Page 4 of Leashed

“Sir? Is your drink okay?”

With a grunt, he nodded. “Enough with the ‘sir’ crap.” When she didn’t move away or speak, he glanced over at her. “It’s fine. Thanks.”

Giving him a timid smile, she pointed to the stack of textbooks on the other side of the bar. “If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be over there.”

He remained hunched over his untouched drink as the minutes ticked by, the ice melting away while the waitress started a pot of coffee and opened an old laptop, organizing the papers spread out over the counter.

Adjusting his seat, he kept one eye on her as she tried to focus on her work, her gaze drifting to his every few minutes before her cheeks would pink up and she’d look away.

Her long legs were primly crossed as she perched on the bar stool, her fingers drifting to the hem of her skirt frequently to tug it farther down her thighs. Long lashes framed her dark eyes, the contrast to her pale skin accentuated by thick black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Delicate brows knotted as she leaned in closer to one of her texts, her thin lips pursing in concentration.

She was cute, that sweet, wholesome cuteness he actively avoided both topside and in the underworld.

Nothing about him was cute or sweet.

And he sure as shit wasn’t wholesome.

Pushing his glass away, he grabbed a drink menu from beside till and cleared his throat. “Could I get something a little stronger?”

Startled, she snapped her laptop closed and stood, nodding and rearranging her books into a single pile. “Of course. Yes. We have vodka, white rum, amber rum, da—”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking off the hint of guilt he’d felt when he’d surprised her. “Can I just grab a plain coffee?” Setting the menu down, he wrinkled his nose. “With none of this fancy shit.”

She gave him a timid smile, smoothing her blouse down over her hips as she reached up to pull two mugs off an overhead rack and filling them. “Would you like a food menu too? A glass of water?” she asked, setting his coffee down in front of him.

Without hesitation, he brought the cup to his lips, grimacing when the first sip burned down his throat. Accepting a shot glass of ice, he nodded toward her books. “Tell you what. Put that pot beside me and go do your thing.”

A flicker of gratefulness crossed her face as she gave him another quick smile as she set the coffeepot within reach. While she eased her laptop open, he turned his attention to his coffee, relishing in the unfamiliar inner stillness he felt in her presence until afternoon gave way to evening. As the solitude of the lounge was overtaken by patrons demanding the quiet waitress’s attention, he dropped another wad of bills on the counter. Slipping out into the brisk night, his hackles rose when he felt the power of a deity closing in on him. The tension lessened when he recognized the pretty blonde Fate. “Hey, C. What brings you topside?”

Clotho’s delicate spinner’s fingers were wrapped in thick mittens, her petite form encased in woolen layers. Her silver eyes flicked between him and the lounge, brows knotted. “You are where you are meant to be,” she murmured, her voice holding a hint of confusion.

Slowing his pace so she could keep up, he shrugged. “I guess that’s how you found me, hey?” When she didn’t respond, he nudged her lightly with his elbow. “Everything okay?”

Most humans, hell, most deities, were unsettled in the Fate’s presence. But most hadn’t grown up nipping at the heels of the reserved Clotho as he had, batting at the threads she spun until she picked him up and placed him at her side with a centaur bone, waiting for Dionysus or Hades to collect him.

Her head tilted and she looked up at him, the eerie glimmer of her eyes directly meeting his. “It should have been. We’ll meet again tomorrow.” With a gentle quiver through the air, she slipped back into the underworld, leaving him alone in the cold.

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