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“So, then, what do you call him?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Bishop, same as everyone else.”
“Right,” she murmurs, nodding.
I step into the room, and perch on the arm of the couch across from where my mate is sitting.
She uncaps a half-full bottle of water and sips at it.
It’s funny. I’ve seen her chug beer and gulp down cans of soda.
I think this is the first time I’ve watched her drink like she’s self-conscious.
“So, who’s the guy we need to go beat up?” I ask.
She caps the bottle and presses her lips together before she looks at me.
“No one, really. You wouldn’t know him, and you’re not obligated to hurt him for me.”
“If he upset you, he deserves to have someone upset him even harder. Preferably with their fists.”
She gives me a wry smile. “I’d rather forget the whole thing, honestly.”
Maybe she would, but it’s probably not going to be that easy.
I don’t know who the guy is, or what he meant to her, but any vaguely intimate relationship can leave scars that need time to heal.
“Then we should talk about something else. Like what I should name the kitten.”
“Didn’t you say he belongs to someone?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Well, yeah, but we’ve got to call him something while he’s here.”
“I thought you did call him something?”
“Not really. Cap’s been calling him the probie because I joked about giving him that name. It’s what we call new firefighters still in their probationary period. It’s not really a name.”
“Oh,” she says.
“What would you name him?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I’ve never had a pet.”
“So, you wouldn’t call him Xane or Kian?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at her.
She’s Chaos Burning’s biggest fangirl. I know at least that much. Those guys all have crazy rockstar names. I can’t remember the other two off the top of my head.
She blinks at me, frowning a little. “Uh …”
“We’re gonna burn this whole world down,” I sing the only line I can remember from one of their insanely emo songs. I’ve been trying to get into them, but so far, if you ask me, they kind of suck.
And despite my efforts, Scarlett’s still looking at me like I’ve started speaking in tongues.
Huh. Maybe that ex-boyfriend of hers was a big deal. I can’t imagine the woman I know not immediately giving me shit for pronouncing the band member’s names wrong or for mangling one of their hit songs with my popstar-esque singing voice, but so far, no reaction.
This is starting to freak me out, and I really don’t want to end up rambling about the more random details of her favorite band’s lives, just because I hyper focused on knowing stuff about them to try and impress her the next chance I got. Somehow, I don’t think she’s in the mood to be stunned by my knowledge, and I don’t want it to sound like I stalk Chaos Burning, either.
“I should grab the probie. You really look like you need hugs, and I’m guessing the kitten will be more welcome in your lap than me.”
