“I’m fine,” the cat shifter says, his back to me.
Rian scans his phone over the card reader and inputs a generous tip. I should be pleased he doesn’t expect me to pay, but it bothers me instead.
I smile at the cashier. “Thank you.”
She smashes her lips together as if frantically suppressing a massive smile, muttering something that might be, “You’re very welcome,” while barely opening her mouth. I turn to scan the seating area.
All the tables are occupied, but a trio of women sitting in the corner by the window — and obviously eyeing us — stand up, giggling quietly and grinning among themselves as they heft backpacks over their shoulders.
“We’ve got a class,” a brunette with her long hair partly twisted back from her temples calls out, waving us over.
“Thanks.” I flash her a grin, causing more giggles to erupt from the next table and from two more over.
I turn back to pick up my latte, ignoring the whispers of “Do you know who that is?” and “That’s Salvatore!” and “Fuck, he’seven tastier in person!” Then, as the group moves to the exit, the first brunette says, “Who is that other guy? He’s adorable. Should we know him too?”
Rian rolls his eyes at me. “Really?”
Greg huffs, muttering under his breath, “Really.”
“You’ve only been with me for a few hours,” I say snippily to the cat shifter.
“You think you don’t have a reputation among the royal guard?” Greg snips back. Well, as snippy as he gets. “Think of the insanity of you, Bolan, Armin, and Mirth all in one place at a time.”
I’ve never really thought about it before. But I never really had any sort of infamy until after leaving school anyway. I stayed until I was twenty-one because Mirth stayed. I can barely remember what advanced degrees I accumulated enough credits to complete.
“It’s not going to get easier now,” I say. “But there will be more expendable bodies between an attacker and Mirth, so that’ll make you happy.”
“None of you are expendable,” Greg practically growls.
I’ve finally managed to piss him off.
Rian knocks my shoulder with his — a little harder than is polite — grabbing his triple espresso and crossing toward the table. The women cleared their plates and mugs, which is cool of them.
Just like that, the wolf shifter has put me in my place. Normally, I’m not a fan of being managed by anyone but Mirth. But Rian feeling comfortable enough to make an attempt at it is more amusing than annoying.
We sit. Me with my back to the rest of the cafe and Rian across from me. Greg removes the two extra chairs, placing them along the far wall, where they’re certain to be a tripping hazardon the way to the washrooms until someone else steals them for their own tables.
Only then does the cat shifter step back to the counter and order himself a drink.
Rian eyes me over the lip of his mug.
“I don’t do it deliberately,” I say, speaking in generalities because I’m not certain what to read from his expression.
“Sure you don’t,” he says. But then he flashes me another of those sort-of-sad grins, so I get that we’re being friendly.
My phone vibrates in my suit pocket. I fish it out just in case it’s Mirth.
It’s Eli.
> Just checking in.
“I’ve never had anyone check up on me as many times as Eli has in the last forty-eight hours,” I grouse. Then I dutifully send back a mini report.
In Dublin. With Rian. Waiting on his mom.
“You don’t seem to actually mind,” Rian says.
It isn’t a question. And he’s right.
