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Calisto and I spent most of the afternoon together. If you ignored the fact that I could eat now and no longer walked through walls, it felt just like old times—the two of us slipping back into a relationship of mutual needling. I left before Asher got home. Not because I had an issue with him—most of my past reluctance at being in his presence stemmed from him functioning as Calisto’s mouthpiece—but because I didn’t want to outstay my welcome.
After that, I ran errands. Thrilling ones, like stocking up on toiletries and buying underwear. Buying underwear became considerably more interesting once I factored Lake into the equation and thought about what he might like to see me in. Grinning, I sent him a message.
Instead of replying, he called. “What do you mean, do I like silk? Silk what? Ties? Sheets? Curtains?”
“Underwear.”
“Oh.”
My grin widened at the silence that followed. “Have I stunned you into silence?”
“No. I’m just taking a moment to picture it.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” I grabbed a pair of black silk briefs, then added three more colors for good measure.”
“Where are you?” Lake asked.
“Robbing a man of his silk underwear.”
Lake gave a throaty laugh. “Just make sure you get them off him without touching him.”
“Why? Would you be consumed with jealousy?”
“Possibly.”
Which meant yes. I headed for the till. Something caught my eye reflected in the mirror at the edge of my vision, but when I turned, there was no one there. Strange. For a moment, I could have sworn there was. Talk about main-character syndrome—me buying underwear was hardly worth a stakeout.
“How did it go with Calisto?”
I joined the queue. Thankfully, it was only three deep. “Good. He’s a sweetheart. He wouldn’t be capable of not forgiving someone even if he tried. And he understood why I was avoiding him once I explained. We’re friends again.” Someone paid and left, and I stepped forward. The woman in front of me noticed the underwear in my hands. I winked, and she blushed. It wasn’t as pretty as when Lake did it. “How did it go with Verity? On a scale of one to ten, how much does she hate me? Eleven, right?”
“Of course not.”
“Damn. Is it higher?”
“She’s just concerned about me. Especially after the Carl thing.”
“Your terrible taste in men explains a lot, you know.”
“Why?”
“Don’t make me list all my flaws in public. The world isn’t ready for that.”
“There’s nothing terrible about you.”
The genuine warmth in his voice made me smile again. “I have a confession to make.”
“What is it?”
“When I told Calisto about you, I kind of called you my boyfriend. So if you have a problem with that label, you should probably tell me now.”
“I don’t.” No hesitation.
“Good.” The queue moved, and I handed over my items.
“I hate you.”
The thought landed in my head, clear as a bell—so clear it felt deliberately aimed at me. Remembering that sense of being watched, I scanned the store. Two female employees chatted by the lift, neither looking my way. A few customers browsed, their thoughts occupied by color choice and gift suitability for a family member or significant other.
