Chapter Eight #2
Shit. Kel tightened his grip on the glass in annoyance. It was like he was hungry and standing in front of an open fridge, but he couldn’t put his finger on what he wanted to eat.
“And leave you alone,” he said. “I mean, you’re used to it, but…”
Warwick flinched and then leaned toward him. The mask on her face (caul) came apart in shreds and tatters that melted on Kel’s tongue like meaty sugar.
“Did she—”
That.
He wanted that exact smoky, hickory taste, even as it made the back of his throat itch and his head hurt. All he needed was for her to finish the thought and…
A hand brushed against the small of his back, up under his shirt. Warm, rough-callused fingertips grazed over his skin.
“I’ll be honest, when you texted, I assumed it was pleasure,” Shepherd said as he leaned against Kel. He gave Warwick a nod. “This looks more like business?”
Warwick took a shaky breath. It didn’t seem to help. She shook her head and stepped back, then did it again.
“It’s neither,” her voice thick and sluggish. She grimaced and put a hand up to her head. The bottle she was holding nearly smacked her in the face, and she pulled back, narrowing her eyes at it for a moment before she looked at Kel suspiciously. “Then you put something in my drink?”
The accusation cut through the heady daze of a good day and the smoke. Kel scowled in offense as he straightened up, the weight of Shepherd’s hand sliding from his back down to his hip.
“You’re not my type, Warwick,” he said. “It’s not my fault you can’t hold your booze.”
Except…
Was it?
That was a stupid question. Kel ignored the itch of it in the back of his head as he scowled down at Warwick. She put her hand on her hip, fingers curling against pleather instead of canvas as she remembered she was out of uniform.
“It’s a fucking beer, Laker.” She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and took another backward step. “And I wouldn’t…you stay out of my way. Hear me? You don’t fool me. Fuck. You don’t fool anyone for long.”
Her gaze cut over Kel’s shoulder to Shepherd, and she gave him a hard look.
“You’ll find that out soon enough,” she said. “Whether you’re part of this latest sad grift or not, he’ll fuck you over. He can’t help himself. Ask anyone.”
She turned on her heel and left, staggering as she pushed her way through the crowd. Kel stared after her, the taste still on his tongue even as something in his—not his stomach, but somewhere deeper—twisted with resentful hunger.
“What was that about?” Shepherd asked as he stepped past Kel. He leaned one elbow on the bar and picked up Warwick’s abandoned beer.
“You’re not worried I slipped something in there?” Kel asked sourly, still stinging from that jab. It wasn’t the first time someone had slung an accusation at him in a bar, but that one had stung.
Shepherd just snorted at the question and took a drink.
Either he had faith in Kel’s good character, or his own ability to handle hard substances. It was probably the latter, knowing Shepherd for all of a week, but… as Kel watched Shepherd drink, he was a bit surprised to realize it’d mean…something…if Shepherd trusted him.
And not because it would make the grift easier.
…not just because it would make the grift easier.
“Warwick was that kid who took being a hall monitor seriously,” Kel said dismissively. “She’s never gotten over that.”
Shepherd quirked an eyebrow and lowered the bottle. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“You’re lucky that I think you’re cute when you lie. Shepherd set the beer down on the bar and reached out to hook his fingers into the waistband of Kel’s jeans. He tugged Kel closer as he went on his tiptoes, his breath warm and sweet against Kel’s jaw. “So, about that text? Business or pleasure?”
Kel wrapped his hand around Shepherd’s waist and bent down into an almost-kiss, teasing it just above Shepherd’s parted lips.
“Can’t it be both?” he asked.
Shepherd narrowed those ridiculously blue eyes as he tilted his head back. “In that case,” he said. “...do you know anything about how to fix the starter motor on a lawn mower?”
That was random.
Kel flicked through the Rolodex of polished lies that would slide him through the conversation to what he wanted in the least possible time. It ranged from ‘I could start your motor’ to ‘no’, but something in the middle was probably the better—
“I could try.”
That sounded like him. Or rather, it didn’t sound like him, but Kel was pretty sure that he had just said it. He could feel the shape of the words in his mouth. In fact, he had to clench his jaw to keep what felt like an offer to ‘have a look’ from getting past his teeth.
It made the smoke recoil in disgust and sink back down under his skin. The withdrawal of its scorching confidence left him cold. Goosebumps prickled on his arms.
“Huh,” Shepherd said thoughtfully. “Funny. That is almost hotter than the lying, but… It can wait.”
He tightened his grip on Kel’s belt and pulled him away from the bar. They headed toward the dance floor. Kel grimaced as he put his arm out to block an over-enthusiastic drunk from grapevining back into them.
“I don’t dance,” he said.
Shepherd gave him an amused glance back over his shoulder. “Knees,” he said. “I remember. But the fire door out to the alley is over there.”
He pointed.
It was.
Kel stopped resisting.