by Rider, Liv
The man looked just as taken aback as Oscar, as if he hadn’t expected a skinny twenty-four-year-old in Iron Man boxers. Oh, God, Oscar was only wearing boxers. He hugged a struggling Marshmallow closer, as if the cat could somehow double as a shirt. Words. He needed to find some words.
“Um—sorry?” he managed.
“I’m Mahon O’Calleigh. Who are you?” the man rumbled. He had an Irish accent and a low, gravelly voice. Oh, that wasn’t fair at all.
“Oscar. Oscar Williams.” Oscar said, still dazed. “I don’t usually answer the door in my boxers.” This seemed important to clarify. “I almost always wear pants. Um—sorry, are you looking for someone? ‘Cause it’s just me here.”
Mahon frowned down at him. “I’m looking for you. That was your spell in the club last night, wasn’t it?”
“What?”
“The fire,” Mahon said impatiently. “That was yours.”
Oscar dropped Marshmallow, who gave a yowl of triumph and streaked down the hallway.
“Fuck!” Oscar swore and began to stumble after her, but Mahon didn’t budge from the doorframe.
“I’m sure she’ll come back,” Mahon began. “The beasts always know where their dinner is.”
“It’s not that,” Oscar said, craning to see past Mahon. “It’s just—she thinks she’s about ten times larger than she actually is, and last week she attacked Mrs. Giordano’s dog and I managed to smooth it over but Mrs. Giordano usually takes Rufus for a walk about this time and if she tells the super that I have a cat up here without permission—” He flailed his hands around helplessly. Oscar knew he sounded insane, but he loved Marshmallow. Mrs. Giordano’s Labrador had taken Marshmallow’s attack as an attempt to play last time, but what if the dog wasn’t so placid this time? Marshmallow might have no fear, but Oscar was all-too-aware that she could get hurt if the dog reacted badly.
Mahon rocked back on his heels. “Get dressed,” he said gruffly. “I’ll go fetch your damned cat.” He strode down the hallway after Marshmallow before Oscar could object.
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