I’m just tired, I think. That stew was amazing, and I overate.”
“No joke. But that’s not even the half of it. Wait until Arch breaks out his pancetta-crusted tilapia. Nothing compares to that man’s cooking.”
She found herself wishing she’d be around long enough to do that. After Khristos was gone, and everyone left to go off and continue leading the lives she was coming to envy, it would be just her and Buffy and Spike again. That felt cold and lonely compared to the warmth these people had thrust upon her in such a short time.
“So you’ve known Archibald a long time?” They’d seemed like old friends, laughing and talking about past get-togethers during the course of dinner.
“Yep. Since he was a vampire and I was just a kid. He’s a good guy and his game-day feasts, especially his artichoke dip, are what dreams are made of.”
She smiled absently, running her finger over the rim of her coffee mug, tamping down her envy. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around this paranormal thing. Hearing the word vampire as though it isn’t crazy is still a bit of a struggle.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“So tell me about you. What do Greek gods do all day long?” Attend orgies?
“I’m not a god. I’m just a descendent of one.”
“But it has its perks.”
“If by perks you mean guarding an apple with the power to make or break humankind, sure. It’s very perky.”
Was that bitterness she was hearing? Or boredom? She couldn’t read his tone well enough to know just yet. “You’re being very vague. Why is that, Khristos with a K? C’mon, you can tell me. Do you organize orgies? Iron togas? Make head wreaths out of olive leaves? Sip ouzo while beautiful women pop juicy olives into your mouth all day long as you bask in the glow of Mt. Olympus?”
He cocked a dark eyebrow at her and wiggled it. “I handed over orgy organization to a lowly serf years ago. After a while, when you’ve seen one orgy, you’ve seen them all. Togas get all tangled up around your feet if you’re not careful, not to mention a stiff breeze can present a problem. I hate olives and I prefer whiskey. Jack, to be specific, just in case you pick my name out of the hat for the white elephant this Christmas.”
“So you don’t have a job?”
“My job is to guard the apple.”
“And that’s it? Who pays your bills? Wait, do descendants of Greek gods have bills?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I have bills. How do you suppose we keep the Parthenon up and running? You don’t think sweeping off all those steps just happens, do you? It’s a collective god effort.”
He was mocking her, and the edge to his tone was growing harder by the second—which meant back off. What difference did it make what he did with his days anyway? It was none of her business.
She sat back in the booth and slammed her flappy lips shut. Keeping her distance from Khristos was the smartest thing to do. The less personal they became, the less trouble she could find herself in. She wasn’t going to let his classically handsome face and incredibly hot body, with abs that rippled beneath his stupid sweater that also accented his eyes, sway her either.
They could just sit in silence for the duration as far as she was concerned. Rooting around in her purse, she felt for the current book she was reading, soothed by the cover and the cool feel of it beneath her fingertips.
As she was about to pull it out and bury herself in it, Khristos surprised her.
“So can I ask you a question?”
“I refuse to take over the organization of orgies. I have to have boundaries. Togas are out. I’m too pale to wear white successfully. But I love olives, and while ouzo isn’t really my thing, I’m all for making head wreaths from olive leaves. I was hell on wheels in my last craft class.”
Khristos snorted. “No orgies. Noted. But my question is a little more personal.”
Oh, so now the hunky god wanted something from her that he, himself, wasn’t willing to provide? Huh. She folded her hands on the tabletop, watching the play of the neon signs flash over his face. “And that question is?”
“Igor. How did the two of you end up together? You both seem a pretty unlikely pair.”
How did he know anything about Igor other than what she’d shared out loud at the Parthenon?