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I didn't miss the "pay the rent" part, however skillfully he slipped it in. I paid the lion's share of the household expenses. Paid them by choice, I should add. I knew this bothered Lucas--not in an "I am man; I am breadwinner" kind of way, but as a subtler matter of pride.
Lucas barely earned a living wage. Most of his court and investigative work was pro bono, helping supernaturals who couldn't afford a lawyer or PI. What little money he made usually came from doing legal paperwork for wealthier supernatural clients, many of whom could easily and more conveniently have hired a local lawyer, but who retained Lucas as a way of supporting his pro bono efforts. Even that made Lucas uncomfortable, smacking too much of charity, but his only alternative would be to stop taking nonpaying cases, which he'd never do.
It hurt like hell to see him sleeping in fleabag motels, barely able to afford public transit, saving every penny so he could pay part of our expenses. I had enough for both of us. But how could I turn down his contributions without belittling his efforts? Yet another kink in the relationship we had to work out.
We stumbled back into the hotel room just before midnight, having followed dinner with a few rounds of pool and more than a few rounds of beer. Definite advantage to the whole chauffeur/bodyguard deal: built-in designated driver. The downside, though, was that Troy beat me in two out of three pool games, a serious blow to my ego. I blamed it on the booze. Deadened my reflexes...though it did wonders for helping me forget the rest of the day. As for Lucas, he was feeling better, too.
"I did not cheat!" I said, struggling to wriggle free of the upside-down over-the-back-of-the-sofa position in which I found myself pinned.
He pulled my blouse from my skirt and tickled my ribs. "You so cheated. Second game. Seven ball, left corner pocket. Minor telekinesis spell."
I squealed and swatted his hands. "I--the ball rolled."
"With help."
"Once. Only once. I--stop--" Another embarrassingly girlish shriek. "You--third game--the eight ball. You moved it out of the way of your shot."
He toppled us over onto the couch and slid a hand under my skirt.
"Diversionary tactics, Counselor," I said.
"Guilty." He hooked his fingers over my panties and peeled them off.
"Not so fast, Cortez. You promised me spell-casting."
"I think you did enough of that at the pool hall."
He stifled my sputtering with a kiss.
"Wait. No--" I wiggled sideways and dropped to the floor, then scooted out of reach. "How about a game? Strip spell-casting."
"Strip--?" He rubbed at his smile. "Okay, I'll bite. How do you play?"
"Just like strip poker, only with spell-casting. We take turns trying the new spell. Each time we fail, we remove a piece of clothing."
"Given the difficulty of that spell, we'll likely both run out of clothing first."
"Then we'll have to get more creative."
Lucas laughed and started to say something, but a knock cut him off. He looked at the main door. I pointed at the one linking our suite to Troy's. Lucas sighed, heaved himself to his feet, and peered around. I picked up his glasses from the floor.
"Thank you," he said, taking them. "I'll be right back."
"Better be. Or I'm starting without you."
Lucas buttoned his shirt on the way to the door. I crawled onto the sofa, straightened my skirt, and stuffed my panties between the cushions.
Lucas pulled open the adjoining-room door.
"There's been another attack," Troy said.
"Where?" I said, popping up from the sofa.
"Here. In Miami." Troy ran a hand through his hair. His face was pale. "I just got the page. They--I'm on call this week. No one took me off the list tonight. Can you phone in and let them know I can't make it?"
"Come in," Lucas said.
"I need--I've got some calls to make. It's--it's Griffin. His oldest boy. Jacob. I should--"
