Page 17 of Root

Dante meows loudly. Exactly, little bro, exactly. “Isn’t the cat enough?”

“Maybe he wants a sibling.” Nikolai laughs. “I don’t know. I just thought, maybe I could go and reverse the snip I had years ago for her. Though…this world…”

Yeah, he’s terrified of bringing a child into the world. We’ve all had fucked up lives. Mine may be slightly better than Rose’s because Nikolai gave me stability, love, a home, but I get it. The world isn’t kind, and bringing a kid into our world of death and destruction and violence? Yeah.

Nikolai would also do anything for Rose, even face his demons.

“If she wants them,” I say.

“If.” Then he shakes his head.

“Christ, am I actually considering this? I must be if I’m talking to you about this bullshit.” He ruffles my hair. “Have fun. We won’t be out too long.”

As he leaves, I meet Dante’s eyes. “Famous last words.”

Eloise Fenton isn’t my type. She’s old money, but she’s been flirting with me for ages, so I asked her out. She’s also gorgeous, so…

I park at the far edge of the lot, right near the exit. Old habits die hard. Bunny Munroe is a dive with a slight upscale vibe, cool enough that moneyed kids love it, like slumming it in comfort.

It’s on Smith family territory, so it’s keeping with Nikolai’s warning. I’m not a kid anymore, so when he gives out warnings like this, low and off-hand, I pay attention. Ally territory it is.

Punk music, old school—I’m pretty fucking sure it’s the Sex Pistols on about anarchy in the UK pours out the door as some dude stumbles out.

When I head inside, the girl behind the bar winks at me. She’s got cat eye liner, tats everywhere, and a black sports bra beneath a thin, torn white shirt with ‘Bukowski was a jerk!!!’ written on it.

I pull up a barstool just as a pretty, brown-haired girl comes in. I don’t get to ask what she’s got against Bukowski apart from his misogynistic streak, because the girl, Eloise, sits next to me and gives me a powdery sweet flower kiss. She’s wearing white jeans and a pastel pink floral shirt, the complete antithesis of this place.

The bartender raises both brows at me and gives an exaggerated nod of approval.

“Rush,” Eloise says. “I got lost finding this place. How are you?”

“I’m good—”

“What’ll it be?” The female bartender leans across the bar, and the swell of her heavy tits are visible and tattooed. She taps a hand covered in rings of the thick, heavy, goth and punk type on the wood. “Two white wine spritzers?”

“A whisk—”

“That would be wonderful,” Eloise speaks all over me. She giggles. “Not much of a drinker.”

“Light,” says the bartender in a low, smoky voice that slips into me, “on the wine, heavy on the seltzer.”

She turns her back on me, and what I took for an asymmetrical, long pixie dyed a dark red is an edgy pixie with a buzz undercut.

“Or would you ladies both prefer seltzer?” she asks. This chick is annoying. Hot, but annoying.

“That!” Eloise smiles.

“Two seltzers—”

“And a whisky back,” I say, “for me.”

The bartender winks at me again. It’s like flirting in boxing form; quick powered jabs. It’s hot….and I’m not here for her.

“A man who lives on the edge,” she says, almost purring. “I like it.”

She takes off to get the drinks, and Eloise starts to tell me about her day, then her week. Her parakeet. I placate myself with thoughts of her bouncing on my cock later.

I bet her pussy is tight. Then my mind drifts to whether she swallows. Maybe she could be buttoned up in public and a freak behind closed doors. Now I imagine her tied up, O-ring in to shut her endless talk the fuck up, and her bouncing hard on my cock.

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