“You planning on joining me at work today?” I ask, scratching behind his ears.
He opens one yellow eye, gives me a look of pure disdain, then starts licking his paw with meticulous precision.
“I guess I’m on my own.” I laugh, shaking my head. I swear, I buy him the most expensive cat food in town, the kind with real salmon and no fillers, but this familiar has a mind of his own.
I head to the closet, pulling on my work clothes—jeans, a soft gray T-shirt, and my favorite apron, the one with the little pockets for my tools. My body still aches, a dull throb between my legs, a reminder of last night, of Damon’s hands on my skin, his breath against my neck. I push the thought away, focusing on the practicalities of getting ready.
In the kitchen, I’m measuring out coffee grounds when a knock echoes through the small house. I wipe my hands on my jeans and hurry to the door, my heart pounding.
I swing it open to find Amara standing there, her hair a wild mess, her eyes blazing.
“Glad you’re not dead,” she says, “because I’m going to kill you.”
My stomach drops. Fuck. She knows. “What? What’s going on?”
She pushes past me into the house, spinning around to face me. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve been calling and texting since last night!”
“I’ve been kind of busy.”
“Busy?” She throws her hands up in frustration. “Well, when were you going to tell me that your ex was in town? Because I’m pretty sure I just saw Griffin as I was driving here.”
Griffin.
The name hits me like a physical blow, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. But then, a wave of relief washes over me, so intense it makes my knees weak. This is about Griff. Not about Damon. Not about the fact that I fucked my best friend’s cousin.
“He seems to be doing okay,” I say, my voice surprisingly even.
“You talked to him?” Amara asks, then winces, pressing a hand to her temple. “Ow. My head’s killing me.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, genuine concern cutting through my relief.
“I’m fine,” she says, waving me off. “Just a bit of a headache. But we can talk about that later. Right now, we need to talk about Griff.”
“We will,” I promise, grabbing my keys from the hook by the door. “But I have to go to work. June needs me at the shop.”
“Seriously?” She groans, flopping onto my couch. “Now?”
I nod, trying to look apologetic. “I made some coffee. You can totally sleep in until I get back.”
“Fine,” she mutters, pulling a throw pillow over her face. “I plan on it.” She peeks out from under the pillow, her eyes narrowed. “How the hell are you so okay, anyway? After everything?”
“I slept a lot,” I say, which isn’t entirely a lie.
“Me too,” she says, her voice muffled by the pillow. “And I still feel like shit.”
“I can brew you something before I go,” I offer. “A headache tincture?”
“I’m okay,” she says, sitting up. “Wait.”
We’re walking back to the kitchen, and I stop, turning to her. “What?”
“You smell weird,” she says, her nose wrinkling.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, my heart starting to pound again.
She steps closer, her eyes narrowed. Then she reaches out, tugging at the collar of my halter neck. “Did you have sex?”
I swallow hard. “What the hell are you talking about?”
