Alder passes me a bottled water. It’s not the drink I was hopin’ for when this spring cleanin’ started, but I chug it down while the other two do the same. We all lean against the newly cleaned bar and survey the results of our elbow grease. I am bone-tired and weary, but I feel good with the job well done. Honestly, workin’ in companionable silence was good for my mental state. I was able to work through a few things, goin’ over the events for the past forty-eight hours and comin’ to terms with it all.
“Thank you for doing this,” Alder tells me after he downs his entire water bottle, his throat bobbin’ up and down in that very masculine way that always makes me watch with fascination.
“It was the least I could do,” I say, draggin’ my stare up from his throat to his eyes. “Besides, I enjoy a good scrubbin’ when I’m stressed. Mama always sent me to the bathroom with a sponge and a bucket when I was PMSin’. It helped focus the rage,” I say with a wink. He looks unsure about whether or not I’m teasin’. I’m not.
“Personally, I just enjoyed your outfit of choice for this particular task,” Flint cuts in, still shirtless. His dark gray eyes trail over me. “Every time you bent over to clean, I didn’t know quite where to look first.”
I roll my eyes at his outright flirtin’, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t flattered. To know that I catch his eye does wonders for my self-esteem.
Still, my ego might be boosted, but I know that I can’t look very good anymore. My club makeup has probably melted right off my face, I ditched my boots as soon as all the glass was gone, and even though I’m still wearin’ my skirt and tight top, my hair is a mess and I’m sweatin’ like a pig. It ain’t pretty.
“So, what’s a couple of Hellgate Guardians doin’ runnin’ a bar, anyway?” I ask, takin’ another drink of water.
“That’s all him,” Flint says, tiltin’ his head in Alder’s direction.
“Hmm, I didn’t peg you for the type,” I say honestly.
I get more of a Fortune 500 CEO vibe or the head of a serious criminal enterprise—although there might not be much of a difference between the two. Alder definitely has that head honcho decision-maker aura, though. Not so much the blood, sweat, and tears mixed with the elbow grease I would think that owning a bar would require.
Alder lifts one shoulder in a shrug, not fussed in the least by my statement. “My family has been guarding the Hellgate for centuries, but it’s in our nature to be opportunists. So, while many demons would hate being tied down to a Hellgate, my family used it to handle other business ventures.”
“Like this bar,” I say.
“Like this bar,” he agrees. “Although, I admit that you’re right about my aspirations to being a bar owner,” he admits. “But it serves other purposes for me, aside from demons spending good money to drink and me using that good money to line my pockets,” he says with utmost honesty. “I collect information and trade it, and use my abilities as a Farina demon to assist those who need it in this realm.”
“So you sell your Farina plant potions and trade in secrets.”
Alder runs a thumb over his pillowy bottom lip in thought. “More or less.”
“You own the bar, but Flint draws from the coffers too?” I ask, my eyes bouncin’ from one to the other as I try to figure out how this all works between them.
“I can tell you’re a curious kitten, so I’ll answer that unspoken question you’ve been rolling around in that pretty head of yours,” Flint says, leanin’ in toward me. “No, Alder and I are not together like that. The only partnership we have is us being Guardians. And hell yeah, he pays me. But that’s because I draw in the crowd by playing music.”
My brows jump up nearly to my hairline. “You’re a musician?” Be still my lusty heart. What girl can resist a musician? None. That’s God’s honest truth.
“Banjo,” he tells me proudly, and I can’t help but snort. Maybe I spoke too soon.
“Of course you play banjo.”
“You got something against the banjo?”
I let out a laugh. “It’s cute. Between that and the accent you try to slip on, you’re really tryin’ to embrace the South.”
“Damn straight. The ladies love it,” he says with a playful wag of his brows.
“He’s good at playing,” Alder says. “He learned quickly, and it came natural to him. For all his bluster when he first got the Guardian job, Flint’s embraced all things Southern. But he’s a surly asshole when he plays. Believe it or not, he usually doesn’t like much attention.”
“What? Flint?” I ask, surprised. That doesn’t seem to fit with the flirtatious demon that I’ve dealt with.
“It’s true. You seem to bring out another side to him,” Alder says. “An obnoxious, cringe-worthy side, but another side all the same.”
A laugh escapes me as Flint reaches over and tries to swat at Alder, but the lavender-skinned demon manages to dodge the hit with a laugh.
“Don’t go telling all our secrets to the lady while we’re wooing her,” Flint reprimands his friend.
“Wooin’ me?” I say, though it comes out more like a squeak. I look between the two of them, shocked at his admission. “You shouldn’t try to woo me.” But
