I joined Rohan a few minutes later, bearing two huge white bakery bags which I set on the bench between us. “For your dining pleasure.” I motioned at the odd little housewares store whose window was filled with row upon row of ceramic Japanese welcoming cats, their paws waving. “Note the enticing view.” I pointed up at the speakers of the nearby dollar store, blasting up-tempo K-pop. “The infectious soundtrack. And…” I tore open one of the bags, delicious pork and yeast-scented steam curling out. “The best BBQ pork buns you’ve ever had in your life.”
Rohan helped himself to one. “I’m from L.A., sweetheart. Not sure this is gonna top the pork buns I can get there.”
“Ye of little faith. This is Vancouver. Our Asian food is second to none.”
His eyes fluttered shut at his first bite, his tongue darting out to catch an errant drop of sauce.
I crammed a piece of the soft bun into my mouth as a decoy for any embarrassing noises about to spill out of me.
Rohan took another bite, his white even teeth flashing. “It’s delicious. Go ahead. Be smug.”
“Nope. I’m giving you new experiences, not revisiting old ones.”
We ate our way through the stash I’d purchased in compatible silence.
“More?” He looked hopefully at the second bag.
I shook my head and his face fell. Laughing, I tore that bag open to reveal the coconut buns inside, which were also still warm. “Dessert.”
“Yes! I love these.” He helped himself to two right off the bat, polishing them off faster than I did, which was no mean feat.
I smacked his hand when he reached for a third. “Step down, cowboy. That one’s mine.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, stretching an arm along the back of the bench. His eyes remained fixated on the bun.
Growling, I tore off a piece and held it out to him.
Instead of taking it from my hand, he leaned in, his mouth closing around my fingers, all heat and wetness as he slowly sucked the piece away from me. Neither of us blinked. He swallowed, then grasped my wrist, turning my fingers from side-to-side to lick coconut cream off.
I may have forgotten how to breathe.
“Yum.” His voice was rather husky. Sexy.
“That’s nothing. Second dessert time now.” Mine was husky, too, except I sounded like Gollum. I crumpled the bags, jumping up to throw them in the trash. “Come on.”
I barreled off to his car. This date was not a good idea. I’d been wrong about tectonic upheavals. They were dangerous. Much carnage.
“Nava.” Rohan snapped his fingers at me.
I blinked at the door he held open for me. “Huh?”
He smirked.
And then there were the things that never changed.
It may have been the middle of the week, but it was also a sunny spring day and the gelato place was a local favorite. The giant pink store was bustling. Cars spilled out of the parking lot and the cobblestoned outdoor seating area was full of people munching cones under leafy trees.
Rohan’s eyes lit up at the promise of two hundred flavors on the sign.
“Wait until you see inside.” I tried not to snicker. Even Ari, who loved the gelato could have done without their choice of interior decorating. I held open the door for him with a “ta da!”
Rohan spun in a slow circle, taking in the full glory of the bright chalk murals. “Whoa. This place rocks.” He bounded off to explore the gelato selection.
“Uh, yeah.” I stumbled up to the cash register and paid for our ice creams before we ordered, scanning the room for my date.
“Wasabi?” he asked, pointing a tub of green gelato. “Really?”
I held up the poker chip he’d have to exchange for a single scoop cone. “Before I give you your token, you must play a round of ‘what’s that flavor?’” Another chance to make this date memorable for all the wrong reasons and make Rohan want to go home.
To someone like Lily.
The guy behind the counter stepped back. I smoothed my snarl into a smile.
Rohan glanced at the wasabi container one more time, rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. “Lay it on me.”
“We each choose one sample for the other person to taste. Then we guess.”
“What do I get if I win?” His eyes twinkled, smug certainty rolling off him. I held up the token. His face fell. “You’re holding my ice cream hostage to my correct guess?”
Not really, but it was fun taunting him, so I nodded. I twirled my finger around the room.
“Pick wisely, grasshopper.” I skipped off to get the perfect flavor.
