Lucky Courage (9781370361410)

by Washington, Amanda

  He sighed. “Okay, I’ll bite. How do you know he’s wrong for me by a photo?”

  “He’s wearing a sweater vest, Mike.” How right could the guy be? “You work for a scary son-of-a-bitch you respect, yet you date boring guys who wear sweater vests. I’m not telling you you should date assholes, but they do have to be man enough for you to respect them.”

  “Romi—”

  “Tell me you respect your new squeeze and I’ll get off your case.”

  No response.

  “That’s what I thought. You know, you’re a pretty great catch, and I want you to find someone who makes you happy.”

  “I am happy,” he shot back.

  “No you’re not. Mike, you’re not even content. For as long as I’ve known you, the photo on your desk has represented a revolving door of lovers, which isn’t what you’re looking for. If it was, you wouldn’t be putting their pictures on your desk. You’re looking for long-term, and we both know it. Quit settling for guys you don’t respect.”

  “Since when do you give relationship advice?” he asked.

  I kicked around his question in my head, wondering what had changed and why I cared about Mike’s love life. I didn’t even buy into the whole love bullcrap, did I? Yes, I did.

  When did that happen?

  “I’m just a friend, trying to help you out.”

  “And here I never knew you were the caring type.”

  “Yeah, well don’t tell anyone. They’ll think I’m losing my edge.”

  “Romi, your edge was never sharp, and everyone knows Shade directs your daggers. Speaking of which, is there something going on between you and your old man?”

  My gut twisted. I’d never been good at lying. I liked Mike, but knew I couldn’t trust him, so I needed to play this hand close to the chest. “Why would you even ask such a thing? Did something happen?”

  “I’m not stupid, you know. Never seen you in here with anyone but Shade before. You show up with two hunks lookin’ to make a deal with Auto, and then your old man stops by last night pissed about something.”

  My heart stopped. “Shade met with Auto?”

  “No. Auto was out, so Shade made an appointment for tomorrow night.”

  Which meant we needed to get the agreement from Auto tonight before my sire could interfere. “Is the contract ready for me to pick up?”

  “So there is something going on between you and Shade.”

  “Boring family drama. Nothing you’d want to hear about. Not worth your time. The contract?”

  “It’s sitting on my desk. You can come get it tonight.”

  I let out a breath. “Thank you.”

  “Just be careful, Romi. You’re a pain in the ass, but I’d hate to see something happen to you.”

  “Aww, you do care,” I teased.

  “I’m also a sucker for stray animals. Don’t let it go to your head.”

  “Thanks for Stephen’s name and digits. I owe you one.”

  He sighed and muttered, “Steffan. I’ll put it on your tab.”

  We disconnected. I lowered the phone to its cradle and ran my hands through my hair, half-tempted to pull it all out. Damn Shade. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?”

  “Romi?” Demarco asked. “Everything okay?”

  I hadn’t even heard him come in.

  “Yeah,” I lied, ripping my hands from my hair to grab the phone again. Angry tears welled up in my eyes and I did not have time to let them spill. Keeping my focus on the phone, I said, “Mike gave me the name of a travel agent so I need to make a call and schedule an appointment. And then we’re gonna go pick up the contract from Mike. Will you please let Tweety know we’ll be leaving soon?”

  “Sure.” But Demarco didn’t move.

  Still refusing to look at him, I waited. No way could I call Steffan’s office until I had my emotions in check. The last thing I needed was to be on the line sobbing to a receptionist, begging for an appointment with the travel agent. No. I needed to push all thoughts of Shade aside and toughen up.

  Demarco finally took a step, but not in the direction I’d anticipated. The warmth of his hand covered the small of my back as joined me at the counter.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  I leaned against him and took a couple deep breaths of his calming scent as I pulled myself together again. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s all fine.”

  “I think you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I deadpanned. “And you’ve barely even met anyone.”

  He squeezed me closer and kissed the top of my head. “You gonna tell me what the problem is?”

