“Ho bath, but better than nothing,” she said. “Now how do I smell?”
I sniffed at her, grinning. “Fresh as a daisy.”
She took her sweater from me and put it on, and then hustled for the door. “Use my shower if you want,” she said as she breezed out. “You smell like sex, too.”
I took her up on her offer, and discovered that using a shower in an apartment lived in by women was a little tricky—there were roughly fifty different bottles cluttering the four corners of the tub and lining the high, frosted-glass windowsill, each one with a fancy name. In the end, I used one that had the word “shampoo” on it, although it smelled like somebody had put a bunch of lavender on top of a cupcake. There was no regular soap either, just shit like “exfoliating sugar scrub” and “invigorating citrus body wash.” There was also no washcloth, just a bunch of different colorful poofy things. I ended up using the invigorating citrus body wash, glopping a bunch into my palm and doing my best to scrub it into the important places.
At least I was clean.
I dressed, and then, on a whim, made Juneau’s bed. I paused in the kitchen, which was…not clean.
I hissed through my teeth. “Damn you, Ramsey,” I muttered.
He had this thing about cleaning—he claimed even if he did nothing else that day, making his bed and cleaning the apartment gave him at least some small sense of accomplishment. And I’d found myself agreeing with him, lately, which was a new twist for me.
And now, standing in the kitchen of my girlfriend’s apartment—wait. What? Girlfriend?
I rubbed my face with both hands. I’d just thought that, for real.
Own it, buster. It’s real. It’s good. Getting spooked is for pussies, and I’m no pussy.
I grinned to myself, and set about cleaning their kitchen. Dishes got rinsed off and put in the dishwasher, counters got sprayed and wiped down, the floor got swept, and when I was done, I did indeed feel a sense of accomplishment.
I also knew when Juneau realized I’d done it, she’d probably be pretty…grateful. Which wasn’t why I’d done it, but was certainly nothing to sneeze at.
I headed over to the saloon, then, whistling to myself.
Ram and Rome were sitting side by side at the bar, plates of breakfast food piled in front of them. Sebastian and our youngest—and weirdest—cousin, Xavier, were standing behind the bar. Despite the drastic difference in size, build, and age, the two were standing in the exact same pose: leaning back against the counter opposite the bar, ankles crossed, arms folded over chests.
They all heard me come in, and all eyes went to me.
“The fuck you been, dude?” Rome demanded, around a mouthful of food.
“Out,” I growled. “What’s going on in here?”
“Out,” Rome mimicked in a sarcastic whine. “What are you, fourteen?”
“Shut the fuck up, you ugly goddamn gorilla.” I took a seat next to Ram. “There any more of that?”
Xavier blinked at me owlishly. “As a matter of fact, there is. In the kitchen.”
I blinked back. “Well…can I have some?” I stared at him, wondering if I was missing something in this exchange. “Please?”
Xavier scratched at his forearm, which was wrapped in a full sleeve of geometric designs, rune-shapes, and math symbols. “Yes, you may.”
He pushed away from the counter and went into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, sausage patties, and black beans mixed with sour cream and salsa—which was weird paired with eggs, but good.
“Dude, this is amazing,” I said. “Who made this?”
Xavier raised his hand. “I did.”
“You got culinary skills, son.”
Xavier’s expression didn’t change, but there was a hardness in his voice. “I am not your son.”
I glanced at Bast with a lifted eyebrow. “Just an expression.”
“Slang is often wasted on me,” Xavier said. “I tend to be rather literal about most things.”
“Gotcha.” I lifted a forkful of eggs. “Well, cousin, this shit is delicious. And by shit, I mean the food, not literal shit.”
He sighed, a sound of long-suffering patience. “I did gather that much.”
I laughed. “Well, you said you were literal.” I glanced at him, and then at Bast. “So, what brings you guys here, and why the delicious but unexpected breakfast?”
Bast answered. “Testing an idea.”
I finished the plate with a sigh of contentment. “Thanks, Xavier, that was awesome.” I eyed Bast. “What idea?”
