Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“I’m in ?” I groan. “What the hell was I thinking?” The bartender casts me a wary look. I don’t blame her—I’ve been sitting here muttering into my drink for the past half hour.
I got halfway home—so not far at all—before it really sank in that I’ve just signed on to work for an interspecies government body and I began to freak out.
I’m actually really proud that I kept it together that long.
I was perfectly calm when Harold gave me a two-line overview of each species—two subspecies of shifters, vampires, demons, succubae and incubi, and sorcerers—and then directed me to a series of web archives where I can do more research so I won’t make any huge social blunders.
I was even calm when he gave me such tips as “don’t wear heavy cologne around shifters” and “don’t ask a demon their middle name.
” Things got a little shaky with “never rub your throat around a vampire unless you’re inviting a bite,” but I pulled it together for “if an incubus or succubus invites you for a hookup, set ground rules from the outset, because once you start, you’ll forget everything else.
” That last one was even kind of intriguing.
So I don’t know why the panic suddenly hit on the way home.
It seemed like the best solution would be to sit down and have a drink to calm my nerves, and fortunately, this bar was only steps away.
I’ve been here before—it’s nice and close to my place, as I said, so it’s a good place to meet up with Grindr dates while I decide if they’re safe to take home or not—but I wouldn’t call myself a regular.
The dilemma I’m facing now is whether or not to call Harold and say thanks, but no thanks.
I feel stupid even considering it, because isn’t this what I wanted?
A change from my everyday boring existence?
The job itself is something I can do with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back (metaphorically), and the money Harold offered is amazing—so much better than my current job.
Plus, it would be a new environment, with lots of exciting and interesting things to learn and see.
On the other hand, I’d be working in an office with vampires and hellhounds .
Let’s not even get into the whole demon thing.
If the devil’s not real, demons can’t be his minions, but it’s still a word that conjures up some negative images for this poor human.
And Harold’s warning about the hellhounds on my team being “rambunctious” is worrying me more and more.
I sigh and thunk my head down on the bar a few times. Maybe shaking up my brain will help me make a deci—
My forehead hits flesh.
I jerk back so suddenly that I fall backward off my barstool. Arms windmilling, I wonder how much it’s going to hurt when I hit the ground, but in the next second, someone grabs me by the shirt and hauls me back onto the stool.
I collapse onto the bar, panting a little from the adrenaline rush.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Straightening, I turn my head to look at the man beside me—my rescuer and also the reason I needed rescuing.
I have to look up a long way. This guy is big . I mean… a lot of people are tall compared to me, but the stranger beside me is inches over six feet and built . Wide shoulders. Broad chest. And muscle everywhere. He’s a fucking tank.
I tear my eyes away from that impressive torso to take in the rest of him, which is just as impressive.
His face is beautifully symmetrical and his skin a gorgeous bronze.
Deep-set dark eyes. Blue-black hair that’s just long enough for me to tell it’s silky-looking.
I’d say this guy should be in magazines, but honestly, I’m not sure whether I should cringe away or not—he saved me from falling, but either he’s pissed off or he has the worst case of resting bitch face I’ve ever seen.
He’s all scowly and glowery, and paired with his size and physique, it makes him one motherfucking scary bastard.
“Uh, it’s fine.”
“I just didn’t think you should do permanent damage to that pretty face.”
Ding. Was that my gaydar pinging? I check him out again. He’s still ginormous, and yep, still scary as fuck, but there’s something in his dark eyes and the way he’s leaning against the bar beside me, body language completely open, that makes me think he’s not actually preparing to murder me.
And in that case…
“That’s so sweet of you,” I murmur, turning toward him and smiling. A distraction could be just what I need right now. Something to clear the mind. Invigorate the body. “Can I buy you a drink as a thank-you?”
His mouth quirks into an almost-smile, and I get a glimpse of how breathtakingly good-looking he’d be if not for the resting bitch face.
Don’t get me wrong—he’s superhot even with the glower.
In fact, something about it adds to his sexiness.
But it does distract from the fact that his features are chiseled-statue perfection.
“No, but only because I was on my way over to buy you one when you decided to start beating yourself up.” There’s a hint of a question in his tone, along with a very faint lilt that makes me think either English isn’t his first language or he was raised by non-English-speaking parents. I wave a hand.
