Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Alistair
“When I kill you,” Sam says in a conversational tone nine hours later, “I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt, because you’re my best friend.”
“Awww.” I sink deeper into the couch cushions, not sure if I should be grateful or offended. “Why are you killing me, again?”
“Alistair.” He stops to take a long swig from the bottle of brew in his hand. “There is a bubble machine in my living room. And a fog machine. There are bubbles drifting in fog in my living room .”
I look around and smile in satisfaction.
The room is really mellow and chill. A great way for Sam to relax and me to enjoy my last night off before what’s probably going to be an intense assignment.
“Isn’t it great? I was going to get one of those laser light machine things, but I thought it might be overkill. ”
He chokes. “Overkill? Really? The lights would have been overkill?” He lifts the bottle to his mouth and drains it.
That’s his third, which I’m kind of happy about.
Drunk Sam is a lot of fun. On the other hand, he does have to go to work tomorrow, and the last time he went to work hungover, Gideon nearly murdered me.
I won’t be here by the time Gideon finds out, but he does know where I live, so…
“Do you want some cake yet? I got cake and ice cream for dessert.”
“In a minute,” he replies. “First I want to pretend I don’t hate you for this… this… whatever this is and be a good best friend.”
“You’re always a good best friend,” I assure him. “Even when you and Gideon lock me out and I have to sit on your doorstep feeling abandoned until you let me in.”
Sam holds up a finger. “Gimme just one second.” He scrambles up from the couch and goes over to the food table I set up against the wall. Beneath it is a tub full of ice and drinks. He grabs another brew.
“Are you sure you want to do that, Sam?” Ellie calls from where she’s curled in the window seat, talking to Noah. “You might regret it tomorrow.”
“I need fortification right now,” he replies, popping the top and coming back over to the couch.
Everyone turns to look at me.
I shrug. “I don’t know why,” I say, and my beloved cousin who used to cover for me sometimes when I got into trouble starts to laugh.
Sam plunks himself back down beside me. “Okay, now I’m ready. Let’s talk about the fact that you’re traveling across the country and will be working with Aidan.”
I take a sip from my soda—I’ve reached my alcohol limit for the night before an important assignment. “What are we talking about?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Really?”
It’s terrible when your bestest bestie knows you so well that you can’t even hide from yourself.
“It’s fine. He was right, and I need to deal with that. Still being angry about it is stupid. You’re here and safe, and that’s all that matters.”
“I mean,” Sam says, “I’ll always be super grateful for the way you stood up for me, and I love that you care enough to actually be pissed off about this, but yeah, compelling the shift was the right decision in the end, and it all worked out.
So why are you still angry? Especially when,” he continues, not giving me a chance to reply, “Aidan has been so supportive and helpful to me while I’ve been learning about my new self.
I would have thought you’d be grateful to him for helping me. ”
I wait a beat to make sure he’s done. “I am grateful that he’s helped you,” I reply.
“I’m also grateful that he was there and able to compel your first shift when it turned out that was the safest option.
I know being angry is stupid. Maybe it’s just leftover from how scared I was right then. I can’t help my feelings.”
“Feelings,” Sam muses. “Feeeeeeeelings.” He looks at me and quirks a brow.
“What?” Maybe letting him get that fourth brew was a mistake.
“I’m just saying, you can’t help your feelings, but maybe they’re not the feelings you think they are.”
It takes me a few seconds to work my way through that, but then I make a sound that surprises us both.
“You think I have feelings for him?” I hiss. “Like, feeeeeelings?”
Sam shrugs. “Maybe. It’s easy to confuse a crush with other emotions.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re drunk. I don’t even know him. The first time I met him was that day in Percy’s office. We’ve never had a one-on-one conversation.”
“Since when is a deep personal connection needed for a crush?” Sam asks altogether too reasonably.
Motherfucker, is he right ? Could I have a crush on Aidan Byrne?
“Who’s got a crush?” Andrew asks, leaning over the back of the couch.
“We’re not sure,” Sam says before I can stop him. “It’s still under consideration.”
“Does Alistair have a crush?” Elinor demands delightedly. “Tell me everything!” She abandons Noah and practically skids across the room, diving into the space between me and Sam and snuggling in. “Right, talk. Who? Do I know them? Have you fucked them yet?”
Noah groans. “Don’t tell me it’s the guy you made me text today. Because if he texts back after what I said to him, I don’t think he’s got enough self-worth to be in a relationship.”