We met in the middle of the room with our offerings.
“Ladies first.” He held out the tiny plastic sample spoon with what looked like vanilla gelato on it.
I braced myself and swallowed it. I acked like a cat spewing a hairball. “It tastes like feet.”
“Is that your guess?”
“No.” I sorted through the disgusting aftertaste of cold, salty cheese. “Parmesan.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’ve tried it before.”
“Have not.” I waggled my token at him. “It was too obvious. You can’t just go for gross out. Try subtlety. You boys.”
“You’ve done this with a lot of guys?” he asked. Geez, grumpy.
“Just Ari.” He cheered up at that. “Your turn.”
He eyed the pale green hit of durian chili ice cream that I held out, snatched the spoon from me, and knocked it back. “Oh fuck,” he gagged. “It’s spicy frozen vomit.”
I tried not to laugh, but not very hard. “Is that your final answer?”
“I hate you.”
“You really don’t.” I held up his token. “The stakes are high. Make your guess.”
“You’ve burned my taste buds off. How about we rock paper scissors instead? I win, you give me my token.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Anything you want. But you won’t win.”
As if. There was only one thing guys like him ever threw. “Count of three.” I laid down paper, right as he threw scissors. “You got lucky,” I said.
“Nope. You profiled me as the type of guy to throw rock. That hurts, babe. I’m way more secure in my manhood than that.”
“Babe? I think not.”
He grinned at me, swiping his token from my hand. “I’m trying out new nicknames since Lolita was retired. What do you think about ‘Sparky?’”
“Not much.”
“It’s cute.” He swaggered off to the counter.
I was not being put in the cute zone. No, the only zone I intended to share with him was the Pacific Time Zone and that only with an international border and two states between us.
We ate outside, crammed together on one of the benches, Rohan’s leg pressed against mine. I tilted my face up to the sun, taking lazy licks of my gelato. Rohan was smart enough to share his coconut chocolate chip with me, while I graciously allowed him to try my chocolate raspberry.
Such a couple tableau we made. Except we weren’t. I bit into my cone.
“I’ll always love Lily,” he said.
“What?” Why volunteer information I had no interest in? And bring it up now on our date? Had all those feels of the past little while been strictly one-sided?
“If you’re figuring out what matters, this does. Besides, you asked about her,” he said. “At lunch last week.”
I refrained from pointing out that whether or not he loved her hadn’t exactly been my wording. “Yes. You love Lily. Maybe you should stop flirting with me and run back to L.A. to be with her.”
“Even though I’ll always love her–” Okay, he could stop repeating that. He swallowed his last bite of cone. “I don’t want to get back together with her. We’re different people now.”
Throwing my arms up in victory would be bad, right? In despair. Throwing them up in despair. “Can you not tell her about being Rasha? Would it would be too hard?”
“I think in general, any relationship
with her would be easy.”
Like Cole.
He licked a smear of ice cream off of his finger. “It’s not what I want anymore.”
Which meant what? I was difficult? Was he even talking about me? I glanced at him to see if he planned to offer up any more information, but he watched me like it was my turn to speak.
Finishing up my cone, I silently repeated the words thundering in my brain until I was capable of saying them aloud. “I don’t know how to move forward and I can’t go back.”
“Me neither,” he admitted.
Great talk.
Chet Baker’s mournful jazz trumpet washed over us on the ride back. No matter how many times I snuck glances at him, Rohan remained unreadable as he drove us home. This was impossible. We were impossible. I wasn’t even sure I wanted a “we” but I wasn’t sure I didn’t. Life was so much simpler when everything was black and white.
The end of the date loomed large and potentially awkward. First off, my dates didn’t usually live in the same house as me so I wasn’t sure about proper protocol, second, I still wasn’t ready to kiss him which was the traditional parting gesture, and third, given our last conversation, maybe the only thing to do was toss off a “nice knowing you.”
