Page 63 of Marked by the Demigod

She quickly leans back, reaching out and grabbing him by his lapels, the fabric silky soft in her hands. "Wait," she blurts out. "Can I text you? Now that I have the number?"

His face spasms, as if he's desperate to frown but doesn't want to. "Don't put my name in the phone, or any identifying information?" He whines.

She pulls him a smidgen closer by his collar, and his eyes widen at the movement, just a touch, and she can't tell if it's annoyance or excitement. In some foreign corner of her brain she makes a note to tie him up next time she has him in her bed. "Deal." And she presses her lips against his, for just a second, before the sound of the key card click against the lock.

He jerks back, nods once, and disappears.

Aimes breathes, her heart pounding, as Trixie futzes with the lock twice, before the door clicks open.

Trixie stops immediately inside the door, raising a single well manicured eyebrow. "Phone call go okay?" She asks, dumping her purse on the bed.

Right.

"I'll have to remote access their computers, they're not happy about that," Aimes bullshits. "French guys annoy you?"

Trixie huffs. "They were Indonesian. And after you left this Russian guy came up and started asking questions about you."

Her heart turns over.

She's going to get him to talk about his brothers, and soon.

"Me?" She asks, glancing in the mirror, checking her makeup.

"He seemed nice, but weird? Asked if you had a boyfriend, if you were from around here, that sorta thing." She lays out a glittering silver dress and stares at it, pursing her lips.

"Did you say anything?"

"Oh fuck no, I told him you were from the ass end of Minnesota. Too slutty?" She gestures to the dress, holding up a pair of shimmering holographic heels.

Aimes see-saws with her hand. "Not too slutty, but you're heading there. And thanks."

Trixie's face softens into a smile. "Come on. I know better than that. Even if there's weird stuff going on. That you won't tell me." She pulls out a pair of scarlet heels. "Better?"

"Better." Aimes confirms. "And just..." she trails off, unaware of how to continue.

"Just something’s going on, it's secret, and I get it." Trixie interrupts. "That's cool, that's fine." She starts to change, shimmying into the dress. "Just next time say its something secret instead of programming shit, that's boring. I wanna pretend that you're some government agent bent on hacking."

The corners of her mouth twist up without her control. "Deal."

Trixie shoots her a grateful smile, then tsks at her. "Please tell me you got a slutty dress."

Aimes scrambles to her luggage. "It's more leggy than booby, but it'll work." It's forest green and a turtleneck, but barely hugs to the tops of her thighs. "Shouldn't we get actual dinner before strippers?" She unclips the necklace, but still, it twinges around her heart the moment the clasp falls off.

Trixie nods, almost thoughtful. "Strippers are tomorrow night. Buffet than gambling irresponsibly?"

* * *

In the buffet,with plates upon plates in front of them, Aimes looks up to see Iakov sitting across the hall, his eyebrows raised, as if alarmed.

She raises an eyebrow back at him, he shakes his head, signaling her to stay.

She's hyper aware of his gaze through the entire dinner, as if his direct attention was burning through her and pressing against the back of her neck, and she just wants to slide next to him and press into his body and...

...And she doesn't know. She's here with Trixie, and it'd be unfair for her to ignore her for a hookup. Even if it is a hookup with the person she's technically married to and...

She scowls into her plate of crab meat, before reaching for her beer. It's like she has actual feelings for him, not just the artificial feelings that come from the magical...thing...he did.

The surreptitious glances over to Iakov shows that he is very concerned with how she looks, and does nothing for her peace of mind.

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