Page 30 of Housesitter

The barman came over. He flicked the rag over his shoulder and leaned across the counter to be heard.

“What do you want?”

“Whiskey,” Kel said.

The barman gave him a once-over to weigh the odds that Kel would be the sort of drunk to cause problems. He apparently decided that he was worth the risk as he turned around to grab a bottle of Jack from the speed rack behind the bar.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson about drinking and driving last time?” Warwick asked.

The reminder made Kel shift his weight from habit. It was habit. It had never helped much. Both knees hurt either way.

Not so much tonight, though. They still ached a bit, and he could feel the gritty resistance of bone as it grated on bone as he moved. It just wasn’t as bad as usual.

Like what he’d thought recovery would be like, instead of the nails between the joints reality. If it was this easy, maybe he should rethink becoming a drunk.

He tabled that thought for later as the barman brought back his drink.

“I’ve got a ride,” Kel told Warwick. Well, in theory. He took the glass and tilted his head toward Warwick. “It’s on her.”

Annoyance creased Warwick’s face. “The fuck it is.”

Kel turned and leaned back against the bar, elbows braced on the wooden surface. He watched the bar as he idly swirled liquor around the glass, watching people stagger across the dance floor, dig into meals, or drink with grim intent. Some of them had threads of ‘smoke’ already threaded through their hair and caught in their teeth.

He wondered what they’d have to say if he went to talk to them.

For now though, he cut his gaze sideways to check on Warwick.

“Us being friends gives you an excuse to keep talking to me.”

“Not really a goal of mine,” Warwick said sourly. But the smoke told him she knew he was right, and she pulled her wallet out to pay even as she grumbled. “OK, then, if you’re feeling chatty. You really think anyone is going to buy that you aren’t a fucking Laker to your bones?”

“You didn’t mind fucking a Laker,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, ask him how quickly I realized that was a mistake,” Warwick said.

The smoke around her mouth thickened, dark and heavy as a grease fire as she exhaled. It licked at her lips hungrily before it mouthed.

Ask her if she knows how quickly I realised, the smoke said. If she knows I never thought it about her.

Kel choked on a mouthful of whiskey. It itched in the back of his sinuses as it splashed in directions other than down. Somehow he knew who the her was and…OK, he guessed Warwick just liked to cast her line in the Laker gene pool.

Warwick brushed the spray of liquor off her sleeve and gave him an annoyed look.

“I know I paid for it; I don’t need it back,” she said sourly.

“Yeah, well,” Kel said. “I assumed you’d know Freddie wasn’t the Laker I meant.”

Warwick went still for a beat. Then she visibly restarted with a quick, shallow breath that jerked her chest.

“You’re drunk,” she said. “Go home.”

The smoke clung to her mouth and cheeks like a mask—caul, something in the back of Kel’s head corrected him. He ignored it—until he almost couldn’t see her through it.

Did she tell you? Does she talk about me? When? Is it real?

Kel breathed in and caught the smoke on the back of his tongue. It had bite, like hot honey on charred meat, and it clung to his mouth. He wanted…

…