“Work problems.” It’s true enough, and he doesn’t need to hear the whole weird story. “Let’s order, and we can decide who gets to pay later.”
He slides onto the stool beside me, and the bartender is instantly there.
I mean, the place isn’t crowded, what with it being three o’clock on a workday afternoon, but she certainly wasn’t that quick off the mark when it was just me.
He ignores her flirting, though, which makes me feel a lot better.
Maybe I shoot her a smug little smirk as she walks away to get our drinks. Don’t judge me for being petty.
“I’m Sam,” I say, offering him my hand. He encloses it in his giant, warm one, shaking once before sliding away slowly, his fingers stroking over my palm.
Wowza.
“Gideon,” he replies.
“Well, Gideon, what brings you here on a workday? Are you considering a change of career too?”
He shakes his head. “No. They’ll have to pry my cold, dead corpse away from my job. But sometimes it screws with my head and I need a break to think.”
“Sure.” That makes sense, even if the way he phrased it came out kind of… weird. Like, serial killer weird. “Uh… there’ve been a lot of times I just had to get away from my colleagues before I did something I’d regret.”
He snorts, tipping his head at the bartender as she brings our drinks. “Unfortunately, I think I’m the ‘colleague’ in this scenario. My teammates told me to take a break and get out of the office before they were forced to murder me and dance on my grave.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Were those their words, or are you paraphrasing?”
He holds up a hand as though taking an oath. “Direct quote. So I decided a walk would do us all good, and then I saw the bar, so…” He shrugs.
I lift my glass toward his. “Well, it’s a lucky coincidence for me.
” We clink glasses, drink, and the conversation turns to me (“I got offered a job, but I’m having second thoughts”), his sister (“She quit her last job because they wouldn’t buy hazelnut creamer for the break room.
I still don’t know why she couldn’t bring her own”), music, the fact that he rarely watches TV, and whether or not it’s actually bad luck to cross paths with a black cat.
He’s got this blunt, grumpy kind of charm that sucks me in—like, I can tell he’s got very little patience and that when I’m waxing on about how fantastic Game of Thrones is, he really wants to tell me I’m wrong and possibly an idiot for devoting so much enthusiasm to a fictional world, but he just lets me prattle along, not quite smiling but not looking as scary as I’d bet he can.
And as we talk, we touch. It’s casual. It’s totally G-rated.
A hand on his. A pat to my arm. I grip his knee as I lean forward to explain that black cats are different .
He clasps my shoulders as he tells me no, they aren’t.
And suddenly, we’re in each other’s space and I no longer give a shit about cats, black or otherwise, or about the half-empty drinks on the bar—our third? Fourth?
Gideon’s dark eyes are locked on my face, intense, all hint of a smile gone. His huge hands are still on my shoulders, the heat burning through my shirt, and I want so badly to feel them elsewhere, directly against my skin.
“My place is just a couple blocks from here,” I whisper. I don’t really want to wait that long, but honestly, I want more from him than a few minutes in a bathroom stall. I want to get my hands and mouth all over his body.
He smiles now, but it’s not a happy smile. It’s intense and lustful and makes a shiver go down my spine.
“Let’s go.”
He puts money on the bar and whisks me off my stool and toward the door before I can protest. “Thanks,” I murmur as we step out onto the street, deciding to just accept gracefully.
“Uh, it’s this way.” The workday is coming to a close—shit, I hadn’t realized we’d been talking so long—and the sidewalk is more crowded than earlier.
Gideon sticks close, his big hand on my back and his long length pressed mostly to my side.
It’s astonishing how much easier that makes it—normally, I’d have to weave through a crowd like this, but people seem to just step aside for him.
Yet another reason I’d like to be tall. Too bad I’m not likely to get any taller.
I peer up at him. “Do you work out a lot? Or are you just naturally ripped like that?” In other words, how much of a chance is there that I can attain a similar physique? I may not be able to get taller, but I could bulk up.
I ignore the laughter in the back of my head.
Gideon’s blank stare makes me shake my head. “Never mind.” We turn off the main thoroughfare onto a slightly quieter street. “It’s just up ahead.”
“Both.”