“There is a rather decided dearth of breakfast choices in Ketchikan,” Xavier answered. “We thought to fill that void.”
“Dearth?” I questioned. “Sorry, but I barely graduated high school, so you’ll have to dumb down the vocabulary for me.”
“Lack of,” Xavier answered.
I glanced around at our saloon, which we’d designed and renovated intending it to be primarily a night-time-focused drinks establishment. Then it morphed into a fine-dining establishment, and now a breakfast spot, as well. Fine, but just not what we’d first intended.
“I see,” I said. “And whose idea was this?”
Rome got up, vanished into the kitchen, and came out with a pot of coffee and five white ceramic mugs; he poured us coffee, set the pot on the bar, and sat back down. “It was my idea,” he said.
I glanced at him in surprise, leaning forward to look at him past Ram, who was still shoveling food into his mouth. “Yours? I thought you wanted to run a bar, not a restaurant.”
He shrugged. “I tried to take Kitty out for breakfast yesterday morning, and everywhere was packed to overflowing. A couple places had a wait list…for breakfast. I may not be the savviest businessman in the world, but to me that says opportunity. And if we’re going to focus on food as much as drinks, we may as well at least think about trying to hit all the marks where we can make money.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Bast said.
“So we’re going to be open from, like, seven in the morning to bar close? Who the fuck is going to work those hours?” I asked.
Ram finished his meal. “The idea is, we’d be open for breakfast and lunch, then close from like two to five for cleaning and restock, and then open again for dinner.” He indicated Bast and Xavier. “And they’d hire people. No one is suggesting the three of us work the entire stretch.”
I ran my hand through my hair. “Hmmm. This was never my shindig, so if you think it’ll work, fine by me.” I glanced at Xavier. “And what, you’d cook?”
He shrugged. “To start, yes. I enjoy cooking breakfast. I’d hire and train people to take over.” He paused. “I would rather work early in the morning, because I do my best thinking late at night, and I am currently working on a new AI system.”
I blinked. “A what?”
“Artificial Intelligence. An operating system for robots. I design and build robots.”
My eyes widened. “You do?”
He nodded. “I’ve sold designs to automakers, tool and die companies, toy manufacturers, and such. What I’m working on now is a design for a commission by a private company specializing in space exploration and satellites.” He said this with no hint of pride.
“Damn, dude. So you’re like, literally, a rocket scientist?”
Xavier snorted. “More robotics and AI scientist, but I take your meaning.”
I frowned. “And how old are you?”
“I turn twenty-two soon. Why?”
I laughed self-consciously. “It’s just impressive.” He was scratching his forearm again, drawing my eyes to his tattoos. “I like your ink, dude. Who did it?”
Xavier stared at his forearm for a moment, as if it took a moment to transition from what I’d said to whatever was going on in his head. “Oh. Thank you. An artist in Los Angeles. I admit I chose the parlor and artist somewhat at random.” He tugged up his sleeve, indicating the blank space above his elbow. �
�I have had a thought of adding to it, but I do not know where I would go, or what I would have done.”
I grinned at him. “You’re in luck, dude. I know the best tattoo artist in the area.”
“You do?” he asked.
I nodded. “My…um—Juneau’s cousin is a tattoo artist.” I tapped my chin. “Actually, Juneau is too, come to think of it.” I let out a deep breath, and went for it. “And so am I.”
My brothers both swiveled their heads to stare at me.
“Say what?” Rome asked. His eyes went to the tattoo peeking out from under my sleeve. “I know you and Mike used to fuck around with his machine, but calling yourself a tattoo artist seems like a bit of a stretch, bro.”
“The half sleeve on his left arm?” I paused for effect. “I did the whole thing.”
Rome frowned. “The black and white thing? All the dragons and pinup girls and shit?”
I nodded. “Grayscale, not black and white, but yes, I did that entire piece.”
Ram eyed me. “When the fuck did you two have time for that? That shit takes hours of work.”
I laughed. “You know all those times you and Rome went out barhopping for easy ass and I decided to hang back?” I rolled up my sleeve. “He was doing this, and I was doing his.”
