“You’re right. Having a man care more about me and my emotions than sex sounds terrible.”
I moment of tense silence passed. It was weird feeling a little angry at Xander for doing nothing wrong other than being abnormally beautiful, and then hearing Dakota affirm that. I don’t want to say I was jealous, per se, but when it really came down to labelling my emotion, I was downright jealous. “You really like him?” I asked, wiping my suddenly sweaty palms on Xander’s baggy jeans.
“Why do you care?” she asked, stopping for a red light.
“I don’t,” I said. “You can like whoever you want to. I’m just curious, because I can set you two up.” I was all dry-mouthed and hot, and it felt like something was pulling out my guts. It’s not like I had a crush on Dakota. Yeah, I hear what you’re saying. She was smoking hot and super awesome, but that didn’t mean I wanted to ask her out to—
“After your haircut, we should grab lunch. What do you think?”
My muscles went a little weak at that proposition. “I, uh, don’t have any money. Like, at all. Not for a haircut or a new outfit or food.”
She smirked. “Well, I approached you at the bar the other night. Bought you a drink or two. It only seems right that I would buy your meal on our first date. I am, as Xander would say, the traditional male in this relationship.”
Did she just say date? Relationship? I had to act normal. But the inside of my throat itched like crazy. Was that a normal sensation? Could I just shove my hand into my mouth and hit the sweet spot in my esophagus? That ridiculous image made me think about my hands. They were just sitting in my lap, folded over my crotch. Was that weird, resting my hands there like I was hiding something? What was I supposed to do with them—where the hell did they go? When was the last time I’d spoken? Had we fallen into awkward silence again? Had I made this weird?
“Joey,” she said, chuckling, “I’m kidding. I’m hungry. I thought you might be, too. It’s not a date. And if you think you need to pay me back, we can add it to your tab.” Turning down a side street—sans blinker—Dakota pulled to the side and parked at the curb. “But first, you’re getting a haircut. Even if I have to pay for it. You look like an out-for-the-count Chia Pet.”
About an hour later, we sat in Dakota’s poster car for Hoarder’s Monthly and finished our lunch. I had a burger and fries, along with a water. You read that right. Water. My head still thrummed with a slight pain, and I chalked it up to dehydration and hangover. Dakota, on the other hand, had a double-patty cheeseburger with a large fry and—get this—an extra large coffee-flavored milkshake with whipped cream.
“You’re already looking better,” she said, wiping a dollop of ketchup off her lip with her tongue.
My stomach flurried. “Is ‘better’ code for sexy?”
Dakota slurped the milkshake through a paper straw and shook her head. “Nope.” She shoved a handful of fries into her mouth and said, “‘Better’ is code for you no longer fit the mangy description SSD and SPD currently have on Joseph Hunter. And remember, our sexy standard is Xander, not… this.” She gestured in my general direction with a wave of her hand.
I glanced in the side mirror to check my reflection. The barber had faded my sides, keeping the top of my hair a little longer for styling freedom—whatever in Hades that meant. He had also trimmed and cleaned my beard. Dakota had told him not to shave it completely off, as I might look like a thirty-year-old child. And she thought I should at least look a little like a man. We then went to a clothing store, where she picked me out a pair of jeans, a black T-shirt, and a hooded jacket, all of which actually fit me.
“I don’t know,” I said, admiring my reflection. “I haven’t looked this good since—” Callie is what I meant to say, but didn’t. I bit into my burger and mumbled nonsense with a mouthful of food.
“What?”
“Since my last haircut,” I said, thinking fast. I frowned, disappointed in my stupid brain.
“Well, I don’t doubt that,” she said. As she reached for some more fries, her phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, she silenced the call, allowing it to go to voicemail. “So, to my understanding, Nephil from the Underworld can’t offer pacts to humans. So, how did Hecate imbue Medea with power?”
I shrugged. “Illegally, I guess. That’s the thing about those criminal types, they don’t really care about rules and laws. You being a police officer wouldn’t really understand that concept.”
“How does she imbue Medea with magic? That’s what doesn’t make any sense to me. Hecate comes to this world and… what? Just randomly finds someone to make a pact with?” She took another monster bite from her burger, squeezing the juices straight from the meat. They dribbled down her chin. It was quite the show. I couldn’t tell if I was disgusted or turned on. Or both.
“I’m not exactly sure,” I said after a second of drooling. “According to your boyfriend, Xander the