  No. I wanted to keep Demarco as far from Shade as I could, which wouldn’t happen if my self-appointed bodyguard decided he needed to protect me from my sire. “The travel agent. I need to call and make an appointment.”

  I tried to pick up the phone, but Demarco pressed it to the counter. “Please?” He kissed my head again, but this time his lips lingered just above my ear. “Partner?”

  Shit.

  “I hate it when you play that card.”

  He chuckled. “Your rules. You should love it.”

  “Fine. Shade stopped by Auto’s last night.”

  Demarco tensed. “He followed you there?”

  I hadn’t even considered that possibility. Great. Could Shade follow me? “As far as I know, we don’t leave any sort of trail through the darkness. He shouldn’t know where I’ve been, shouldn’t be able to track me.” Although I wasn’t certain. “More likely, he’s hitting everyone he thinks I’ll go to for help. Auto was out of the office, so Shade made an appointment for tomorrow. Which is why we need to pick up the contract tonight.”

  Demarco turned me to face him. His hands drifted up my arms to my neck. “Was that so difficult?” he asked. Then, lacing his fingers in my hair, he bent down and kissed me. All thought of Shade and contracts vanished as Demarco’s tongue played over my lips, and I made a decision. From here on out all information was going to have to be bought with Demarco’s kisses.

  All too soon, he pulled back.

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” I asked, grabbing his hand before he could get away. “You can’t just kiss me like that and walk off.”

  He chuckled and his gaze went from my eyes to my lips. “You have a phone call to make, and I’ve gotta go find the griffin.”

  Grunting my frustrated assent, I waved him away and picked up the phone.

  BECAUSE LOS ANGELES is conveniently located on the west coast, Steffan Gabor’s office was still open when I called. His assistant doubted the travel agent would have time for a last-minute appointment, but changed his tune when I dropped Auto’s name. I was put on hold for a few minutes before being quickly told Steffan would stay late to meet me.

  Thankful something had worked out in our favor, I went to find the guys. Tweety was leaning against his favorite tree… the one closest to the house. “You ready to go?” I asked as I approached.

  He nodded.

  “Where’s Demarco?”

  “Cutting firewood for the forge.”

  “Right now?” I asked, heading toward the cutting block located behind the shop. “He knows we need to go. Why would he be cutting wood now?”

  “He’s blowing off steam,” Tweety replied. “Leave him to it.”

  I ignored the griffin and continued on my way. As soon as I rounded the shop, I found just the guy I was looking for. Demarco had earbuds in his ears as he chopped through wood, muttering words in a foreign language. French. The language was beautiful, but the words… they sounded a lot like curses.

  And with his shirt off and the incredible muscles of his arms and back flexing every time he swung the ax, he had me rethinking my whole no-swooning policy. I don’t remember screaming out “Ohmigod” or sighing loudly or anything, but I must have made some noise, because the next thing I knew, he dropped the ax, pulled an earbud from his ear, and turned to stare at me.


  “Time to go?” he asked.

  He was glistening. I had no idea perspiration could look so hot, but Demarco’s glistening six-pack sent my temperature through the roof. I’d seen him topless several times… hell, I slept beside a topless Demarco every night… but the glistening six-pack… I hadn’t been prepared for that. The hard lines and smooth skin all drew attention to the ‘V’ of dark curls leading down to jeans riding low on Demarco’s hips. The happy trail. I’d never understood what a beautiful thing it could be, but yes, going down that trail would make me very happy.

  “You’re killin’ me, Romi,” Demarco said.

  My gaze reluctantly left his abs to find his eyes. Desire that matched my own lingered behind irises turned to liquid steel. Lust must have been pouring off me and the sexy blacksmith had picked up on my feels. Oops. Refusing to be embarrassed for my outrageous attraction to him, I held his gaze.

  Demarco ran a hand through his hair and I swear my knees almost buckled. We had condoms now. Multiple boxes, even. Demarco had made sure we were well-stocked.

  “We need to go,” he said.

  “I’m aware.”

  “Tonight.” His voice held more than a hint of promise.

