Am I a natural sheriff? Nope, far from it. I really don’t enjoy having to enforce the law, but every time I ask myself what the fuck I’m doing, I think of Dad, and what he would want, and I do my level best.
I take a sip of grappa to stop myself from brooding.
“This stuff tastes evil.” Jax shudders, having sculled his grappa and slammed the glass on the one spare spot on my desk. He pulls out his vape, puts it to his lips and inhales.
Arlo holds out his empty glass. “I’ll have another.” I fill it and then down the contents of my own glass, resisting the urge to grimace. Drinking shots of grappa is a sign of respect to our monster heritage. It’s the only alcohol we had during the rebellion one hundred years ago.
The rebellion failed. Grappa remained the national drink.
Not a win-win. More a lose-lose.
A moment later the door bursts open and in comes Sammy, leading Clem by the hand. They’re both giggling. I immediately see why.
Clem is wearing a dress that’s way too big for her, bunched in at the waist with a belt. Sammy is plus size, Clem is petite. This is a summer frock of Sammy’s that would look great on her, but engulfs Clem in pink and mauve flowers. She’s still hell cute in it though.
She strikes a pose, hands on hips. “What d’you reckon?” Her green eyes twinkle and I find I’m holding my breath, my fingers tight around the shot glass as a strange, syrupy feeling spreads over my scalp and down my spine, settling in my belly, as hot as the grappa that’s settled in my gut. And a hell of a lot more pleasurable.
What does this little human do to me?
Sammy chuckles. “I did offer her some socks to pad out her bra.”
Clem smirks. “I sure wish I had your curves hon, but sadly—no.” She pulls at the loose material around her tits with a little grimace.
“I’m going to ask Tippy to lend Clem some clothes,” Sammy says. “They’re almost identical in size.”
Jax snorts. “Be careful. She’ll try and take over every aspect of your life.”
“That’s not fair, Jax.” Sammy pouts. “Tippy is the kindest, sweetest…”
“—meddling witch you’ll ever meet,” Jax grumbles.
“Who’s Tippy?” Clem asks.
“She’s a vixen shifter—with witch heritage. Officially called a wixen. She works at our local diner,” I explain.
“Do not drink her green smoothies,” Arlo warns.
“Under ANY circumstances,” Jax adds, with emphasis.
I can’t help but smile, watching Clem’s gaze spinning from one to the other, trying to take it all in. Considering she landed here less than an hour ago, she’s doing amazingly well.
“Talking of Tippy, we could go to Digger’s Diner for supper,” Sammy says. “If you feel up to it, Clem?”
Clem raises her brows. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t want to overload you on your first day, especially after portaling here in that cape.”
“I’m fine,” Clem says, linking her arm with Sammy’s. “I’m just happy to be with you guys, and I’d love to dine out.”
There’s murmured agreement. I keep my mouth shut; I won’t be joining them. I’ve got so much work to do, and while the arrival of Clem has been a—not unwelcome—distraction, I can’t allow myself to indulge any further.
Then Sammy looks right at me. “Otis? You coming?”
“I’ll give it a miss,” I mumble. “Lots to do here.”
There’s a general groan from all assembled. I feel Clem’s steady gaze appraising me. Has she got the measure of my sad, boring life already, I wonder?
I stride around, gathering the empty shot glasses.
