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“Hey, pretty bird,” a (rather attractive) voice says.
Stolas stirs his drink, listening absentmindedly as someone plops in the seat beside him. He wasn’t aware other Goetia frequented this establishment, otherwise he wouldn’t have come. Discretion has been a rarity since the divorce was finalized. He takes another sip of his cocktail and nearly spits it out as a hand seizes his own—large and warm.
“Thanks for grabbing me a seat,” the voice continues.
Stolas’ eyes follow the gloved hand up to a spiked jacket and the flash of a cocky grin. Its owner has long striped horns, an almost heart shaped mark on his forehead, and a patch of white encircling the side of his face. A very handsome face that’s staring at Stolas expectantly. The words tumble out of his mouth before his brain can catch up. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Traffic was a bitch.”
“I could have portaled you, darling.”
“And leave the van behind?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The imp turns in his seat, eyes narrowing. Stolas chokes on his own saliva. Verosika Mayday, the popstar, is glaring at his new companion with enough venom to kill a small cactus. To his credit, the imp doesn’t seem particularly bothered. “Go fuck yourself, you fish-faced whore.”
An empty bottle hurtles toward them. Faster than blinking, Stolas catches it and magically lowers it to the table. He levels a stare at Verosika, straightening his posture with a haughty disdain even Stella would be proud of. “That’s quite enough.”
“Thanks,” the imp says, sounding surprised. He drops his hand and Stolas tries not to miss it.
“Of course.” This has to be the strangest night out in…ever, really. Not that he has much to compare it to.
The imp leans closer, voice lowering. “I’m Blitz, the o is silent.”
Stolas hopes he’s not blushing as hard as he fears. “Stolas.”
“Long story—crazy ex, shitty breakup, bad decisions. Pretty sure she’s been stalking me. Bitch didn’t believe I already had a date.” Blitzø rolls his eyes. “I’m on probation here, otherwise she’d be leaving with an extra hole.”
(Stolas is pretty sure that’s a joke. He decides on a polite smile just in case.)
Blitzø rests his elbows on the table. He smells faintly of smoke, leather, and gunpowder. It’s not a combination Stolas has considered before, but there’s something heady about it. “Nice trick with the glass.”
“It was nothing! I’m happy to help.”
“Did I take someone’s seat?”
“It’s only me.” It sounds even more pathetic out loud.
Blitzø’s claws rap against the table. “No offense, but this doesn’t exactly seem like your kind of place.”
“It’s not,” Stolas says. “Or, it never was, but I’m trying to…branch out, I suppose.”
“You picked a shit hole.”
“It’s certainly different.” Stolas watches as Blitzø flags down the bartender. There’s an odd gracefulness to his movements, reminiscent of a dancer. (Or perhaps an acrobat?)
“—And another of whatever fancy drink he’s got.”
“Oh no! That’s not necessary.”
Blitzø waves him off. “Did you see the look on the skank’s face? That was fucking priceless.”
“If she’s giving you trouble, I might be able to assist.”
His eyes light up. “Disembowelment?”
“Nothing that exciting,” Stolas says. “It’s a charm that alerts the user they’re being followed.”
“Shit, that would be helpful at work.”
“What do you do?”
Blitzø moves his jacket enough for Stolas to see the glint of a gun. “I kill people.”
It should not be a turn on by any stretch of the imagination. “How afraid should I be?” Blitzø’s eyes rake over his form. Underneath their weight, the blush spreads to the rest of Stolas’ body. He subtly presses his thighs together in a poor attempt to alleviate the growing heat.
“How afraid do you want to be?”
“I’m flexible.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are.”
A thrill runs down his spine. He’s never flirted with someone so handsome before. There were a few trysts after the divorce but nothing that sparked this kind of intrigue—the observation of a new comet more than anything so trivial as a crush. This is something else entirely.
The bartender returns with their drinks and Blitzø holds his out. “Cheers.”
Stolas clinks his glass against it. He meets Blitzø’s eyes as he takes a sip. He swears it’s never tasted sweeter.