Page 37 of Leashed

“Always.”

Flipping through the crumpled bills in her wallet, she found the total and counted out her tip money, handing it to the clerk. “Thanks for being so quick with this.”

He grunted and slid the money into the register. “Lucky it’s a slow day. Half of my hoists were down.”

Glancing toward the bays, she held up the containers. “Is it okay if I drop these off for Bo?”

“No can do. Safety issue.” The man pushed himself off his stool. “I’ll let him know you’re here and get an ETA on your car.”

She leaned on the counter as he walked away, looking through the dirty window at the bays and catching sight of Bo atop a ladder, his cargos riding dangerously low under the weight of his tools while he messed around with something at the top of a steel column. When the manager approached him, he slid more tools into his pockets and descended the ladder, gesturing toward different areas of the lift and shaking his head.

He looked toward the office window and she ducked her head down, feigning interest in the faded posters on the wall until he crossed the shop and entered the office.

“The kid’s just torqueing the lug nuts and you’ll be good to go,” Bo said, wiping his hands on his pants. “So how does your night look?”

“Nixon’s working and I took a shift at the lounge because I know how to have a good time,” she said with a smile, passing the take-out containers to him. “Dinner. For saving me the expense of summer and winter rims.”

A strange look crossed his face before he opened one and nodded in approval. “Thanks. I’m due for a break. Want to hang out in my truck for a few?”

Nodding, she followed him into the shop. “I’m not supposed to be in here.”

“I’ve got bay five’s power pack disconnected. If anyone says anything, good fricken luck to them getting that one up and running.”

She stayed tight to him, admiring the new tires on her car as they passed. “Those look a little meaner than the ones I thought I ordered.”

He shrugged, slapping at the button to raise an overhead door. “They were probably low on inventory for the other one and had to switch them out. Happens a lot.” He popped the passenger door open for her, starting the engine as soon as he was in. “This smells really good. Where did you pick it up?”

“Across the street. The fries are amazing, but the coffee was weak, weak, weak.”

He reached into the back seat and grabbed a rag and a bottle of water and did a rough wash-down of his hands. “Grab all the fries you want, then,” he said, opening both containers and pursing his lips. “Damn, that looks good. You eat for the whole two hours?”

Plucking a fry out, she shook her head. “Wasted the entire time watching videos on their Wi-Fi and reading clickbait articles. Basically caffeinating and being a slug.” She pulled her phone from her purse, checked to ensure she was still connected to the weak Wi-Fi of the restaurant, and opened an app. “Did you see this?”

He swallowed his food, his jaw twitching as he watched the video of the huge black hound dodging cars in the night, its movements almost intentional in their precision. “That’s f…messed up.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, pulling up a second one. “It’s like it’s playing. Tempting fate or something. But wow. Lucky no one was hurt. Damn dog.”

He snorted and took a swig of his water bottle. “Dogs are jerks.”

*

Bo pulled intohis apartment parking lot, slamming his brakes when Clotho stepped in from of his truck. “What the hell, C? I could’ve hit you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t.”

Of course she did.

Backing into his spot, he got out and locked up, flinching when the Fate shoved a torn paper into his face. “I want to experience this,” she commanded as he took the concert flyer from her hand. “My topside companions have tickets.”

“Topside companions?” He grinned, leading her inside. “Is that what you call the humans you’re studying while you’re on this little inter-realm exchange?” Reading over the names of the bands playing, he chuckled. “You sure you like speed metal?”

She followed him into the apartment, unwinding her multitudes of scarves. “Yes.”

Shrugging, he walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on, calling out to her over the rushing water. “Give me ten minutes.”

Eight minutes later, he was tossing on a pair of shredded jeans and a shirt with a good mix of anarchy and sex on the emblem.

“That isn’t appropriate courting wear,” Clotho stated, looking him over. “Change.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Tell me you aren’t setting me up with one of your subjects.”

“No. Now change.”

Pressing her for more information would be futile. The Fate’s tongue never loosened unless she chose to loosen it. Arguing with her was just as pointless, so he walked into Ryan’s room, flicking on the light as he stood in the doorway.

Nothing of his brother was visible. The room was hotel-barren, every flat surface cleared of anything personal. He strode past the dresser, opening and closing a few empty drawers until he hit the closet.

Three of Ryan’s button-downs hung neatly on the rod, a crisply folded paper tucked into the breast pocket of one. He shrugged the short-sleeved one on, leaving the others in Ryan’s closet as he unfolded the note.

Stop stealing my stuff. Hang these up or learn how to use an iron.–R

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