Page 49 of Cat’s Guide To Romance

“Deciding something.”

I rise onto my toes and kiss his cheek.

Lucien stops breathing. It’s barely a kiss, but my heart pounds so hard you’d think I stripped naked in the middle of the street. When I drop back onto my feet, Lucien slowly touches the spot with his fingertips.

“My pretty kitty kissed me.”

“Don’t make it weird.” I grab his hand and start walking again before he can see how red my face is. “You promised me dinner.”

His fingers immediately weave through mine. “Yes. Dinner. I know a place.”

“Does it have cats?”

“No.”

“Any animal that might insult my mother?”

“I sincerely hope not.” Lucien squeezes my hand as he laughs, and his tail finds mine. They brush once, twice, before mine curls around his.

I leave it there.

Maybe this isn’t what sixteen-year-old me pictured when I wrote about cute little dates. There aren’t flowers to pick or pastries to make. There haven’t been slow kisses that make the world stop or fireworks and cannon fire.

Instead, I got hissed at by six cats, watched a centuries-old demon nearly cry because a kitten fell asleep on his tail, and kissed him because he looked so upset that his carefully planned date wasn’t romantic enough. My first date is a complete perfect disaster. I already can’t wait for the second one.

19

LUCIEN

I should have known the night was going to shit when Marlow called out twenty minutes before his shift.

The Rot is already filling up, and the line outside curls halfway around the building. I stand behind the bar with my phone pressed between my ear and shoulder while I pour three drinks at once. My tail grabs a bottle of whiskey from the shelf behind me as I listen to Marlow explain how he’s been throwing up for the last six hours.

“Stay home,” I say. “And if you come in here and infect my entire staff, I’ll personally drag you to the demon realm torture chambers.”

I hang up before he can apologize again. Marlow can’t help being sick. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make a bartender magically appear in front of me.

Tammy slides behind the bar and grabs a stack of glasses. “What do you need?”

“Another bartender.”

She rolls her eyes and starts taking orders from the other end while I scan the room. The Rot runs beautifully most nights because I’ve spent decades making sure it does. I know exactly how many people I need on the floor, behind the bars, at the doors, and working the private rooms. I know how much blood to keep chilled and which liquors disappear fastest, depending on the crowd. Tonight, apparently, the universe has decided to test all of that at once.

Ryan appears at the end of the bar. “The blood delivery is wrong.”

I stop pouring. “What?”

“They sent half of what you ordered.”

“Of course they did.” I finish the drink in my hand and slide it across the bar. “Did you call them?”

“They’re sending the rest, but it’ll be at least two hours.”

Lars glances toward the refrigerator. “We’re gonna run out before then.”

“No, we aren’t.” I refuse to run out of anything. Ever.

I pull out my phone to call another supplier when someone taps my shoulder. Cass, one of my servers, gives me an apologetic smile. “The register by the east bar froze.”