Page 43 of Best I Never Had

“Five,” she answers proudly. “My newest rescue just found his forever home with me two weeks ago. I named him Klaus.”

“Oh, that’s unique,” I comment, slightly surprised that she would think of such a strong name for a cat. “Is it a German breed?”

Her brow furrows in disapproval. “You don’t know Klaus? The original hybrid? He’s half vampire, half werewolf.”

I shrug in a way that’s meant to apologize for my lack of vampire-slash-werewolf knowledge, but it comes off as anI couldn’t give two shitskind of shrug.

She waves a hand at me. “Anyway, he’s been having some trouble adjusting with all of his brothersand sisters.”

“All four of them,” I add matter-of-factly while trying my best to keep the sarcastic tone out of my voice. And if it accidentally slips, she doesn’t notice.

“Yes!” she exclaims. “You see why he’s having so much trouble adjusting?”

I nod, adding an uncomfortably forced smile. My gaze lands on the raised bar top where our drinks left behind wet rings on the wooden surface. Her small hand reaches mine, gently wrapping around my fingers as I still clutch my drink as if it were my lifeline.

“Did you want another?” she asks, her blue eyes peering at me through her lashes. It’s getting late. And even though I don’t really need to be up early tomorrow since my shift at the restaurant doesn’t start until close to noon, I’ve already grown weary from this date.

“I actually have to be up early,” I lie, taking a cursory glance at my watch.

“Oh,” she says softly. “That’s too bad.” She adds a suggestive brow raise and a squeeze to my hand before leaning closer. “I thought you might want to come over.”

She’s bold, I’ll give her that.

“Maybe next time.”

I wave the waitress over to close our tab. Once that’s settled, we both exit the bar and exchange awkward hugs before Lena heads home toward Midtown and I walk to the subway station to cross the bridge. Just as I set my eyes on the green rails and concrete steps leading down to the train platform, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

The smile that splits my mouth in two hits me like a warm vanilla cake, spongy with a bounce light enough to lift my sourest of moods and so cozy it can heat my insides during the chilliest of Ohio winters.

It’s Natalia.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime, Marquez?”

“I didn’t know you were keeping tabs on my bedtime,” she calls through the phone.

“I keep tabs on a lot of things about you,” I quip. “Like how many drinks it takes for your neck to turn pink or that you have the weirdest taste buds of anyone in the tri-state area.”

“I do not!”

“Says the person who once offered me a bag of butter popcorn flavored Jelly Bellys.”

“You remember that?”

“How could I not? They were disgusting.”

She giggles.

“So, to what do I owe this late-night call?”

She pauses. “It’s nothing.”

I’m halfway down the stairs before I stop. “Nat, what is it?”

“I just…I guess…” She pauses before letting out a light hum. As if by doing that, she can hide the underlying reason she called me.

I wait patiently, knowing that pushing Natalia isn’t the way to get her to open up. She says what she says and does what she does on her own terms. Not because she’s stubborn but more because she’s shy and reserved. That’s how she was in high school, and she’s still the same way now, uncovering layers of herself according to her own comfort level while peeling them back as she grows more assured and less vulnerable.

“I was just feeling a little…lonely,” she finally says, breathing out the last word as if she doesn’t want to use the full force of her voice to make it lack its certainty. And it isn’t that she’s not actually lonely. It’s that she doesn’t want to fully admit it.

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