaned into Cobb’s shoulder again. “Anyway, the waitress came on to him big time and he was clueless.” She grinned again without a hint of jealousy.
“I was not clueless.” Cobb wiped his mouth and beard and turned to her. “I wasn’t interested. Not with you in front of me. Well, never really, but especially not with you in front of me.” A tiny smile emerged.
I wanted what they had. That special thing that made Ziggy laugh and Cobb soften like ice cream on a hot day. It was them against the world. Looking out for each other, like Ziggy said. Suddenly I was desperately lonely, even with my friends here.
“HB?” Regge’s voice slid like velvet against my senses. I glanced up at the waitress standing at my side.
“Are you done, honey? Can I take your plate?”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” I handed the nearly empty plate over before catching Cobb’s glance. “Sorry, it’s been a long night. I need some sleep.”
“Of course.” Ziggy reached across and squeezed my forearm. “You guys go. We’ll get your breakfast.”
Another growly noise came from Cobb. “We will?”
Ziggy’s brows arched at him. “Yes. We will.” She turned to us with a smile. “Go. We’ll meet you at the hotel at fiveish.”
“Thank you so much,” Regge said. He wrapped the bacon in a napkin, flicking his eyes up at Cobb. “It’s for the cat that owns the place.” Another quick smile. It wasn’t for me, but it made my blood sing. He slid out and tugged on my sleeve.
I must have said thanks and goodbye to them, but I didn’t remember.
All I could focus on was Regge’s fingers grazing my arm as he pulled me out of the restaurant.
Everything was in hyper mode. Regge releasing his grip to let Archie into the car.
The scent of bacon as he slid into the passenger seat, the soft grunt as he fidgeted with his seat belt. I felt it all.
I drove home in a daze of tired thoughts, half watching Regge hand feed Archie bits of bacon.
We reached the apartment building, and Archie bounded out of an open car window and up the stairs, waiting by the door for Regge to let him in.
As soon as Regge opened the apartment door, Archie trotted in, sat beside his empty bowl, and yowled like he was starving.
“Didn’t you feed him like a pound of bacon?” I asked.
“Familiars eat more than a normal cat does. Even more than a cat his size.”
Archie responded with a resounding yowl.
Regge shushed him as he pulled out the futon and gently pushed my shuffling form onto it.
“Sleep. I’m going to go out and get some groceries.”
My protest died on my lips as my head sank onto the pillow. It smelled of the mint and herb shampoo in Regge’s shower. I slept.
On the futon, I half woke with a mumble and rolled over, warmth surrounding me, humming in contentment. My eyes snapped open. I was suddenly aware that the warmth at my back was a human body. A forearm draped over my torso and snugged me closer.
Not fully awake yet, I panicked. Where was I? Oh, yeah, Regge’s. I was fine, it was just Regge. I relaxed.
Wait.
This was Regge. We were beginning to be friends again. I couldn’t just be caught in bed with him. Could I?
I’d let him rest with his head in my lap. But that was different. We were in a hotel on a lumpy couch. Nothing would happen.
Regge huffed in his sleep, his breath hitting the back of my neck, which set my heart thumping and my skin flushing. I could turn and those lips would be waiting for me. Waiting for me to kiss them, to kiss him to wakefulness.
It would feel amazing. I knew it. But Regge was still in love with Charlie. Or at least he had been. And then there was the club. No. If I went for it and was rebuffed again, I couldn’t take it. Our newfound easiness would be gone.
Regge was half asleep. As soon as he woke up, it would be weird. I couldn’t stay like this. But I couldn’t move either. Fucking hell.
I gently lifted his arm from around me so I could slide under. One leg edged toward freedom. Regge’s top leg fell into place between mine. Damn it.
But damn, it felt so good. I breathed. It had been a long time since I’d been with anyone like this.
This… closeness was more intimate than any Grindr date or fumble against the back wall of a club.
And there it was. Why did I have to think of sex?
Because my cock got the wake-up call loud and clear.
If Regge moved his leg up a fraction, he’d feel it.
I took another breath. Okay, move again, turn on to my back, one leg out and foot on the floor. Two more slow but steady moves and I’d be free.
“The need for stealth is naught. I am awake.” Regge’s voice held that deep sleep-induced roughness, and when he lapsed into his Shakespearean-speak, it made me hard. Which I already was. Now it was painfully obvious.
I jerked, twisted, and fell out of bed. Regge’s soft chuckle made me blush. So smooth, Bruce. Really.
I rolled over onto my knees, coming face-to-face with the hottest green eyes on the planet and a not-so-hidden smirk. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“Oh no. I’m fine.” I stumbled to my feet. “I always get out of bed this way. Wakes me up faster.” I turned and hustled into the bathroom, thankful for the dimness of the room. Leaning back against the door, I took stock. My dick throbbed, air rushed from my lungs, and my head buzzed.
I was no stranger to love, both unrequited and unsuccessful. My longest relationship had lasted two years. Well, almost. And that was ages ago, in college.
For someone who manages things in two-minute increments of life, two years is a long time.
Credit to Carrie Earnshaw. Totally. She had such faith in me, in us, to make it work.
If Carrie had been a guy, we would have broken up as soon as the new sex energy wore off, which was about four months in. A really fun four months, but still.
After Carrie came to her senses and broke up with me, my mom wanted to talk about things.
I want you to be happy. And maybe grandchildren will be nice too.
I’d come out to my mom when I was fifteen, and she’d been more amused than shocked. Now she inevitably mused out loud about my penchant for dating guys when my longest relationships were with girls.
What could I say? I liked who I liked. It was more about the person than the gender, yada, yada. But who was I kidding? Guys were too impatient to put up with my shit, and women thought they could fix me. Like if I would focus a little, I’d be more of who they really wanted.
Since moving from New York to Philly, I avoided talking to my mom about relationships because there wasn’t much to talk about. For the past three years, I stuck to hookups from Tinder or Grindr, depending on my degree of loneliness.
That activity had halted when Regge showed up. Of course it did. It wasn’t like I could ask Regge to go upstairs and hang out at Isabelle’s while I took the edge off with a stranger.
My eyes were bleary in the bathroom mirror from too little sleep, and my hair looked like a badly groomed terrier perched on my head.
Honestly, Regge staying with me hadn’t cramped my style.
It was that the idea of a good dicking down with a random stranger suddenly felt icky and sad.
Because I wanted more. And more was lying just twenty feet away on a nice soft futon.
And he smelled like sunshine and caramels and memories of the beach.
I splashed water on my face and ran my hands through my hair. I was well and truly fucked. And not in the good way.