  I licked my lips. “Looking forward to it.”

  Demarco chuckled and shook his head. “I’m gonna need another shower. Stay out here.”

  “And if I don’t?” I asked.

  “We need to leave.”

  I knew he was right, so I planted my feet and watched as he picked up his shirt and walked the opposite direction, going the long way around to the front of the shop, rather than walking past me. Smart, since I’m not sure I could have stopped myself from jumping him if he got too close.

  Once he stepped out of sight, my brain cleared and clued me in on why Demarco was out here splitting wood. Letting off steam. Yep, he was pissed at Shade, which I—of all people—understood. Anger was powerful. It could inspire action and change the world. It could also make people do stupid things and get themselves killed.

  As I tamped down my inner hussy and went to the front of the house to wait with Tweety, I vowed to keep an eye on Demarco and make sure his anger at Shade didn’t get the best of him.

  * * *

  The meeting with Steffan Gabor, otherworldly travel agent extraordinaire, wasn’t for three more hours, so Demarco, Tweety, and I headed to Auto’s club first. I didn’t recognize the bouncer, which was probably a good thing, considering our last trip to the club. He looked over our IDs, took our cover charge, and waved us through.

  “What is that noise?” Tweety asked, stopping to stare at the stage.

  Two guys stood around a microphone stand, singing into it as they watched a screen.

  “Karaoke night,” I replied. “Surely you’ve seen someone sing karaoke on TV. It’s kinda like the singing programs you’re so fond of critiquing, only the people who do it are usually drunk and tone deaf. It’s more for fun than to showcase any real skill. The screen they’re watching shows the words.”

  “Clearly not the notes, though.” Tweety knuckled his ear. “These guys are awful.”

  His harsh words earned us a few glares from surrounding patrons.

  “Keep your voice down,” I chided. “You’re being rude.”

  “I’m being honest, Romi.”

  “And rude. I told you, it’s just for fun.”

  “I want to try it,” he said. “I mean, I know we’re in a hurry, but you don’t really need me to get the paperwork from Mike, and you said we don’t have to be at the travel agency for hours. I’ve always wanted to sing in front of a crowd. I wonder if it will be like that one episode of—”

  “Stop.” The idea of letting him out of my sight for even a minute made my stomach churn, but we were in a safe location. Auto kept the peace in his club, and his fury would rain down on anyone who so much as drew unwanted legal attention. Besides, who knew when Tweety would get another shot to sing on a stage? I couldn’t deny him the opportunity. “If the wait’s not too long. Let’s go check out the list.”

  His face lit up as I tugged him toward the DJ. There were only two names before his, so I jotted down the alias Bob had used to create Tweety’s ID: Logan Carter.

  “What song do you want to sing, Logan?” I asked.

  He grinned and took the pen and clipboard from me long enough to scribble a title. I tried to peek, but he handed it back to the DJ before I could. Then I tugged Tweety/Logan to a quiet hallway where I could coach him on proper karaoke etiquette.

  “Don’t be rude. Be sure to tell people they sounded great even when they didn’t,” I said.

  “You want me to lie?” He sounded positively scandalized.

  “Okay, never mind. Don’t say anything. Don’t talk or mutter about how bad they sound. Karaoke is like a safe zone for the talentless. They sing because they want to have fun, not necessarily because they can. But sometimes people with talent do show up, so you might be surprised.”

  Tweety winced at a particularly sharp high note. “If you say so.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t leave this room. Stand right by the DJ until your song comes up, and then go on the stage and sing and then return to your spot by the DJ so we can find you.”

  “Yes, Mom,” he sassed.

  I shook my head, both annoyed and amused. He was right, after all, I was mothering him. Might as well go all out. I grabbed his face and kissed his cheek. “Now you go up there and sing your little heart out. Hopefully Dad and I will be back down to hear you. Make us proud, okay?”

  Chuckling, Tweety wove through the crowd until he stood beside the DJ.

  “He’s really growing up,” I said to Demarco.

  Demarco laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, let’s hurry. I want to hear if he’s as good as he seems to think he is.”

