Aaron looooves feelings: Rob, how did you meet this guy? What are you getting into? Tell me your soul is still firmly in your body.
Wonderful Rob: I’m almost offended how quickly you jumped to me doing something so illegal and amoral, but come on. If you were going to sell your soul to sleep with a guy, he’d be the guy.
Aaron looooves feelings: Obviously. But that answer doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.
Aaron looooves feelings: What’s going on?
Aaron looooves feelings: Rob. Details. NOW.
Perhaps I happened to run into the phone in such a way that resembled swiping the screen and those actions revealed more of the conversation. Oops. The conversation ended when Rob stopped answering either because he had no easy response or fell back asleep.
Vetting me was expected, but I hadn’t guessed his sources would come from the DSA, let alone high up in the DSA. Merritt could only mean Merritt Slate, the director of the Ashvale Department of Supernatural Affairs. The werewolf kept his personal life private but did have a mate, which must be this ‘Aaron loves feelings.’ I’d assume Rob wanted the authorities as far from him as possible. I’d done some checking into him too, and his rap-sheet was longer than my arm.
"How do you have friends in the DSA?"
The dozing mage made a grumpy sound. “I’m multifaceted, asshole.”
"I never doubted for a second."
His head rose and bleary eyes cracked open to squint at me. “Really?”
"You’re a multifaceted asshole," I said with a smirk. I set coffee down in front of him a second later and thought that was the end of it.
"Where’s your HR department?” The mage asked as he pried himself away from the countertop.
"What?"
"Well, you hired me for a job. I’m a worker, you’re being hostile.” He waved a hand. “This is a hostile workplace."
"This is my home," I corrected.
"And where I work.” He grumbled. “Trust me, I ain’t happy about it either."
"You aren’t happy about getting paid?"
Rob gave no answer, probably for the best, as he began rummaging through my fridge and freezer for breakfast.
The assistant who managed my household stocked the kitchen with premade items for convenience. I soon sat down with my breakfast of an egg white omelet and cantaloupe. Rob started opening and closing cabinets and drawers at random, obnoxiously noisy even when not talking.
“Can you do that quieter?”
"Me? What about you?” Rob groaned. “I can’t stop thinking about all the sex I’mnothaving."
"How about… don’t do that?"
“It’s like pink elephants,” Rob complained. “Some jerk tells you not to think about pink elephants and—”
"Then all you can think about is pink elephants?"
"Actually, no. Who the fuck cares about pink elephants? Who thinks about that in the first place? I’m thinking about dick.” Oh god. “I do that enough on my own and now I’m thinking about, like, double dick, all the dicks. And because elephants came into it, I’m wondering if your, let’s saytrunk, is as big as an elephant’s."
"Rob. Robert.” I almost pleaded, “Stop."
"My name isn’t Robert. ‘S Robin.” Right. That fit better. A pretty little songbird who wouldn’t shut up. Rob sighed. “Look, dude, I obviously don’t want to have sex if you don’t want to. But I don’t know how to make my brain stop fantas-thinking about incubuses and sex with incubuses."
Then Rob wrinkled his nose and swatted at the air. “And when you invite somebody to your home and aren’t planning on having sex with them, isn’t it onlypoliteto turn down the BDE? Where do you keep your wine selection?”
“It’s nine in the morning,” I pointed out.
