Chapter 9

9

Gabriel watched Chuck watch him as he placed the dog bowl in the kennel. The dog's butt was glued to the floor but his tail swept side to side. Brown eyes melted as Gabriel stepped back.

"Now, wait," Gabriel cautioned, having done this routine before. "Wait. We're not having a repeat of yesterday."

The dog's tail picked up until it was a blur.

"Chuck..." Gabriel hardened his tone. "Don't—"

As if shot from a cannon, Chuck launched forward, his joy too much to bear.

It was, Gabriel thought, trying to be philosophical as he lay under the wriggling Labrador, a work in progress. Like his entire life.

Dealing with things was so much harder without magic. He had to respect humans for that alone. Just because he thought magic should be kept secret didn't mean he couldn't acknowledge they had to be tough to get through daily life. Or deal with the ever-elusive toaster. He'd bought twelve now, all still refusing to work.

"Goodnight!"

Gabriel shut the door on Chuck happily burying his face in his kibble and swiveled to see Mitch and Frankie heading toward him. The two humans had made a point of searching him out to have a conversation whenever they shared the same shift. It was strange.

Mitch was shrugging into a fleece jacket that drowned his skinny frame. "We're heading to T and T, if you want to come."

Mingle with the humans? The idea had something akin to anxiety stabbing into him. "I have plans."

"Hot date?"

Gabriel glanced over at ginger Frankie, uncomfortable with the wiggling eyebrows he saw there. "No."

"Their loss, eh, Goodnight." Frankie clapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon, one drink."

"I really can't."

"You tell me what's so important that one drink would hurt."

He made himself say it. "I don't want to." As their expressions swung to surprise, he shifted, trying to release the unpleasant sensation. It wouldn't do any good to intensify his involvement, he reminded himself, bracing for their inevitable withdrawal. That, at least, he was used to.

Then Frankie smacked Mitch on the chest with the back of his hand, understanding dawning. "I get it. Look, Goodnight, we get you're, you know, shy."

He stared at them.

"No pressure, but we thought we'd shoot the shit, flirt with the pretty bartender."

As Gabriel opened his mouth to refuse them again, Mitch added, "We want you to come. One drink."

Gabriel stopped, twisting in place. He'd said no. He'd meant it.

But... They wanted him to come. Him. Nobody ever wanted Gabriel. They wanted a Goodnight.

He rolled his shoulders against the tide of discomfort, found himself saying, "One, then."

Frankie grinned, clapping him on the shoulder again. "Attaboy. Let's grab the others and we'll head over."

To T and T. Gabriel didn't catch on until he found himself standing outside the establishment that had hired and fired him quicker than some potions took to brew.

And the pretty bartender, he realized as their group of five walked in, was none other than a short blonde whose big blue eyes rounded when they landed on him.

Disbelief? Speculation?

Whatever it was, it made him want to hunch his shoulders like a teenage warlock caught in Jackson Square telling fortunes to drunk tourists.

Mitch offered to grab a booth with Peter and Jasper, the other two volunteers, so it was Frankie and a reluctant Gabriel that went to the bar.

"Rack 'em up, darlin'." Frankie's teeth gleamed out of his beard as he smacked the bar top. "Shots all around."

Gabriel stood quietly. He hadn't seen Leah in a few days and when she laughed, the impact went straight to his head. Not that he showed it.

"This should be good," she commented, with a side-eye at Gabriel. "All right, boys. Pick your poison."

"Tequila. Tequila, lads?" Frankie called back to the others. A cheer rang out.

"Just curious, Gabe," Leah said as she turned to the shelf that was, he noticed with some satisfaction, still organized as he'd set it up one boring Sunday. "Have you ever had a shot?"

"Yes." Years ago.

"Hmm." She poured the tequila into five short glasses and set out a small plate, added five lime wedges, and then a saltshaker. She lifted her brows when Gabriel stopped Frankie from paying by thrusting out a fifty-dollar note. She accepted it with a finger and thumb, studying him with an interest that made his feet shift. "You don't strike me as a man who gets loose."

"Maybe you don't know as much about me as you think."

"I bet I do."

He scoffed, barely noticing when Frankie grabbed all but one glass and toted them away. "I doubt that."

Challenge gleamed on her face. "I'm a bartender. Some might call us professional readers of human nature."

"I'm different." And she knew it.

"Hmm." The look she shot him under her lashes was poignant with meaning that neither of them would say aloud. "How much do you want to bet?"

"I don't bet."

"Why? Is that a commoner thing, something the glorious Goodnights don't do?"

"You can't goad me."

She smiled. "Want to bet?"

Unwilling amusement moved through him. He stifled it by throwing her a superior look. "I will not argue with you."

"This isn't arguing. This is a conversation. You might not have heard of it but it's where two people talk about something they find interesting."

"And our topic is?"

"You."

Something hot flared down low. He fought the temptation to lean in, sneered instead. "Is this the part where you read me like a cheap psychic?"

"You will meet someone short, blonde and witty," she intoned dramatically, flourishing a hand. She rested her elbows on the bar and his eyes dipped, hunting for a glimpse of tattoo. "I could blow your mind."

