Page 2 of My Karmic Destiny

I rinse out my mouth and pat my face dry. Kurtis is keenly watching me. We’ve had our flirty moments, and we’ve also had some pretty screwed up interactions. Like when I, kind of, sort of, killed him. Just a little bit. It isn’t like he stayed dead for long.

Kurtis is more complicated and broken than his playboy jock persona would suggest. I sense he was wounded in his pastbefore becoming an agent, and Instant Karma only made that worse by feeding off his soul.

She fed off all our souls. That was her gimmick. Damage us when she showed up at a potential death moment, so we would take her deal to be her indentured servants.

I want to reach out and give Kurtis some comfort, but it isn’t my place. He might take it as an advance, and that’s a no-go. Dante and I are official now. I’m not going to cheat on my guy in the literal house of Karma. I’m not that fucking stupid.

“I haven’t seen much of you since…” he trails off.

“Since our world exploded?” I nod and pack up my things. “I guess Dante and I have been?—”

Kurtis cuts me off. “In your fuck-bunny phase.”

My brow pulls together, unsure if this is some sort of attack or Kurtis just being the dude-bro he can be.

“So you two are a thing now, huh?” he asks with a note of irritation.

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?” I’ve always picked up bisexual vibes from him, and I’m not sure if he’s upset about me or Dante being taken.

“Nah.” He waves me off. “I’m happy you two found some happiness after all the crap you both had in your life.”

Oh, that was sweeter than I thought his response was going to be. Perhaps I should start dropping my defensive attitude. Not everything has to be a fight.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone, too.” Even as I say it, the words feel empty.

“I thought I’d already found someone,” he says cryptically and then walks out of the bathroom without using the facilities.

I shrug it off. I can’t deal with Kurtis’s love life or lack thereof. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

When I return, Megan is in the hallway outside my room, her arms folded under her perky chest and looking pouty.

“Dante kick you out?” I ask, but I know the answer.

She huffs. “We should leave in five minutes.” She looks me up and down and finds me wanting in my robe and towel wrapped hair. “Can you put yourself together by then?”

“Death isn’t the sort of jerk that expects me to be all dolled up for the job, is he?”

Megan rolls her eyes. “No, but I wouldn’t show up looking like crap. He expects respect. Heisthe god of death. Don’t fuck with him.”

“Didn’t plan on it.”

I slip into my room and find Dante sliding on a pair of gray sweatpants. Silky black hair falls forward over his brow and ice-blue eyes, making him look roguish as he looks up at me through his thick lashes. His bronze, muscular chest is on display, and I lick my lips, wondering if I could sneak in a quickie.

“Don’t give me that look, babe,” Dante purrs and struts over, pulling me into his warm embrace.

Being in his arms, I’m pretty sure I’ve died and gone to heaven. I inhale his tantalizing sandalwood and clove scent and sigh, wishing I could take a bite of him.

“As much as I want to bend you over and sink into you, you shouldn’t piss off your new boss on your first day.” He offers me a kiss that leaves my head foggy with desire.

“Come on, newb,” Megan calls through the door.

“If this is how my days are starting, I might ask if I can work for Original Gangster Karma instead,” I whisper to Dante.

He chuckles and places his thumb over my lips. “Don’t do that until I find out what the hell that entails. I’m a bit nervous about what she expects from me.”

I’d tell him it will be okay, but I can’t. I might have known Carmen, aka OG Karma, as a kooky mentor when I was a teenage runaway, but I don’t know what she expects as a boss god.

I’m presentable enough within my five-minute window and meet Megan in the hallway. My dark, thick, and damp hair is pulled into a low ponytail. I have my phone and wallet tucked into a crossbody purse, and I’m dressed casually in a silky top and dark jeans.

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