Vivien drummed her fingers on the table. “Apparently, he’s one scary motherfucker.”
Aaron shook his head. “I can’t imagine what k-kind of god would scare the shit out of the other immortals.” Then with a look at Vivien, “Other than Grim of course.”
Vivien grinned at the mention of her hot husband and god of the dead. “He’s just a pussycat underneath all that dark, gloomy death stuff.”
“Yeah, sure.” Aaron drew out the words with evident disbelief.
Vivien’s impish smile faded, her fingers playing with the edge of the table. “They are all freaking out though. Grim is afraid that gods will start to turn on each other in fear.”
“Why?” Aaron asked. “Are they worried some of their own are working for Aten like that little fae girl did?”
My hand tightened around my cup. The memory of trusting the wrong person still sliced through my chest with a triple helping of shame and regret.
Vivien shook her head. “None of the gods support Aten’s monotheistic agenda— aka murdering the shit out of all the gods until he’s the only one left. But when gods get upset, they get unpredictable and temperamental.”
“Turn bitchy and childlike?” I offered.
Vivien pointed a finger at me like a gun. “Bingo. So Grim and Timothy are cooking up a way to pull them all back together. Like a bigrah rahmorale boost.”
The downturn at the corner of her lips showed she was less than thrilled.
“How does that work?” I asked.
Vivien shook her head and gave me a wry smile. “They are still working on a plan, so I’ll let you know when I do.”
By the way she avoided my gaze and fidgeted, I had a suspicion she knew exactly what they were planning.
I had to leave her explanation at that as I had to get home before Jamal woke up. Parking my car in the driveway, I was surprised to find a man I didn’t recognize pulling my garbage can to the edge of the street. As I stepped out, the man turned and unleashed a powerfully beautiful smile. It hit me like a tractor beam.
Well over six feet tall with light brown skin and shocking green eyes, the black man’s head was shaved clean and he was as handsome as all get out. This may well be the finest man I had ever seen in my life. He belonged on the silver screen next to some leading lady he effortlessly wooed. Yet all his attention was directed at me, warming me from the inside out.
“Hi there,” he said, striding forward to close the distance and shake my hand. “I’m your new neighbor. I hope you don’t mind. I was worried you’d miss the trash pick up, so I thought I’d pull yours down.”
The gears in my brain that came to a grinding halt began again with slow ker-chunks. “Oh, uh, thank you. I appreciate that.” The knowledge I was still wearing dumpster-stained clothes suddenly made me self-conscious.
“My name is Michael.” My neighbor still didn’t let go of my hand, and I suddenly found myself not minding so much as I got caught up in his gaze. The light olive hue of his eyes made a striking contrast to his skin which was damned near mesmerizing.
“My name is Miranda,” I said, suddenly remembering myself.
The curve of his lips somehow made me feel like he was bestowing a special smile patented just for me. “Miranda.” The sound of my name from his mouth sent heat spiraling through my stomach.
My reaction surprised me, but then again, I supposed it was rare I was the object of such a handsome man’s attention.
Turquoise eyes made of crashing oceans flashed in my mind.
Okay, maybe not so rare these days.
The front door opened, and a face etched with lines of age and frizzy white hair stared out at us with curiosity. “Miranda?”
I dropped Michael’s hand. “Hey Mama Jean.” Then I nodded to Michael. “Sorry, I’ve got to—” I gestured to my house, words failing me, but still indicating I needed to get inside.
“Of course,” he said, holding up his hands with another dazzling smile. “It was enchanting to meet you, Miranda.”
Again, the way my name rolled off his lips did a number on my spine, so I had to suppress the need to shiver under his gaze. I hurried inside, shutting the door behind me.
“So you met the new neighbor,” Mama Jean said, pointing out the obvious.
My mother-in-law's brown, near black irises melted into the whites surrounding. While her back was starting to bend, her brain was sharp as steel. She’d had Rashon much later in life, which put her closer to the age of my own grandmother.
