Page 11 of Buckle Up, Buttercup

“Thank you both.” I take it and set it on the countertop, glancing between Bluebell and Jasper. “I’m gonna buy Jasper a beer. Wanna come with us?”

Bluebell grins but shakes her head. “Another time. I’ve got the dinner shift at Whiskey Business, then I’m closing at Lizard Lick ‘cause someone called in sick.”

I frown. “You gonna have a chance to get some dinner?”

Jasper elbows me. “You think Bluebell’s gonna miss a meal? Have you met my sister? She’s basically a garbage disposal.”

I look back at her, concerned that she’s been working all day and still has two shifts to go. “I can come help, if you want.”

She shakes her head as Jasper disappears back into my apartment. “Not sure how much help it’ll be when all the single monstresses in town flood the bar to get served by the famous Hadrian Alkazar. Naw, I’m good, but thanks for the offer. Oh hey…” Lifting her hand, she fingers the delicate necklace around her throat.

The one I sent her.

“Thank you for the early birthday gift, it’s absolutely perfect.”

“No problem,” I say even as pleasure ripples through me. She likes it. I knew she would.

“The note cracked me up,” she says with a laugh. “It’s gonna suck for me one day when you get tired of honoring a promise we made like, literal years ago.”

I won’t ever get tired of honoring that promise, but I can’t tell her that. Especially with Jasper right inside the apartment.

She glances at her watch, seeming to look at the time. “Well, I’ve gotta get to gettin’ but I’ll see ya later, neighbor!”

“Sure,” I say quietly, wishing she’d allow me to help.

She spins on her heel and heads for the door, hair falling out of her usual space buns. Thin blue tendrils stick to the back of her neck. She’s slightly sweaty from all the trips up and down the stairs. My nostrils flare, her usual scent stronger as her heart races from the work.

Thwomp. Thwomp. Thwomp.

That beat. It’s slow and steady, as grounded as she is except when her brothers are irritating her. Then it picks up until it’s a wild gallop.

I love the sound of her heartbeat. I think about it sometimes when I…do things. The rhythm’s so beautiful and familiar, like a harmony I can’t stop humming.

“Bye, my dudes,” she shouts as she flashes us a peace sign from the doorway. When she disappears without a backward glance, I stare after her, wishing she’d throw a look over her shoulder at me. Something, anything that seems like more than just friends.

Jasper flops onto my sofa with a big groan. “Gods, dude, you have so much shit and not a plant to be seen. I’d thought I’d at least grow something nice and big for you, but not a piece of greenery in this place. What the fuck?”

I stare at the doorway where Bluebell left before I turn to him. “Normally, someone’s best friend would gift them something like that as a housewarming present, ya know.” Planting my hands on my hips, I shoot him a harsh look.

“Not me.” Jasper jumps to his feet and heads for the door. “Gifts aren’t my love language.”

I laugh and shove him. “You have a love language?”

“Beer,” he shouts as he heads up the hallway. “You owe me one or ten, Hay! Come on!”

Snickering, I lock up the apartment and follow him down to the alleyway. As my footsteps fall, it occurs to me that it’s the same cadence as Bluebell’s heartbeat. Some days I just can’t seem to get that rhythm off my mind.

Bluebell

“How’s the Bodice? Tell me everything.” My best friend, Lemon, sips a pumpkin mead as her mate, Furyon, drops onto the barstool next to hers.

I wipe the bar down before placing two menus in front of them, not that they even need a menu at this point. I swear they eat at Whiskey Biz at least three nights a week, always when I’m working. Great tippers, too, even though I’ve argued about them tipping me like I’m their kid who finally got a job.

“Lem, it’s not what I thought,” I admit as I go back to wiping the bar down, even though it’s spotless and still early in the evening.

She frowns, dark blond brows furrowing into an elegant vee. Her itty bitty fangs peek over the edges of her mead tankard. Setting it down, she cocks her head to the side, perfect blonde waves hanging over her neck and chest to highlight the swirling vampiric house tattoos covering her large breasts. She’s so fucking pretty, it’s sickening.

“I hate you,” I mutter. “You’re too pretty to be real.”