His throat tightened. He couldn't help leaning in, inhaling the hint of coconut.

Leah tilted her head, hair tipping over her shoulder. The background noise was faint to him, a barely-there buzz, his entire focus on her.

"Want me to demonstrate?"

"No," he managed.

She didn't pay any attention, but when did she ever? "You once told me you don't like crowds."

Had he? He didn't remember. "I don't like anyone," he corrected. "I like being alone."

"Nobody likes being alone, Gabe."

"Gabriel."

Her lips twitched.

"It's better this way."

"Better for who?"

He didn't answer.

Looking smug, she pointed out, "You don't like to be in anyone's debt and you don't like being vulnerable. Which is why you sent me money." She was close now, ten inches separating them. "You needed to balance it out."

She was too perceptive for his liking. He rolled his shoulders. "I sent that money for the broken glasses." Lies. And he'd paid for it with pain—the spell to transport the package to the address on her records had taken him out of commission for the rest of the afternoon.

"What I can't figure out is why you're here with Frankie and his boys," she mused.

"Why do you care?"

"Not sure. But then, I do have the worst taste in men."

Gabriel's mouth parted.

Delight lit up her face as she winked and tapped the shot glass with a finger. "And for my final trick, I predict you've never gotten drunk. Because Gabriel Goodnight would never do something so irresponsible. So, I'll take this for my ‘bar buddy', for old times' sake."

She took the salt, licked her hand to make it stick. But when she went for the glass, he closed his hand around hers.

Skin to skin. The whisper touch sank into his bones. He dragged his fingers down hers, heart pounding as he slipped the glass free.

Her eyes were pools of deep blue as she watched him tip the tequila back.

The punch of fire shot from his throat down to his stomach, where it curled tight, aching. His breath was short as he upended the glass onto the bar.

Cheeks flushed, Leah silently offered him a lime wedge and he accepted, allowing the tang to mingle with the remnants of tequila. He was dizzy as he stared into her eyes, sucked the lime. The alcohol. It was strong.

"You don't know me." Where he meant to be firm, his voice was deep, soft. A taunt. "But Goodnights always come out on top. We rise to every challenge."

She shouldn't have challenged him.

Last call had come and gone and so had Frankie and the others. Leah had expected Gabriel to last half an hour at most. Be in the company of others? Willingly? And humans to boot? My, what a difference a few days made.

She'd been playing chicken and staying away from the shelter, skittish and half-anxious that witches would portal out of nowhere like a supernatural SWAT team and drag her to their High Family. When that hadn't happened, she'd finally relaxed enough to return—only to learn that Sloane of all people had taken a shine to Gabriel, shadowing him after school and helping him with his jobs. That girl didn't make friends easy, either.

A half witch, half human born from Emma's dad and a human woman who'd died in childbirth, Sloane had grown up with her human aunt, away from witch society. Emma had been agonizing the past year about how to introduce Sloane to the masses without letting the cutthroat attitudes hurt the shy teenager. Still, Leah knew it was only a matter of time until Sloane forced the issue. She was as curious about witch society as Leah was, but at least she stood a chance at being included.

Honestly, that Sloane liked Gabriel and that he in turn allowed her company shocked the hell out of Leah.

But maybe not as much as the fact that he'd shown up tonight, even thrown himself into the drinking games Frankie and the others had played. Tequila after tequila after tequila.

She'd finally suggested a switch to beer when he'd rubbed the lime on his hand instead of the salt.

He hadn't laughed and joked as much as the others had, but he'd been a part of the group. He'd stayed.

Now he sat on a stool, tie crooked, shirtsleeves pushed up to expose those muscled forearms, black hair mussed and eyes closed as he swayed to a Harry Styles song.

She stifled the inappropriate pleasure at the sight of Gabriel rumpled. If it wouldn't be creepy as fuck, she'd take a picture for posterity. Behold the rare items: the four-leaf clover, a big blue moon and Gabriel Goodnight completely trashed.

The doors had been locked ten minutes ago; she'd cashed out the register and had wiped down most of the tables. They had a cleaner that would come in the morning to do a thorough job, but she never stacked the chairs on top of the tables without a cursory wipe.

"Don't fall off there," she cautioned Gabriel as she went around with a dishcloth and a spray bottle.

"Never," he declared. "Goodnights have excellent balance."

"Must be good to be a Goodnight."

He made a noncommittal sound.

She sang along with the chorus as she finished the final few. The last word ended on a squeak as she turned and found her nose buried in Gabriel's chest. Her hand fell to his hip as she caught her balance. She was slow to remove it, heart thudding at the feel of him under her fingertips. She dragged in a breath, tasted spices.

He didn't notice. "You're here alone."

She strangled the ridiculous lust, flustered and irritated to be this affected. "Unless my elementary education fails me, I'm not alone."

"If I weren't here," he said, doggedly following her as she slipped by him to stack another chair, "you'd be alone."

"That's generally how it works."

"But that's not safe."

She twisted to face him, the last chair still suspended in her hands. "Safe?"

