Chapter Nine #9
Rio’s gray-green eyes flashed with amusement. “As long as you’re the one biting.”
“I’m discovering a lot of interesting things about you today.” He leaned back slightly, feeling the heat of his mate’s body through the fabric.
Rio rested his chin on Kevin’s shoulder. It was so domestic, yet everything he craved.
“Tell me again why you care. My brain, not me, still thinks this isn’t real.”
“Because you’re mine, Kevin. Because you’re a fighter. Because I see the vulnerability you try to shield with sarcasm. Because you make me want to be a better man.”
“Jesus,” Kevin whispered. The words were so simple, but the conviction in Rio’s tone kept surprising him. “Now I feel like I have to reciprocate and my mind is a complete blank.”
“Sorry I shoved you. That was very childish.”
“That explains why you hit like one.” Rio was definitely teasing him.
Kevin’s mouth twisted. “Have you ever wrestled an impala? Didn’t think so. My animal could kick your ass.” As long as Rio stayed in human form. If he shifted, Kevin was running.
“Is that an offer?” Rio’s lips curled into a wolfish…cat-like… grin.
Kevin tried not to be charmed, but a smile crept in. “You really are an asshole.”
“And you’re in my bathroom.”
“Technically, it’s the restaurant’s bathroom.” Kevin glanced around, ready to get out of there. “We’ll declare this a draw, pussycat.”
“I can live with that.”
“I don’t want to run anymore,” Kevin said in a softer tone. “I want to put in the hard work. Just don’t expect an overnight miracle.”
Rio slid his hand down Kevin’s arm. “I’m just glad you’re willing to stay.”
Kevin snorted. “There you go, saying things that melt me while I stand here with a blank brain.”
“I don’t expect you to reciprocate. I’m just speaking the truth.”
That’s what he appreciated the most. Rio’s honesty. It made Kevin feel like he had at least one person he could trust. And for someone who was used to people lying to him, it was a gift he would treasure.
Chapter Six
Kevin was not admitting it out loud, but this was the calmest he had been in months. His anxiety still surfaced, but he was sitting in a kitchen that smelled like cinnamon rolls. No one could feel anxious with that smell lingering in the air.
Closed for the night, Glass Oak was quieter than any restaurant he’d ever worked in. The dining room lights were off, but the kitchen lights remained on.
A half-dozen sheet pans lined the long counter, covered with the mess of after-dinner cleanup—a little marinara splattered onto the tile, a graveyard of silverware soaking in a deep pan, and a stack of tomorrow’s prep lists already curling at the edges from spilled water.
Kevin wiped a bar rag over the counter and watched the streak of red sauce vanish. Upstairs, Rio was doing his end-of-day accounting or maybe catching up on whatever restaurant owners did at the end of the day.
Part of Kevin wanted to go up there, plant himself on his mate’s lap, and mess up his stack of papers as they made out. You need to stop thinking about his dick every five minutes and let him do his work.
Kenai wound a towel around his fist and scrubbed at a stubborn spot on the stove.
“If Rio had a weakness, it’d be this grease spot right here,” he declared, throwing his whole back into the job.
“Guy hates messes. If he walked in and saw this, he’d launch into the importance of a cleanly workspace.
” He grinned with a sidelong glance at Kevin.
“You know he hired me because I actually know how to clean a grill. He claims it’s my ‘sense of order.’ Like, dude, the minimum bar for me is not setting the kitchen on fire. ”
“I bet Rio has a secret inspection flashlight,” Kevin said, stacking clean ramekins in a pyramid on the drying mat. “Pretty sure he hides it somewhere. At closing he sweeps through like the health inspector but with less personality.”
Kenai snorted. “He does. I caught him once poking around the walk-in after hours. He was talking to himself about cross-contamination. Like how you can catch salmonella from a lettuce leaf. I’m immune. My last roommate’s fridge was so moldy I’m basically indestructible.”
The hours after dinner service were always like this: informal, a little slap-happy, and only as professional as the people cleaning up.
Kevin liked the way Kenai rambled about everything from the price of detergent to the upcoming football schedule, all while pitching utensils into the dish bin with deadeye accuracy.
He also liked not being alone. It was nice having a friend to talk to. Kenai made it easy, talking like they’d known each other for years. The guy even had resting mischief face, like he was one good punchline away from winding up on a security camera.
Kevin dunked his hands into the bus tub he’d filled with clean, soapy water. The mundane task of sorting forks from knives kept his hands busy and his mind at ease.
“So how’d you end up here?” Kenai asked. “Not Glass Oak. I mean Crimson Hollow. No offense, but you don’t have that ‘born and raised in a place with a single traffic light’ vibe.”
