But when we get home, my apartment is filled with greenery and house cats.
Two problems.
The only plant I have is the one that was dying…and I have zero cats. I shoot Kassam a look as I step inside. Immediately, the cats swarm him, meowing and rubbing against his legs. "Did you leave the window open?" I ask, trying to hide my exasperation.
"Perhaps." He shrugs, picking up one fat, fluffy Persian and snuggling it under his chin. "They simply wish to say hello."
It's hard to stay mad at a man cuddling a cat, so I just shake my head at him. "I need to shower and get ready for work. We're ordering a pizza, and then you're going to come with me, so we need to find you shoes." I glance down at his gray sweatpants, which outline everything and leave nothing to the imagination. My mouth waters at the sight, which means they're dangerous. "And new clothes."
"I shall let you be in charge, Carly," he declares, and scoops up another cat. "I must talk with my friends."
Right.
10
"So…you and that guy."
I look up from the keg that I'm changing out. Charlie is hovering by the bar, a nervous look on his slender face. He's been avoiding me since I got here, but I thought it was because we've been absolutely slammed. I don't think I've had time to breathe since I arrived. At least the tips will be good…I hope. I frown at Charlie. "Huh?"
"You and that guy." He licks a finger and smooths an eyebrow, which strikes me as slightly bizarre. "You…together?"
"Maybe?" I say defensively. "Why?"
"I can share," he blurts. "I just…I wanted you to know that."
I stare at him. And keep staring. Charlie, last I checked, was straight. And married. "Ew?"
He puts his hands on his hips. "Look, I'm not proud, okay? I just…I'm really into him." He glances out at the crowded bar, into a particular corner of the room that I know is absolutely inhabited by one lusty god of the wild (and probably every rat in the cellar, let's be honest). "I've never felt like this before about anyone."
I can relate. Even so, I'm cringing at how awkward this is. "He's with me, Charlie. And we don't share." As Charlie's face falls, I'm glad I made Kassam promise to be monogamous. Something tells me it wasn't on the table until I asked. "We're getting married tomorrow, actually."
My co-worker looks as if he's about to cry. "Oh. Right. Okay." He turns away, flinging the bar towel over his shoulder, and then pauses. "Open marriage—"
"No," I bark. "Not open." I finish hooking in the keg and test the spout, making sure the nozzle works. "You just need to forget about him, okay?"
Charlie just stares at me, as if the thought of forgetting Kassam is impossible. I want to say that I know how he feels, but, truth is, it was a mistake coming in to work. It's made an already frustrating afternoon that much longer, and thanks to Kassam's presence, the bar is shoulder to shoulder. I glance at the back of the barroom, but I don't see him. I know he's around—I'm starting to get used to the tiny tugs on the invisible tether between us that tell me when he's moving away from me, or me moving away from him. I just have to get through today, I remind myself as I fill a glass with a draft beer and set it on the nearest tray. Then I'll call in sick to work tomorrow and…we'll figure something out. I'll tell the owner, Jim, that it's my wedding day and I need time off work. Hopefully that'll do it, even if the timing of it is lousy.
Because it's becoming very obvious to me that I can't work with Kassam around.
I'm wearing every piece of my crystal jewelry, and I'm managing not to break down into an orgasming mess. The others around me? Not quite so lucky. There's been a crowd around Kassam's table constantly as he's sat in the back, sipped drinks and ate snacks, and his sheer magnetism pulls person after person in from the street. Charlie's crush is a problem, though…as is the fact that I caught a girl trying to drag Kassam into one of the bathrooms with her. I shut that shit down fast, feeling both incredibly possessive and annoyed at the same time.
I finish filling the second beer even as Charlie opens his mouth, no doubt to ask me again about sharing my “boyfriend.” "The answer's no," I call to him over the din of people. "Whatever you're going to ask, just…no." Grabbing the tray, I head out from behind the bar and drop the drinks at one of the tables. Just a few more hours.
Mom has a plan. I texted her again after I got to work, because I've run into a snag with the marriage idea. Kassam has no identification, and we'd have to file for a marriage license. My mother has offered to handfast us, Wiccan style, and promised to spend tonight trying to read more cards. She says they're being blocked, which sounds worrying.
Almost as worrying as the fact that we were followed earlier.
"You might want to get your boyfriend, honey," a woman at the bar tells me. "He's up to no good."
I glance at the woman—middle-aged, a long cigarette hanging from full lips, and a tired expression on her face. Her dirty-blonde hair is pulled into a messy knot atop her head, and she's nursing a whiskey, neat. I open my mouth to tell her she can't smoke in the bar, but she tilts her head to the corner of the room, where I'd left Kassam with a roll of quarters for the old jukebox. All I can see is the back of his head, and someone else with him, hunched over…which is no good.
Hauling ass, I race over to the back table, threading my way through the crowd. "Kassam?"
The silver-eyed man looks up in delight at the sight of me. The thin, slightly dirty-looking man and woman with him? Less thrilled. "My light," he calls, beaming in my direction. He extends a hand out to me, which I take, pushing my way to his side. "We are just about to smoke something! What do you call it again?"
The couple looks shifty, and I notice the woman hides her lighter.
Oh no. No, no no. I shake my head, a hard, frozen feeling churning in the pit of my belly. I remember finding my father hiding out in the bathroom too many times, his lighter in hand. I remember a childhood full of missing spoons and kitchenware stolen, only to be found in the bottom of a closet, covered in foil and charred. I remember how my father's personality would change when he was smoking up. I remember being wary of coming home from school to find him itching and cranky, and how he'd always turn on me and pick everything I did apart. Fighting back nausea and old memories, I lean in to Kassam. "If you touch drugs, we are done."
He looks surprised at my anger. "You do not approve?"
"I don't do drugs. I don't want to be around anyone that does them."
Kassam studies my face. What he sees there must convince him, because he nods. "Hedonism does not have many limits. I never know what is appropriate in a mortal form and what is not. If this upsets you, I will forego it."
"It upsets me," I say tightly. I turn to the couple. "And if I catch you two smoking anything, you're banned for life. Understand?"
"Bitch," the man mutters, tucking something back into his pocket.