  “Oh, he is.” I took Demarco’s hand and we wove through the crowd in the opposite direction, heading for the back stairs.

  It took only moments to secure the paperwork from Mike, and we were back downstairs as a guy in a cowboy hat and boots finished his rendition of some old country song.

  “He wasn’t bad,” Demarco observed.

  “Nope.” I squeezed his arm. “But look, our little Logan’s up.”

  As the first notes of Adele’s song “Hello” came over the speakers, I couldn’t help but giggle. I’d heard Tweety sing this song around the house so many times I had to threaten his life if he didn’t stop. He strutted around the stage using the microphone like it was Doreán’s lightsaber in our old living room. I watched, amazed at how well he worked the crowd while nailing every single note.

  Tweety was clearly born to perform. Maybe someday, when we got Doreán back, we’d figure out a way to get him on one of those talent shows he liked so much.

  On his way down from the stage, he collected several high fives, a few fist bumps, and even a couple little pieces of paper which I suspected were phone numbers. He was glowing by the time he reached us by the DJ’s stand. “They love me!” he exclaimed as he scooped me up in a bone-crushing hug. “This is like the greatest night of my life.”

  “Good job, man, I’m proud of you,” Demarco said, wrapping him in their own special one-armed bro-hug.

  Tweety beamed even brighter. “Thanks, D. It was so surreal. Public singing is now crossed off my bucket list.”

  “Since when did you make a bucket list?” I asked.

  “It’s one of the things I think about while I’m up in my tree giving you and Demarco alone time.”

  With no clue how to respond to his declaration, I glanced at the clock. “Yeah, well, we have an appointment to get to. LA’s a big city, and I’ve only ever been to a stadium there. I have no idea how far from the stadium Steffan’s office is, so we should get out of here.”

  We headed back to the shadows across the street and then I took us to a hidden alcove just outside Dodger Stadium. I’d done business with the troll in charge of cleaning the stadium a few times. But since we weren’t here to see
him, we flagged down a cab and gave the cabbie the address to Steffan’s office.

  Almost an hour later, we paid an exorbitant fare and climbed out of the cab in front of a skyscraper. Steffan’s office was located on the twenty-sixth floor, so we headed for the elevator and crowded in with a group of people heading up.

  The overweight warning went off, complete with a siren and flashing lights. Since the elevator had been fine before we’d climbed aboard, the three of us scooted off. The lights and siren shut off, the doors closed, and the car whirred to life.

  And everyone on the ground floor stared at us.

  “Well, this is awkward,” I said, feeling heat creep up my cheeks.

  “In hindsight, we probably shouldn’t have eaten the whole chocolate pie for dessert last night,” Demarco agreed.

  “It’s me,” Tweety confessed. “I weigh three hundred and fifty pounds.”

  “Three-fifty? Where?” Demarco asked, checking out the tall, thin twenty-something-year-old body Tweety currently wore. He looked like he weighed maybe one-ninety, soaking wet, and only because he was tall. “How the hell do you sit up in that tree?”

  “Weight distribution? Magic? I don’t know,” Tweety said, looking at his feet and sounding a little embarrassed.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I said, pushing the button again. “We’ll just get in an elevator with fewer people.”

  A door dinged open. As the crowd in the elevator piled out, Tweety pulled me aside. “Romi, it’s not just my weight. I’m not big on being trapped in a crowded metal box. I’ll take the stairs and meet you guys up there.”

  No way. Despite his appearance, Tweety was mentally a teenager and dealing with all those pubescent insecurities. It seemed silly that someone who looked like he did could have weight issues, but he was clearly upset and there was no way I was going to let him do twenty-six flights of stairs by himself.

  “I’ll come with you,” Demarco said, jumping in before I even got the chance to.

  “Me too. I could use the cardio for sure.”

  “Are you sure?” Tweety asked. “You don’t have to, you know.”

  “Yes. Come on, we’re going.” Before he could protest further, I linked arms with him and headed for the stairwell.