Page 77 of Grim Tidings

I shake my head. This asshole.

“Yeah, I’ve got your keys,” I yell back. “You need them now?”

I can see the slash of his grin and not much else. “You know I like to fish after a storm. C’mon. Toss ’em over.”

Absolutely not. There’s no way I can toss him a set of boat keys that are roughly the size of a paperclip across a street during a baby monsoon. With Nate’s coordination, they’ll likely drop through the storm drain and we’ll both be knee-deep in the water, trying to fish them out.

I glance at Darcy, standing like a statue at the very edge of my porch, staring at Nate. She’s gone pale and still, her hands clenched into fists at her side.

“I’m going to run these keys over to Nate,” I say slowly, ducking to try and meet her eyes. “Go inside. Grab whatever you want from my room. I’ll be up in a second.”

Her expression clears and her eyes finally find mine. “Don’t think you can start bossing me around just because we kissed a little bit.”

I slip my hand over her hip and squeeze. “We made out like the world was ending, Darcy, and yeah. I’m gonna tell you what to do sometimes.” I press a firm kiss to the middle of her forehead and clap my hand against the curve of her ass. “Go inside. Warm up, please. I can’t stand you shivering.”

She snorts, and I bound off the small porch of the bar, making my way to Nate. The material of my T-shirt clings to my chest, Darcy still draped in my jacket. I hand him his keys as soon as I’m close enough.

“So?” he asks. “How did it go?”

I try to scrub some of the rain out of my hair, but it’s useless. I’m soaked. “What?”

“The love boat. Did she like it?”

“Please tell me you didn’t call me over here to talk about Darcy.”

“Of course I called you over here to talk about Darcy.” He looks at me like I’m stupid. “You know I don’t give a shit about fishing. She came back with you, so I’m assuming she liked the lighthouse. C’mon. Tell me everything.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

I turn to glance over my shoulder. The porch is empty, the door to the bar closed. I hope she listened. I hope she’s upstairs.

Nate flicks me in the middle of my forehead. “Details, dude. Last time I talked to you, you were all She works for the opposition, I cannot possibly entertain the idea of courting her. And then you’re banging on my door in the middle of the night, going on about boat keys like a maniac. We had a deal. You get the love boat. I get the details.”

I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with him when Darcy is quite possibly half naked in the middle of my apartment. “I’m not discussing this with you right now.”

“Give me something,” he whines.

“No.”

“A little morsel.”

“No.”

“A teensy, tiny—”

I shove him backward into the front window of Frank’s, then bound off the porch. I hear him laugh, his boots scrambling against wet pavement as he rushes to catch up, still going on about how it’s important for men to have safe spaces to discuss their feelings, and you really should open up more because it’s good for your chakras and—

But I’m not paying attention.

His boots, scrambling against wet pavement.

Wet pavement.

Wet pavement.

Darcy’s distance, and the way her magic was flirting at the edges of her irises. Her hands, curled into fists.

Wet pavement.