Kevin wiped his hands off, gazing at the steam fogging up the window above the sink. “I was getting away from something,” he said then shrugged. “Nothing exciting. Just a guy who tried to run my life because his dick was too small.”
Kenai’s brows shot up. “That’s…wow.”
“Overshare?” Kevin snickered. “Sorry.”
“Dude, I get it. My best friend in high school used to date this guy who thought he was King Shit of the Football Field. She broke up with him, and suddenly he’s following her around town, slashing her tires, and threatening her, like being a menace is a desirable quality.
” Kenai poured detergent into the dish machine.
“Guys like that need to learn how to take no for an answer.”
“Yeah, Izan didn’t get the memo.”
Kenai flashed a look at Kevin. “Wait. That’s the psycho from the club parking lot you told me about?”
“No, it was one of Izan’s goons, Ameer.” Kevin’s leg bounced under the edge of the prep table. “Izan is the one who struck me.”
“Shit. You okay? You didn’t mention he hit you.” Kenai actually stopped what he was doing. That meant a lot since he seemed to run on continual motion.
Kevin shrugged, acting like it hadn’t scared him. “I’m tough. Takes more than a jerk with rejection issues to rattle me.”
Kenai made a noise, something close to admiration. “If someone had popped me in the face, I’d cry until my mom drove me home.”
The admission surprised Kevin. “Moms are like that.”
“Yeah, they are.”
“Rio’s a pretty good guy.” Kevin washed a cutting board. “And I like it here. There’s something about this place makes me settled.”
Kenai closed the oven door with his hip. “I know the feeling.” He tossed the bar towel onto a hook. “When I came in for my interview, Rio fed me instead, more interested in my animal than my skills..”
“What do you shift into?” Kevin was genuinely curious.
Kenai grinned. “Guess.”
“Not a wolf,” Kevin said. “I can smell the difference. Something less mainstream, but with an edge.”
Kenai tapped his nose. “I’m a maned wolf.
The name is misleading. I’m not a wolf. And my shifted form looks just like a fox, but with stilts, but I’m not a fox either.
I had a very confusing childhood,” he joked.
“It’s just easier to say ‘maned wolf’ than ‘giant demon fox/not fox with a goth fur collar.’”
“You gotta show me some time,” Kevin said. “Honestly though, I think I saw one on Animal Planet. They look like the dog version of a flamboyant drag queen.”
“Thank you! Finally someone gets it.” Kenai smiled.
“It’s nice not to have to hide what I am.
Amy and Tyler are human, so we have to be careful what say around them, you know?
You also have to be careful about dropping food.
” Kenai leaned in and whispered, “If you accidently drop the expensive meat on the floor, especially steak, the skin under Rio’s eyes will start twitching, which means he’s marked you for death and will gladly stuff you in the walk-in. ”
Kevin saw the mischief in Kenai’s eyes and decided to play along.
“Is that what happened to the last chef?” he asked, sucking in a breath. “Kenai, this is important. Did Rio eat the last guy?”
“Pfft. If he did, the police would never find out. His techniques for hiding evidence are legendary.”
“He told me he has a collection of bodies in his basement. Should I be worried? Is that a red flag?”
Their laughter filled the quiet kitchen. Even exhausted, Kevin noticed he felt better. Lighter. Like the tension he lived under from Izan’s threat had taken the day off.
Kenai caught him watching the window. “You good?”
“Mostly,” Kevin said. “I’m trying, but some scars run deep.”
“Trauma stuff.” Kenai shrugged. “Not your fault, man.”
“Is this your side hustle?” Kevin chuckled. “Amateur therapist?”
Kenai grinned. “No, just a trauma connoisseur myself. Racked up a few years in the foster system before someone adopted me.” He reached for the fridge. “You want something to help you chill out?”
Kevin blinked at that, but curiosity got the better of him. “Like what?”
Kenai tipped his head toward the walk-in. “Trust me. I got you.”
“What is it?” Kevin squinted warily, but it didn’t stop a smile from creeping up. “If you tell me it’s a healing tonic, I’m going to launch myself into the sun.”
“Nothing weird.” Kenai disappeared into the walk-in. A loud clatter filtered back, followed by a metallic bang and then a soft “damn it” under his breath. A few seconds later, he emerged with a small blue can. It read, in lurid neon letters, Black Lightning.
Kevin took it, turning it over in both hands. “Energy drink?”
“Nope. It’s the opposite. Nonalcoholic but loaded with things that reset your nervous system. Not FDA approved, but that’s only because of the caffeine loophole. Drink half if you want to chill, the whole thing if you want to sleep twenty hours.”
“Isn’t that just…drugs?”