The Guily Ones

Teacup Humans

Had I not already had a drink or two to calm my nerves, I would have sworn the air around Eric vibrated the moment he stepped into the room. I blinked at him, trying to steady myself. 

He wore a gray suit over a black shirt, and compared to the last time I'd seen him—especially compared to me—he looked disgustingly refreshed and... annoyingly good. Freshly showered, his damn hair perfectly in place, he exuded confidence and desirability. 

Sex on legs!, my buzzed brain supplied. 

Of course.

I, on the other hand, hadn't showered in... honestly, I'd lost track of the days. My hair was flat, my arm in an (admittedly unnecessary) sling, all while I was still wearing Isabel's ill-fitting, albeit snug and sexy looking clothes from Dallas. Eric clearly noticed, raising an eyebrow as he took in my appearance.

"Those aren't the clothes you left my hotel room with," was his first comment as he approached our table, which earned me a wide-eyed look from Sam and a flirtatious smile from Pam that seemed to say, "I like them."

I snorted.

"Gentleman that you aren't, you didn't exactly leave me any!" I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest. It may not have earned me any more respect (judging by Sam's even wider eyes), but I wasn't here to salvage my dignity. Though I wouldn't mind getting it back someday.

Eric's lips curled into a smile at my remark, a deep rumble escaping his chest that was almost like a cat's purr as he eyed me up and down. "I suppose I didn't, did I?" There wasn't the slightest hint of an apology in his tone. If anything, he sounded almost proud. 

"Eric? Sam has a favor to ask."I decided to ignore his jab and turned to Sam.

I wasn't about to include myself in that favor, which Eric noticed as I felt his eyes study me for another moment before lazily turning his attention to Sam, lounging across from him. Deep in the recesses of my mind, I could hear a memory of my late grandmother's voice scolding me, "Sit up straight, child; lounging is for laying about at home."

Suppressing the urge to correct Erics posture in the same manner (which I was certain wouldn't go over well), I cleared my throat and watched the scene unfold before me. My gaze kept flicking to Coby and Lisa, who were watching Eric with a mix of interest, fascination, and fear. Like just about everyone else in the room.

"What are you doing here..." Eric's voice was more than cold as he addressed Sam, "Shapeshifter?"

I nearly sprayed the table with half my bourbon coming out my nostrils. You'd think I'd forgotten how to drink like a normal human. Sam's eyes narrowed, clearly offended, while I struggled to regain my composure as I processed the gesture. Did that mean Sam was literally a shapeshifter? I felt  the world tilting yet again on its axis, as another reality I'd taken for granted crumbled. Was anything as it seemed anymore? Didn't anyone think it necessary to keep me in the loop? Shapeshifters were real, too, on top of witches? What was next, Bigfoot?

Eric turned his head toward me, offering an exaggeratedly sympathetic look. "Seems like you didn't bother to fill in your waitress. Isn't that a breach of some employment contract or something?"

Now it was my turn to growl. 

First of all, I didn't appreciate being referred to as Sam's waitress. While technically true, I was more than just his waitress. I had a name. And a somewhat personal relationship with the vampire, who had to referred to me as Sam's waitress, was currently eyeing me like I was a speck of dirt. I felt like shaking him, especially since I could still feel how his tongue had traced along my neck not that long ago.