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People often underestimate him because he’s short and has an easy-going air about him. Probably because of that damn dirty blond hair and goofy grin. They don’t expect him to go stone-cold badass at the first sign of trouble.
That’s why I hired him.
“Nah, nothing that exciting,” I fire back.
“So, cyber-stalking your mystery girl, then?” Cal’s dark eyes glint with that lethal humor of his.
“Very funny.” I make a face and flip him the bird.
“Seriously, dude. You’ve been here half a year and you haven’t even looked her up? Aren’t you curious?” He leans back, clasping his hands behind his head.
“I’m sure she’s long gone,” I counter. But the response falls flat, even to me.
Besides, of course, I’ve damn well looked her up.
He narrows his gaze, but his left eyebrow twitches suspiciously into an arch. I could have let that go, but then the asshole has the audacity to smirk.
“Fuck off,” I mutter, eyeing the email again. Maybe it was the lesser of two evils after all. “Did you need something?”
Cal snickers. “Since when do I need a reason to harass you?”
My expression deadpans and a low growl rumbles from the back of my throat.
That makes him full-on guffaw.
Prick.
“Seriously, man. I’ve never seen a guy wound so tight at the mention of an old friend,” Cal continues. “Are you sure you don’t have feelings for her?”
“We were ten, man. And she was mybestfriend.” I lower my eyebrows. “Of course, I have feelings for her. Just—not like that.”
“Sure, sure,” he says, nodding.
I roll my eyes. “You gotta point in there somewhere?”
“Saint, you’re pining for a girl you haven’t seen in damn near twenty years. The least you could do is put your feelings to bed by tracking her down, asking her out to coffee, and realizing she never went through puberty like the rest of us. Or that she’s an ogre or some damned thing. Christ,” he mutters.
“First of all, I’m not pining—”
Again he raises an eyebrow.
“Hey, Saint, we’re outta stir sticks,” Myles says, knocking on the doorframe the way Cal had. She tips her chin to him in acknowledgment. “Oh, hey, Cal.”
“Hey, Myles,” Cal says, looking over his shoulder.
I turn my gaze to the best damn bartender this side of Lake Superior—who on occasion is also one deluded mofo. Her pixie-style haircut is a mixture of black and purple this week. It was red and gold last week. Dressed in the goth garb she frequently wears, she looks like a pissed-off fairy.
“This is my problem how?” I fire back, leaning forward so I can plant my elbows on my desk and steeple my fingers beneath my chin.
She arches a well-sculpted black eyebrow and crosses her arms. “Did you approve my entire bar order last week?”
“Is there a well-stocked bar out there?” I quip, knowing damn well she’s been putting everything away for the past hour.
Besides, she and I both know that between the two of us, if the stir sticks got forgotten, it wasn’t on my end.
Her eyes narrow and her mouth purses. “Well,shit.”
I shake my head and turn back to the pointed stare Cal’s throwing in my direction. He’s not done with his stupid conversation.