I fiddled with my purse strap, wondering if I should try for some formal pronouncement or just walk away when Rohan said, “Unforgettable date, Sparky,” fist-bumped me and went inside.
19
I was still standing there dumbfounded over Rohan’s exit when Ari cornered me, snagging my arm and hauling me to our car. “Where have you been? We need to figure out how best to approach Malik. You can buy me Waffles at Stacked.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
He held up his phone. “So I don’t call Mom and tell her you’re involved with both a co-worker and your ex.” Ari pitched his voice into a pretty good imitation of our mother’s. “Nava Liron Katz, I’m so disappointed in you.”
I eeped because Stacked, while delicious, was pricey and the Brotherhood didn’t pay its newbies all that well. But Mom would submit me to a litany of lectures. “Done.”
Ari wasn’t finished. “This being the first of three breakfasts, the last one to be bought no later than two months from now.”
“You are your father’s son. That’s not a compliment,” I added at his laugh.
Ari hit speed dial. “Hey Mom. You around to make Nee and me breakfast? There’s so much to catch up on.” He put her on speakerphone so I could hear that he’d really called her.
“Mama’s boy,” I whispered. “Fine. I give in to your demands.”
My agreement came just as our mom said she couldn’t, remember? She was at a conference all day, but to give her a call this weekend. Ari promised he would, snickering as he hung up.
“Now I’m going to have to visit her.” I shoved him. “And you knew she wouldn’t be around to begin with.”
“Yup.” He slid his phone into his pocket. “Never negotiate without all the facts. You know better.”
“I plead mental distress.”
Over really yummy Belgian waffles, Ari and I combed once more through the victims’ social media profiles, this time looking for any photos or connection to Malik. Our break, odd as it was, came on Jakayla’s feed. The animal rights’ activist and mature student had posted a photo of a painting donated for some charity event that she’d organized. The artist? Malik Irfan.
Further searching led us to his modest website and yes, it was the same person. We scrolled through his online portfolio of vibrant abstract oil paintings. Kinetic and bold, these did not look like the work of evil spawn.
I poured more Jack Daniels maple syrup over my light and crispy Brussels-style waffles. “He is a demon, right?”
Ari frowned at the screen as if trying to make it conform to a logic he understood. “Has to be. There’s no way I psychosomatically exaggerated my reaction to him.” He motioned to our server for more coffee. “He’s got a studio. We can check out if it’s for real or a front. First let’s find out more about the connection with Jakayla.”
“Sounds good.”
The server came round and topped up our coffee mugs.
“So. Stringing Ro and Cole along.” Ari gave me a pointed look and dove into his all-pork sausage. Jew fail.
I kicked him under the table, smiling at the lovely man who kept the caffeine coming in timely fashion. “Any nightmares lately?”
“What did Harper say when you told him he wasn’t welcome in your life anymore?” My brother cut his waffle into squares with surgical precision.
I squirted cream into my mug and ate one of my raggedly sawed-off pieces of waffle. “I haven’t. Rohan and I aren’t dating and Cole is merely a transitional.”
“Rohan hasn’t been in a relationship the entire time he’s been Rasha.”
“You gossipy old woman. Who’d you pump? And why’d you bother? According to you, I’m the Sheriff of Hot Mess Township, relationship-wise.”
“Mayor of Hot Mess Metropolis at least.” Polishing off his last bite, he eyed my plate.
I pushed it closer to him, allowing him access, since he’d gone for the thicker Liege-style waffles. He, in turn, spun his plate so I could get at his hashbrowns. “Spill, already,” I said.
He chewed thoughtfully. “Him not being in a relationship makes sense. Adjusting to hunting full time is big enough, never mind his years of being the guy who could and probably did have anyone he wanted.”
“Works for me.” I spread my arms wide like I was drawing a rainbow. “Be free, little bird.”
“It means there haven’t even been any repeat performances on his part. Not until now.”
I spit out my coffee. “Oh no. Repeat away.”
