Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
“The best time,” I agree.
He not an attractive man. He’s about my age, but he’s greasy and his teeth are terrible, his skin full of pockmarks, like he’s never taken care of himself. But he’s having fun, and he leans in like he’s going to kiss me, and I figure, what the hell? Why not?
The man pauses, looks like he’s going to say more, and turns his head to the side and pukes in the gutter near my feet.
Laughing, I skitter back, clutching my half-full mug to my chest. “Seems like someone’s been partying too much!”
He recovers, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and manages another smile at me. “As I was saying, I…”
He sneezes.
Violently.
I take another step back, and, suspicious, I look around at the crowd of revelers near me. My thoughts are muddy and full of chaos—and the need to eat more, drink more, flirt more—but I’m pretty sure that I’m supposed to stay close to Kalos or else I’m going to get a nasty tug that will force me back to his side. The fact that I haven’t felt that means he’s lurking nearby.
A family ushers their children past, following a jester, and as they move down the street, I see a tall man with stark silver hair and a wrinkled tunic. Kalos is holding the goat’s lead, and he looks miserable, staring at me with a thoughtful frown. A sunbeam seems to frame his head perfectly, cascading around him like he’s a glorious saint, and for a moment I’m struck by the beauty of him.
How are people not falling to Kalos’s feet in worship? Do they not realize he’s a god?
The man at my side touches my arm and sneezes violently once more.
Uh oh. That’s not a coincidence.
I duck away from the sneezing man and storm over to Kalos’s side. “I thought you were staying in.”
“I thought you were my Anchor.”
God, this man is so transparent when he’s in a pissy mood about something. Instead of getting angry about it, though, I’m oddly amused. “Are you mad that he’s flirting with me?”
“You’re supposed to be with me.” He frowns as if I’ve disappointed him mightily. “Remember?”
Oh, I remember. I’m feeling light and free and having a good time, though, so I lean in and tap the end of his regal, regal nose. “You’re gonna flirt with me, then?”
One silver brow shoots up. “Are you drunk?”
I loop my arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close as if giving a confession. “Let me tell you a secret, babe. I have drunk maybe five or six beers, and they’ve done nothing for me. Not a single thing. I don’t think I can get drunk anymore. But nothing says I can’t have a good time.”
“Babe?” he echoes, baffled.
“Just ignore that part. I’m feeling happy, and when I’m happy, my tongue gets loose.” I pat the front of his tunic. “Now, do you want to have fun with me or not?”
He eyes me. “If you insist on being out here, then I suppose I must join you. But I’m not going to enjoy it.”
I giggle, because it sounds like I’ve already won this battle. “Perfect. Now is there any way to get that sunbeam off your head?”
“Sunbeam?”
I nod, brushing a stray lock of silver hair off his brow. He’s so pretty, but that hair of his doesn’t want to stay in place. “You’ve got a halo of light around your head. I noticed it when you were in the crowd.”
His gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “I wasn’t aware, and I don’t much care.”
He can’t make it stop, then. Oh well. No sense in worrying about it. I shrug. “I’m guessing no one else has noticed it, then.”
“Just you.”
“Just me,” I agree. He looks so uneasy that it’s adorable. For a moment, I’m struck with the urge to kiss him. I lean in close, toying with the idea. His skin is close enough to touch, and it looks soft and inviting, and I’m entranced with the idea of caressing him. “You think Gental is around?”
“Of that, I have no doubt.” Kalos doesn’t push me away, no matter how close I creep. “Have you spent all of our coin on food and drink?”
I laugh. “No. Of course not. But since I’m the one that must eat and drink, does it really matter if I did? I’m only punishing myself if we go broke.”
“I don’t like the thought of you suffering.”
“You don’t like anything.”
“No, I don’t.” His gaze flicks to my mouth again, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me.
I wait.
But he doesn’t.
“Pfft,” I say, pushing away from him. “God of Apathy? More like god of crankiness.”
He follows me, holding Dingle’s lead as the goat trots at his side. “You know I’m not actually the god of Apathy, yes?”