“He can kiss my ass, that’s what he can kiss,” Odin grumbled.
Crow rolled his eyes.
Ryder’s phone rang. “Just stand there, all right?” he told Odin. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
Well, that was interesting. “Does this have something to do with Ryder?” I asked Crow.
“What? No. Why would you think that?”
“Because I know what a lie looks like on your face.”
He stuck his tongue out at me.
“I swear, if this is somehow about the wedding—”
“He picked Crow over me!” Odin bellowed.
“Because I’m the best man!” Crow shouted.
I stared at the sky. “Is there a god I can pray to that will make you two shut up?”
“No,” they both said.
I shook my head. “I blame you for this, Ryder. I told you to leave the gods out of the wedding ceremony.”
Ryder was gorgeous. His sun-lightened hair was threaded with copper and gold, and he’d been keeping a sexy five o’clock shadow that carved his jawline. He had on a light blue flannel over a black Henley—which made his shoulders look even wider—jeans, and heavy work boots.
He waggled his eyebrows, then stuck his finger in his ear and answered his phone, turning his back.
“You’re not the best anything,” Odin growled. “You’re a trickster and a thief, and Ryder should have chosen me as his best man.”
“You’re a groomsman,” Crow argued. “That’s second best.”
“Odin,” Odin said, “isnotsecond best.”
“I dunno,” Crow cooed. “Have you seen that chainsaw artist in Boring? Now, he’s good. Really good. Way better than you.”
“Delaney,” Odin said coolly, his one-eyed gaze flicking to me. “I’d like to report a murder I’m about to commit.” He curled his fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking.
“No,” I said.
“No,” Ryder said to whoever was on the phone. “No, it is not a good time, and it is not in our agreement. It can wait.”
His shoulders were stiff, his spine straight. There was only one person who could make him that angry, that quickly.
Mithra, the god who’d tricked Ryder into a contract pledging his life to him. The god who had always hated us Reeds, hated that we enforced the rules and laws of Ordinary, Oregon, the little vacation town for gods, and home for supernaturals.
“He’s a dick,” Crow said, watching Ryder. “Mithra, not your boo.”
“I know,” I said. “But we haven’t found a way to break the contract yet.”
“Mithra is a dick,” Odin agreed, “but he knows how to make a contract stick. Is he still dragging Ryder around by the ear to do his petty bidding?”
I nodded. It hadn’t been too bad to start with, but in the last year, and especially since Ryder and I had been engaged, Mithra called on him every day, sometimes several times a day and sent him out to uphold and enforce outdated, and frankly ridiculous, laws for the god.
“Between Mithra and the wedding, he’s exhausted,” I said. “But the only ways to break the contract come with even higher prices.”
“Such as?” Crow asked.
