"Not as hot as you, though."
I nearly rear-end the car in front of me.
Devon laughs, and I'm going to murder him. Just straight-up murder him.
"You should really work on your driving," he says, like he's not the reason I'm currently a traffic hazard.
"I drive fine when people aren't saying—" I gesture vaguely, "—things."
"Things? What things? I'm just making conversation."
The light finally turns green and I drive, probably exceeding the speed limit, desperate to get to the bar where there will be other people and witnesses and I won't have to be alone with Devon in this tiny car that keeps shrinking.
We pull up to the bar and I've never been more grateful to park in my entire life.
CHAPTER 11
DEVON
THE BAR'S ABSOLUTELY slammed tonight. Standing room only, donation jars overflowing, and I'm moving so fast I'm pretty sure I've achieved some kind of bartender enlightenment. Or maybe I'm just having a panic attack in slow motion. Hard to tell.
I'm in the middle of pouring three beers simultaneously—a skill I didn't know I possessed until thirty seconds ago—when the door opens and Marcus walks in with Parker trailing behind him.
They're both in their firefighter jackets, looking official and determined, and they head straight for Hendrix, who's currently perched on the bar doing his best gargoyle impression while bobbing his head to whatever's playing on the speakers.
He sees them coming and perks up, ruffling his feathers.
Marcus approaches carefully, hands out like he's trying to convince a toddler to give up a toy. "We're here for the bird."
Hendrix tilts his head. "Kiss kiss!"
"Not now, buddy." Marcus is still inching closer, moving slow. "Mama Paws said we could borrow you for a day."
Before he can get within grabbing distance, Becker materializes out of nowhere like he's been summoned by a Bat-Signal. "Absolutely not."
Marcus stops, hand still outstretched toward Hendrix. He blinks. "Excuse me?"
Becker positions himself between Marcus and Hendrix, arms crossed, jaw set. He looks like a bouncer at a club. A very muscular, very stubborn bouncer. "You can't just take Hendrix. He's ours."
Parker now steps forward and crosses his arms too. "He's the shelter's."
"Semantics."
Oh, this is going to be good. I abandon the mojito—sorry, random customer—and lean against the bar to watch.
Marcus's jaw tightens, and I can see him actively choosing patience. "We're teaching him fire safety commands."
"He already knows commands. Watch." Becker turns to Hendrix, who's now watching the standoff with what looks like genuine interest. "Hendrix, what do you say when someone's being unreasonable?"
"What the puuuuck?"
Becker gestures triumphantly like he's just won a debate championship. "See? Perfectly trained."
Marcus takes a step forward, closing the distance. He's maybe an inch taller than Becker, but Becker's got more bulk. "Move."
"Make me."
"I literally carry people out of buildings for a living," Marcus says, voice low.
