Page 68 of Missiletoe
There had been a few…incidents that necessitated me doing that. Gareth had insisted. And because of Paris, that was the first day I’d been happy about it. I decided then and there that I’d make more rooms in my wing safe for Paris. Like my bedroom, the bathroom, the snack area, and my bedroom hallway. Heck, maybe I’d start only working on things inside my reinforced workshop. Gareth would be so proud of me.
Once everyone was seated, I said, “So about killing Paris’s stalker…”
“I think you should let me do a sneak attack once Gareth ferrets them out,” Baz said.
“That way they won’t have a chance to run,” I agreed.
“Gareth can come for backup, I guess, but I won’t need it.”
“Unless it’s a bunch of people. Paris, have you pissed off a bunch of people lately? Underground dog smugglers, perhaps?” I gripped Paris’s arm tightly because what if underground dog smugglers were trying to kill him? What if he died, and I lost him forever?
“Or a pet food store you stopped doing business with? I’ve heard some of them have connections with the mafia,” Baz asked.
“Where did you hear that?” Paris asked.
“TV, duh.”
“That makes sense.” No, it didn’t, but I loved Baz, and sometimes he needed his ego stroked.
“Right?” Baz tipped his chair back and did that impressive thing he likes to do where he balances on the back two legs and then holds perfectly still. I think Baz was showing off for Paris because he upped the ante by pulling out one of his daggers and balanced it on the tip of one finger.
Baz is so fucking cool.
I forgot about Baz and how cool he was because the obvious answer smacked me right in the face. “I think we should also look at the fire department, because you know half of them are gay, so they probably want into Paris’s pants.”
“The fire department isn’t going to set Paris on fire to get into his pants,” Baz drawled, pulling out another dagger and balancing it on a different finger.
“They could just be trying to burn them off him!” I reasoned. “I bet firefighters would know exactly how to burn pants enough to keep the person inside them unscathed.” I could probably do it if I set my mind to it.
“Um,” Paris said.
“It’s not the fire department!” Baz spoke over him because they hadn’t worked out their own flow in our conversational kung fu yet. I wasn’t worried. They’d get there.
“Then it’s the theater department at the university.” I firmly believed that every single person in it was extra enough to do use fire to snag a boyfriend.
“That makes sense. They are the gayest theater department in the state.” Baz added another knife to his balancing act. Soon he was going to run out of fingers.
“Um,” Paris said.
“Totally,” I agreed, talking over Paris becausewehadn’t worked out our own flow in our conversational kung fu yet either. I wasn’t worried. We’d get there too. “They won an award for it and everything.”
“I saw they got their banner for it last week.” Paris squeezed in with perfect timing.
“Let’s have sex,” I said, because it needed to be said. It was the only logical response to Paris slipping into the chaos of my life with such little on-the-job training.
“I’m game,” Baz chimed in.
“No.” I shot Baz alook.“I’m not sharing him, Baz. I love you, but I can’t share Paris.”
I could have been more sensitive, I suppose, but it was Baz. He knew me and my ways. Beating around the bush wasn’t our style.
Baz didn’t get upset at all. No. My brilliant, wonderful, perfect Baz lit up with a thousand-watt smile. “You found your person.”
“I found my person,” I agreed happily.
“Hurt him and die,” Baz said to Paris in a pleasant tone.
“I’d rather die than hurt him,” Paris responded gravely.