His expression was disgruntled. "Anyone could break in here. You could be hurt."

Arrogant, she reminded herself before she completely melted. Disdainful, unfriendly, unhelpful, rude. Drunk.

Don't fall for it. She'd been suckered into flirting earlier but that was okay. Flirting was harmless. Feelings were not.

"I can handle myself."

"But you're so fragile."

That quickly, temper grated along her nerve endings. She placed the chair on the table deliberately. How was it he could amuse, arouse and annoy her in the stretch of one minute?

She kept her voice cool. "I bet I could take you."

He didn't laugh—Goodnights apparently didn't—but he did throw her a look that practically patted her on the head.

She spun on him, annoyed. "I think Laurence would—" Her mouth snapped shut. Shit.

Anxiety tickled her throat as she backpedaled. "I'm just saying, I'm more dangerous than I look."

He didn't pick up on her slip. Thank God for tequila. "I could tie one hand behind my back and still best you."

"Now, you're just being rude."

"I'm honest."

She decided not to smack him over the head with a chair and finished the rest in silence.

And yet somehow she still found herself escorting her warlock frenemy home. Her decision was made when he'd been unable to work the bar's push door, pulling on the handle like it was a game of tug-of-war, until he'd finally lost his balance and fallen on his ass. She might go to hell, but some things deserved to be laughed at.

"Can you make it upstairs?" she asked now as the Uber waited at the curb near his building. When he'd forgotten the address, she'd had to look it up in their records, unsurprised it was in a ritzy neighborhood that boasted spectacular views of Lake Michigan.

"'Course. I don'need help. I don'need anyone."

In silence, she and the Uber driver watched him stagger up the street.

"I thought you said he lived here," the driver commented.

"He does." Leah dug a finger in her temple as Gabriel continued to walk blithely away from his apartment building.

It took her a minute to catch up with him, to steer him around and to usher him past the well-trained doorman.

"Miss," he said as he held the door for them, unblinking. "Is Mr. Goodnight well?"

"Mr. Goodnight is none of your concern," Gabriel muttered as he weaved through.

Leah ground her teeth and shot an apologetic smile at the doorman. "Mr. Goodnight is about four-tenths tequila right now," she explained, not intervening when Gabriel tripped and planted his face into the wall. Karma in action. "I'm sure he'll be fine in the morning. Thank you."

"No problem, miss. Have a nice evening."

"See, that? That was rude," she hissed at Gabriel as she stood with him at the elevator bank.

"Why? I'm none of his business."

"He was being nice."

"Nosy," Gabriel corrected and even tipsy, he managed to look superior. "I'm not going to provide him with gossip."

"News flash, you just did. Nothing people love more than to hate on someone." The ding heralded the arrival of the elevator. She pushed him in. "Manners cost nothing, you know. How you treat people matters."

"Like I care what people think of me." He crossed his arms as he leaned in the corner, green eyes boring into her. Pointed.

She scowled at the dig. "You don't care that you come across as an ass?"

"No."

"Seriously."

"There's only a few people's opinions I care about," he said, mumbling his way through the words.

"And how many of them are still around?"

She hadn't meant his parents, but something dark, raw, flashed across his face until it shut down to ice. She opened her mouth to explain, closed it as he'd closed himself to her.

Sometimes you had to know when to put down the shovel and not dig the hole deeper.

They traveled to his floor in silence.

When the doors opened, she stayed still. Awkward, she gestured into the hall. "You can find your way from here, right?"

"I'm fine." His words were clearer, sharper, stinging in their enunciation.

She bit her lip, shame an oily slide down her spine as his long legs took him away. Before she could think better of it, she darted forward, slamming a hand against the doors to stop them from closing.

"I'm sorry," she called out, softer than a shout, mindful of how late it was.

He stopped but didn't turn around, still stiff.

She swallowed past the uneasiness. "I didn't mean it...that way. But I shouldn't have said it. It was stupid."

When he still didn't speak, she ruefully reflected she shouldn't be surprised. Instead, she let the doors go and stepped back as they slid closed.

Only to jump when they slid open again as if—well. As if by magic.

He stood on the other side. His hair was disheveled, his tie loose, his vest unbuttoned over an untucked shirt, and yet he stood, posture perfect. And though he disguised it well, she recognized someone in pain. Her heart clenched.

Though he'd stopped the elevator, he didn't speak. His expression was guarded, almost like he didn't have the words.

That was okay. Leah always had plenty.

She wet her lips. "You know what I'd love right now? Coffee."

He blinked those stunning green eyes, less glazed than before.

She edged him backward, allowing the elevator to close and return to the lobby without her. "Coffee. Perk me up before I go home."

"It's one in the morning."

"So, you see my need."

"Don't you want to go to bed?"

Unbidden, a shiver brushed against her nerves.

"I do," she rasped and heard the forbidden truth in her voice. "But it's a long journey back to mine. I could use the jolt." She hesitated, realizing she could be misreading him. "Unless you want to go to bed."

Flickers of light danced in his eyes as he watched her, then he inclined his chin and led the way to his apartment.