“So you’re okay with Ro seeing other people?”
“Obviously. Since I’m hardly going to be hypocritical about it.” I stabbed at my waffle.
Ari opened his mouth to argue some more, but at my glare, shrugged.
Stupid twin planting stupid ideas in my brain. I obsessed over this the entire way to the offices of A.L.E.R.T., the animal activist ’zine that Jakayla had co-founded.
The ’zine’s offices were located through a side door in a shabby building upstairs from a pet store and a dubious-looking tanning salon. Landlines rang and volunteers ran around dropping off papers on one of two editors’ desks. The walls were covered in corkboards with dozens of photos thumb tacked to them, from gruesome photos of chicken factories to sun-bleached posters announcing International Bears’ Day.
One of the volunteers, a man in his late thirties who looked like a Burning Man-refugee with his striped cords and low slung leather utility belt, looked up from the desk nearest the doorway, vaping away, which was totally illegal indoors but I doubt this crowd cared. “Can I help you?”
“Hi,” I said. “We’d like to speak with someone involved in coordinating the wildlife rescue fundraiser a couple of months back?”
“That’d be Zaph.” He waved us over to a couple of rickety wooden chairs. “Have a seat.”
I thanked him, taking the chair farthest from the burnt popcorn-scented smoke curling around his head.
Zaph, single-monikered and non-binary, as they informed us upon our meeting, had a rangy frame matching their energy.
“How would you describe working with Malik?” Ari asked. He stood by the edge of Zaph’s desk, a wary eye on the tottering pile of folders threatening to topple onto his feet at any moment.
“Very professional.” Zaph spoke in a lilting Jamaican accent, toying with their dreads. “I have no hesitation recommending him as your artist in residence.” Yeah, we’d kind of lied, presenting ourselves as the executive assistants to the chancellor of the local art college, sent to check references and narrow down our list of candidates.
“You met him how?” I asked.
“Through my co-founder, Jakayla Malhotra.”
“Had she worked with him before?”
“No. They were in a relationship
.”
The Burner volunteer working on his computer at the next desk scowled at Zaph, caught me looking, and strode away, his e-cig clamped between his teeth.
“Impossible,” Ari said.
“Like they hooked up a bunch?” I asked. The idea of an incubusy thing in a relationship was too much for me to wrap my head around.
Zaph’s eyes narrowed. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“Speaks to conduct,” Ari said. “The college has strict no-fraternization policy between staff. Even guest instructors.”
Zaph shook their head. “I had no issues with Malik and I’m not going to gossip about a friend’s private life.”
Further entreaties were met with stony silence. Reluctantly we took our leave.
Ari stopped in the restroom, so I waited in the hall for him. Burner guy sat on a bench, head bowed, rolling his e-cig between his fingers. He reminded me of Rohan with his piece of curved bone.
I sat down beside him. “Hi.”
“Hey. Get what you needed?”
“Not really. Zaph was very political in their choice of words.”
“Yeah, well.”
“Jakayla seemed like a real sweetheart,” I said. “Trying to do some good in this world. Were you close?”
He gave a “kind of” wave with his hand, his shoulders tensing as he hunched inward.
“It’s hard to lose people like that.”
Ari stepped out of the bathroom and I gave the tiniest shake of my head. He stayed at the far end of the corridor checking his phone.
There was no heat in this hallway. I pulled my unlined black trench coat tighter around me, wishing I’d gone for something a bit warmer. “Is there anything you could tell me about Malik?”
The guy sucked in some more e-juice, sorrow aging his features. “Yeah.” He was quiet for a moment. “Malik snowed all of us. Talented artist, real charmer, good looking.” I didn’t begrudge him his bitterness. No one could compete with a demon for charm factor. “But he was a bastard. They’d only been together a couple of weeks and he screwed around on her the entire time. She kept making excuses for him but, well… It was like she was addicted.”
Exactly like.
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-3 (Nava Katz Box Set) Page 77