Ram pulled a face, nodding. “Huh. I guess that makes sense.” He sniffed the air, frowned at me, and then leaned closer to me, sniffing my hair. “Dude. Why do you smell like…” He sniffed again. “You smell like a fucking girl.”
I growled. “Don’t fuckin’ worry about it.”
He sniffed me again. “It’s not just your hair, dude.” He eyed me. “Rem—why the hell do you smell like a chick?”
I didn’t want to answer questions—not yet. “Shut the fuck up and don’t worry about it.”
Rome cackled, leaning back in the stool. “Oh shit! It happened!”
Ram eyed our brother. “What happened?”
Rome smirked at me. “You used the lavender cupcake shit, didn’t you?”
I shot him an evil glare. “Fuck off.”
He came around and sniffed my head. “You did. You used their lavender cupcake shampoo.” He sniffed the back of my neck. “And that exfoliating sugar shit.”
“Would you quit sniffing me?” I snarled, taking a swipe at him.
Rome slugged me in the shoulder. “Oh quit being such a defensive bitch.” He bent his head toward me. “Sniff.”
I whacked him. “I’m not fucking sniffing you! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Just take a whiff.”
I groaned, but I sniffed—and sure as shit, he smelled like lavender cupcakes. “So we both smell like chicks. Awesome.”
“Hey, man,” Rome said, laughing. “My hair is soft as a baby duck and it was a lot easier to get it to look right this morning. Plus, I showered there yesterday and my hair still smells good.”
Bast was trying gamely to suppress his laughter. “You three are fucking strange, you know that?”
Rome grabbed my shoulder and shook it. “Hey, Rem, answer me one thing.” His eyes met mine, and I knew he was serious now.
I tried to pull away. “Fuck off, Rome.”
“No, for real.” He searched me, and I knew my brother saw what I was being so prickish about. “You connected, didn’t you.”
“Shut up,” I grumbled.
Ram was watching us, perplexed. “The hell are you two sissy-ass dweebs crying about?”
Rome just grinned. “Our brother has fallen in love.”
I gave him a glare—the kind that would have put him six feet under, if looks could kill. “Rome, last warning. Shut…the fuck…up.”
He held up both hands. “All right, all right, but only because I remember feeling that same way.”
Ram was still lost. “What way?”
Rome patted him on top of the head, viciously patronizing. “You’ll understand when you’re older, baby brother.” That was a joke between the three of us, because Ramsey was the youngest of us by several minutes.
“I’ll kick your ass, Rome, and don’t think I won’t.” Ram shot him two middle fingers. “You know I can, and you know I will.”
Truth be told, in a one-on-one fight, Ramsey probably could take either one of us, because he’d spent his off time—when he wasn’t hiking or hunting—in a martial arts studio learning Muay Thai from a scary old Thai man.
Rome just pretended to shiver. “Ooh, I’m so scared.” He glanced at me, then. “You were there all night, weren’t you? That’s why Kitty ended up crawling into my bed at one o’clock this morning—you and Juneau were keeping everyone up.”
Ram was suddenly very interested in the grain of the bar, and I suspected there was something he wasn’t saying, but I figured if I didn’t want to talk about my thing yet, then I couldn’t very well push him about his.
I did wonder if it had something to do with the odd way Izzy had said she and Ram had “met.”
Rome shot me a look, glancing pointedly at Ram—asking the question silently—and was about to say something else when Bast slapped the top of the bar. “Are we done discussing your love lives?” he grumbled. “You’re acting like you’ve just discovered fire, and you’re trying to keep the secret to yourselves.”
Rome just laughed. “Actually, it does kind of feel that way, at first.”
Bast made a face and nodded. “You’re not wrong.” He tapped the plate in front of Ram. “So. Are we in agreement about breakfast hours for Badd Kitty Saloon?”
“Fine by me,” I said. “But don’t count on me being around much to help.”
Rome eyed me. “No? Got something better to do, huh?”
I sat back and crossed my arms. “Yeah, actually.”
Rome snorted. “Juneau doesn’t count.”
