The streets were crowded, so it took me longer than usual to get over to Lygon Street—and of course that meant I was late.
I jogged up the stairs to wash and change, thankful that I’d made a habit of keeping several changes of clothes at work. After grabbing an apron, I pitched in, taking orders, working the till, clearing tables— basically, just being where I was needed the most. We were busy the entire shift, and my side wasn’t the only thing aching by the time we neared the end. Of course, doing this job in stilettos was never a good idea, but the shoes were new and pretty, and sometimes that won out over sensible.
By the time Ilianna came in for her shift, we’d hit a lull and I was leaning a hip against the bar, one shoe off as I rubbed an aching heel.
"Here," she said, stopping at the other side of the bar and delving into her bag. "I brought you this."
She held out a little red bottle, and I grinned. Foot balm. "You’re an angel."
She smiled. "I prefer goddess. Especially since you already have one angel in your life."
"A very dark angel."
"At least he’s cute."
I raised my eyebrows. "And why are you even noticing something like that?"
"Hey, just because I bat for the other team doesn’t mean I’m incapable of appreciating a good male form. Azriel is all that and more."
"Yeah," I said wryly. "The more being extremely dangerous, and only here for one reason."
She shrugged. "Which doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate the show while he’s around. Did anything happen that I need to know about?"
It took me a moment to realize she was talking about the café. "Nope. We were running around like mad, though. We might have to think about hiring more people if this keeps up."
"Can’t be sad about that," she said, and headed up to the changing room. I rubbed the oil into my poor feet. And then, feeling decidedly better, I counted the shift’s take. Once I’d taken it up to the safe, I clocked out, changed into jeans, a sexy purple shirt, and more sensible shoes, then headed off.
The night was cool and fresh, and filled with music and the delicious aroma of wolves having fun. I paused on the sidewalk, looking a little wistfully toward the Blue Moon. There was a line out front. Even if I was tempted, I wasn’t going to stand there for an hour or so to get in. Not after such a busy shift, and not when I was a member at Franklin’s, which didn’t have Jak Talbott—the wolf who’d used our relationship to get close to Mom and write an in-depth but somewhat fictitious story about her life—as one of their regular clients. Mom had sued the paper and him—and had won an out-of-court settlement as well as a retraction—but some mud always sticks.