He sighed, wings drooping. “I don’t know. I thought we had something. But then she throws that in my face! I was nineteen—what was I supposed to do,notgo? And, hello, it worked out great! I just…ugh. She’s always yelling!”
“Yell back for once,” Rusty suggested, still tapping away. “I’d pay to see that. The closest I’ve come to seeing you yell is that time Henry Roarson kept spilling wine in your best car.”
“He was doing it on purpose,” Arthur reminded him. “It’s notmyfault he felt snubbed by the awards people.”
“Not your fault you’re the better actor,” Rusty agreed.
Arthur clinked their drinks together. Rusty had been the one to suggest they head to a bar after Arthur admitted he was off his game today, and Arthur was grateful for it. He didn’t have a lot of people who he could confide in nowadays. Rusty was a rare example of a genuine friend, which was the only reason Arthur kept talking. With anyone else, he’d change the subject, get them talking about the movie or a future holiday or something fun that happened at a party last year. But Rusty was his friend, arealfriend, and Arthur needed that right now.
“I just…” Arthur sighed. “She keeps getting mad, like that’s gonna hide all the crap behind it. I need to fix this.”
“Why?” Rusty muttered. Then he looked up, seemingly surprised that he’d said it out loud. “I mean, sure. Whatever it is, you can fix it.”
Arthur nodded distractedly. Any other day, it would’ve been about making her like him so he could stop feeling bad. But somehow the idea had lost its luster. He wanted to make her happy so she was happy. No strings, no ulterior motives. Hell, he’d even be fine with her being pissed off at him if it made her happy, which was…a surprise. But he could see how much hurt she hid behind all that anger. He had another week before they headed back to LA on Christmas Eve. That would have to be enough time.
A throat cleared behind him.
Arthur turned.
Nick Wicker waved at him. The orc looked almost exactly the same as he had when Arthur last saw him: blunt fangs sticking up from his bottom lip, messy hair, and green skin stained with motor oil. Jasper Dawn stood beside him, pale as ever, his vampire fangs out.
Arthur beamed. “The Terrible Two! Still getting up to trouble at Sour Claw, huh?”
“Always,” Jasper said wryly. He was smirking, which wasn’t uncommon. Most of the memories Arthur had of him were of Jasper smirking or looking deeply bored. They’d been in different years at high school, but Arthur had seen him around at parties or slouching through the halls, twisting that long black hair around his white fingers.
“We love your stuff,” Nick said, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “Well. Some of it.Just Kitten Aroundwas a fart in a jar, but everybody has flops.”
“We were wondering if we could get an autograph from the great big movie star,” Jasper drawled. “Care to oblige?”
“Love to.” Arthur took the napkin Nick shoved at him and scribbled his name. “Want one each?”
“Sure,” Nick gushed. “Want to play a game of pool? I still suck, so it’s an easy win.”
“He does suck,” Jasper agrees. “He doesn’t come here often enough.”
Nick snorted, digging his big green elbow into Jasper’s narrow waist. “Sorry I don’t have the stress of a big-shot hospital job forcing me to come here and drown my sorrows.”
Arthur looked up. “Oh? You’re a doctor?”
“Janitor,” Jasper corrected, fangs flashing once again. “Nick’s just being a dick.”
Nick coughed into a meaty fist. “Anyway. Pool?”
Arthur paused, pen trailing off at the end of the second autograph on another napkin. He could play pool. Or he could go and follow an idea that had just popped into his mind upon seeing his old classmates: There was another old classmate he could hit up.
“Some other time,” he said, handing the napkins over with a smile. He patted Rusty on the back and eased off his chair, flexing his wings in preparation. He’d done a lot of flying since he arrived in town, so he might as well keep the streak going.
Rusty turned. “Where are you off to?”
“I gotta go see a guy about some flowers,” Arthur called back and strode out into the chilly parking lot.
* * *
Joshua Haberdash was closing up the shop when he landed.
“Whoa,” Joshua said, jumping. The keys clattered to the sidewalk next to Arthur’s polished boots. “Damn.”
“Sorry about that,” Arthur said, stooping.