I glared at him. “Don’t be a dick.” I hesitated. “I plan on doing tattoos full-time.”
“What, like your own tattoo parlor?” Ram asked, skeptically.
I shrugged. “Maybe someday. I’ll probably work for Ink for a while first, though.”
“Ink?” Rome asked.
“Juneau’s cousin, the tattoo artist. He owns Yup’ik Tattoo just outside town.” Rome was quiet, and I sighed. “Rome, look—you know I was never super thrilled with the idea of operating a bar.”
“Yeah, I know. I just…I had this vision of the three of us running this place together. I thought it’d be kinda fun.” He shrugged.
Ram snorted. “Dude, Rome. You know Rem and I hate bars. I only go when I want to pick up some fun for the night. If I really want to drink, you know I’d much rather be in front of a campfire with a bottle than in a booth in some loud bar overpaying for watery bullshit.”
Rome blew out a frustrated breath. “No, I get it. I do.”
I clapped him on the back. “Bro, we’re not going anywhere. I’m not, like, leaving. I’ll be around, and I’ll pop by and take a shift pouring beer now and then. But this is your thing, not mine.” I gestured at Bast and Xavier. “And look at it this way—in dragging us up here, we discovered family we didn’t know we had, and they are into running bars. Not sure you can get much better than that.”
“Plus, you managed to hook up with Kitty, and for some strange fuckin’ reason, she seems to actually like your dumb caveman ass,” Ram said.
Rome nodded and shrugged. “I still need help getting things running, though, so you two can’t quit yet.”
Bast gestured at the kitchen. “I’ve got a company coming by this week to get started installing the new kitchen, which means it’s gonna be all hands on deck ripping shit out, because the more we do for free, the less we pay them to do, which means more money for renovations and overhead.”
I rolled my shoulders. “Ripping shit out I can do.”
So I found myself shoulder to shoulder with my brothers and cousins, tearing apart the dirty, dated, nasty industrial kitchen—pulling out the fryers and grill, rolling away the old refrigerators—which were older than any of us—demolishing counters, di
sassembling storage racks, and even scraping away the warped, filthy linoleum. At some point, word got out that a demo job was afoot, and we found ourselves crowded with help, Baxter, Brock, and Zane all showing up to help knock shit down and tear shit out. Thus, the job was on pace to get done in a quarter of the time it’d have taken ordinarily.
I was sweaty, dirty, and tired when I happened to glance at my phone: 12:30.
“Shit!” I peeled off my shirt. “I have to go!”
Rome, already shirtless, paused with an armload of ripped out flooring. “Go where?”
“I told Juneau I’d take her out for lunch. I have something thing planned.”
Rome just grinned. “Fine, fine. Ditch us for your girlfriend.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Oh, like you haven’t done the same thing pretty much every day since you met Kitty.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, well, once a girl gets her hooks in you…”
“You turn into a pussy with no friends and no life?” Ram snarked.
Rome and I just exchanged amused glances. “I’d watch it, bub,” Rome said. “You’re next and you know it.”
“The fuck I am.” He pounded his chest with a fist. “Lone wolf for life right here, boys.”
I just cackled. “Izzy!” I said, pretending to cough the name into my fist.
Ram straightened slowly and turned to face me, taking on the body language of a predator about to pounce. “You wanna say that again?”
I waved my hand in front of my face—there actually was a fair amount of dust in the air, and my fake cough turned into a real one. “Say what again? I was coughing.”
“‘Say what again!’” Rome said, quoting one our favorite movies—Pulp Fiction.
I laughed again, still coughing through the demolition dust. “Lone wolf for life,” I repeated, cackling. “What a dork.”
Ram just shot me the bird again and went back to scraping dirty white subway tiles off the walls with a crowbar. “Fuck you. You two assholes can fall in love all you want. It’s not happening to me.”
Bast just laughed in mockery, joined by the rest of the cousins.
Bax had a shovel and a bucket, and was scooping up the tiles Ram had scraped free; he paused to lean on the end of his shovel, wiping at his face. “Dude, fatal mistake. The harder you fight it, the harder you fall.”
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