“There’s no one,” I insist. “Sam’s been drinking, and he’s so in love that he’s seeing hearts everywhere he looks.”
“But—” Sam begins.
“Are we ready for cake? And then karaoke.”
There’s a combination of cheers and groans, and Andrew starts chanting “Cake, cake, cake,” distracting everyone from the stupid turn the conversation had taken.
I don’t get crushes. Seriously, I don’t.
I’ve never had a crush in my life, because if I feel even an inkling of attraction to someone, I go for it.
What’s the worst that can happen? They say no?
So what? I move on to the next person I find attractive.
There’s nothing sexy about someone who’s not interested in you.
And I haven’t had real feelings for anyone for a very long time… and never will again.
So this idea that I might have a crush on Aidan Byrne… it’s ridiculous.
I creep out of Sam’s place early the next morning to make it to the airport on time.
The others are still sacked out unconscious—I wore them out with my epic round-robin karaoke tournament.
They just didn’t have the stamina to keep up with me, although Ellie and Andrew certainly gave me a run for my money.
Who knew he could do a falsetto like that?
Before I go, I turn the bubble machine back on. What better way to wake up the morning after a big night than to bubbles? I debate turning on the fog machine too but decide against it. Fog is moody, whereas bubbles are just fun.
I gobble down half a dozen Pop-Tarts while I wait for my ride.
A proper breakfast would be nice, but I didn’t want to risk waking everyone.
Mostly because some of them drank a little too much last night and might blame me for it.
It’s totally not my fault that they agreed to the karaoke tournament rules and then sucked at it, requiring them to chug a whole bottle of brew every time they lost a round.
Still, better they don’t see me until the hangover is gone. I can get more to eat at the airport. The first-class lounge always has food.
Yep, we’re flying first class. It’s kind of necessary.
First, because I’m six foot five and not slimly built, which means cramming into a seat in coach is torture not only for me but also for whoever gets stuck next to me.
Also, shifters have very sharp senses, particularly smell and hearing.
Flying is uncomfortable for us under the best conditions, what with being stuck in a vibrating tin can with recirculated air and engine noise.
First class makes it slightly easier, what with the extra space.
I checked in online, and I only have carry-on luggage, so I go directly to the lounge, where I’m greeted with smiles and a chirpy “Welcome, Mr. Smythe.” It’s so nice to be appreciated.
I smile back and wish the desk attendants a pleasant day, then make my way through the early business crowd in the lounge, keeping an eye out for an empty seat.
“Alistair.”
It’s not a yell—hellhound hearing is sharp enough that it doesn’t need to be. But only another community member would know that, and I recognize the voice anyway, even before I turn.
Aidan lifts his chin as my gaze lands on him, then tilts his head toward the cushy armchair beside him, currently occupied by a laptop bag. He’s saved me a seat.
I should be grateful for that, shouldn’t I? Why, then, am I feeling only a kind of restless, gnawing energy?
Yesterday, I would have called that annoyance. I would have said I was still pissed off about how Aidan so cavalierly suggested compelling my bestie to shift.
Today, after said bestie planted other ideas in my head, I can’t help wondering if annoyance is the wrong word.
I make myself smile in acknowledgment and head in that direction. I’ll say good morning, dump my stuff, and hit the buffet.
As I approach, I study him the way I would someone I met in a bar or a grocery store or fire station.
I can’t deny that he’s attractive. He’s got a typical cat build, lithe and lean, much shorter than me—maybe five eight?
His skin is fair, almost translucently so in the way the Irish often are, but his features are sharp in a way that’s both compelling and almost difficult to look at.
His hair is the color of toffee, golden brown with just a hint of red when the light hits it, and his eyes are nearly the same color—a brown so light it looks like old gold.
So, yeah, if he was just a random person I’d met at the pet store, I’d have come on to him.
He’s attractive even before you factor in the special aura being the species leader of all shifters has given him.
Maybe Sam’s not wrong. Maybe it’s not anger and dislike I’ve been feeling all this time.
I come to a stop in front of the pair of chairs, and he reaches across to move his bag for me. “Hi,” I say. “Thanks for this.” I nod to the chair as I put my bag in it. “I’m just going to grab something to eat—can I get you anything?”
He shakes his head. “Thanks, but I’ll go when you get back. You won’t be able to carry for both of us.”
That’s true, since I plan to load two or three plates for myself. “I won’t be long,” I promise and then hightail it away. I’m actually kind of ashamed of how relieved I feel to be walking away from him.
This is not good.