Love for the Cold-Blooded (31 page)

As soon as the words left his mouth, Pat realized that he shouldn’t have mentioned this particular topic. Trust Pat to put his foot in his mouth at the earliest possible opportunity… but Nick didn’t pull back, didn’t give any sign of anger or displeasure.

“What does that mean, Patrick? You do realize, I assume, that cloning is neither ethical nor at present technologically possible when it comes to —”

“Oh my gods, seriously?”

Now Nick did pull back, apparently in order to give Pat an unimpressed stare. It was even more effective from this close, and worked surprisingly well with the tiny lurch of loss in Pat’s stomach. If Pat had kept his mouth shut, Nick would still be doing that thing with his face and Pat’s neck…

But come on, how could Nick not know what Pat was talking about? It was so obvious. “Your companions, dude! You have such an extreme type it’s creepy, not to mention super obvious. All of those dudes look pretty much exactly like you… tall dark and ripped in that generically gorgeous underwear model way. Narcissistic much?”

Nick’s expression cleared to a small, smug smile. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

“That’s what you take away from that?” Pat had to laugh. “You’re hopeless, man. Like, totally —”

“To return to your original question.” Nick’s chin came up as he fixed Pat with a belligerent gleam in his eye. “I wouldn’t know whether the companions you speak of are ‘cutting it’, whatever that means. I haven’t been seeing anyone, companion or otherwise. It would have felt wrong.”

Pat broke out into his broadest, sunniest grin, beaming up at Nick like a maniac. He couldn’t help it, not that he tried to stop himself. Really, Nick had been missing him too much to want to spend quality time with anyone else?

Before Pat could think of a suitable reply (preferably one that conveyed his approval of these tidings while not being completely undignified), Nick tilted his head a little, looming purposefully over Pat as he leaned in.

The kiss was no more than a soft brush of Nick’s mouth against Pat’s, but it felt like it kicked loose a dozen rusted-shut doors in Pat’s heart, flooding him with warmth and hope. When Nick tried to straighten away, Pat grabbed his head with both hands and held him steady, deepening the kiss into something raw, needy and demanding.

Nick looked appealingly flushed when he finally pulled back. “Are you trying to seduce me to the dark side?”

“Yep, you got me.” Pat grinned, waggling his eyebrows as lewdly as possible. “Is it working?”

“Maybe I’ll seduce you to the side of good instead.” But not right now, looked like, because Nick was drawing back, disentangling himself from Pat.

Regretfully, Pat let his hands wander to Nick’s shoulders and slide loosely down his arms. Gods, those muscles. “Well, if that’s your plan, you better bring your A game, yeah? Get out the big guns. Dazzle me with science, or whatever.”

Nick didn’t reply, unless you counted the minute nod he accorded Pat before he left. He didn’t even give Pat a chance to abandon his good intentions — which, fine, was probably just as well. The Happy Beans storeroom in the middle of Pat’s shift, with Cat listening outside and psychotic dancing coffee beans on the walls, watching their every move? Really not the place or time.

Go out with me (Nicholas) this Saturday,
an unknown number texted him five minutes later.
I’ll pick you up at 19 o’clock.

Pat spent a few minutes grinning down at his phone before texting back:
Sure, but how will I (Patrick) know what to wear?

He was just teasing Nick a little, but needless to say, Nick didn’t get it.
Wear whatever you want, Patrick, it doesn’t matter.

A moment later, though, Pat’s phone buzzed again. He hadn’t even stopped grinning at it (like a dope, if you believed Cat) yet.
As long as you don’t have Jaguar’s name, face or logo anywhere on your person, that is. Jaguar fan articles are never acceptable attire.

That time, Pat laughed out loud.

~~~~~

D
ad had called from the airport to leave a voicemail full of muffled background crowd noises and tinny announcements. Elation burst from every word he spoke. “Patpat! I’m about to board my plane back home — and I have great news. Family dinner on Sunday, bring dessert. Got to go, kiddo, see you soon!”

Given the circumstances, it wasn’t exactly a mystery which happy news Dad would be sharing with his children. And the thing was, Pat would be really happy to see his dad again; he’d been gone for nearly half a year now. Pat hadn’t seen his mom for way longer than that, and he’d missed her a lot, too. So, yeah, he couldn’t wait to see his parents. Couldn’t wait for the entire family to be together again.

But.

Mom had been hibernating for the better part of two years. Why did she have to rise in terrible glory now, of all times? Couldn’t she have taken another couple of months to cast off her skin, or another half a year? Couldn’t she have begun her ascension at a time when Pat was not right in the middle of patching up his relationship with Silver Paladin’s alter ego?

Pat guessed he shouldn’t complain, though — things could have been much worse. For one thing, Dad could have scheduled the family meeting for Saturday instead of Sunday. That really would have put Pat in a bind… canceling on his dad (“not this Saturday, Dad, I have a date with Silver Paladin and hope to get in his pants or at least his good graces again”) would have been just as awkward as canceling on Nick (“we’ll have to reschedule, there’s a family meeting about the impending resurgence of Serpentissima that I really can’t miss”).

Not to mention that not long ago, Pat had been convinced Nick would never want to see him again.

So, really, Pat’s glass was definitely more than half full. And if he’d have to juggle some tight schedules to fit in both Nick and his family, then hey. He could do that.

Chapter Thirteen

Once your reputation is ruined, enjoy yourself.

N
ick had a private box at the opera, all velvet seats and privacy curtains. A personal attendant met them at the door and showed them the way. A second attendant was waiting in the box when they arrived, ready to serve them champagne and a selection of bite-sized pastries that exploded on Pat’s tongue like tiny pockets of pure, flavorful bliss.

Unsurprisingly, Nick accepted the solicitude with an utterly matter-of-fact air. He looked like a million thalers in a charcoal gray evening ensemble, complete with snowy shirt and silken cravat. His hair had been trimmed and styled in the effortless, slightly tousled way that only a professional hair-dresser could achieve, falling attractively into his face; earlier, he’d been wearing a coat that swept behind him like a cape when he walked. He was altogether strange and distant and alien, like a creature from an entirely different world. Nicholas Andersen: billionaire, genius, superhero.

Pat was wearing his best clothes, too… except that in his case, that meant his warm winter sneakers, the fairly new pair of jeans, his favorite flannel shirt and the hoodie without any holes (except the one right under the hood, which you totally couldn’t see, so it didn’t count). He still hadn’t gotten his hair cut, although he’d been careful not to put too much product in it when he’d tamed it earlier.

The second attendant left amidst assurances that they had only to push the button at the side of their chairs and she would be there with metaphorical bells on. At least Pat assumed the bells would be metaphorical.

“Tell me, Patrick,” said Nicholas Andersen, all foreboding stare and five-thousand-thaler suit. “If you were a character in a video game, who would you be?”

All of the tension that had been building in Pat because of the limousine, the evening dress, the private box and everything else relaxed, letting go in an instant. He was so relieved he actually sagged forward a little, gasping out a breath that was half laugh.

Really, he should have known better than to let himself be thrown by meaningless trappings like a dumb private box and a stupid suit.

“Let me think,” he said, and gave Nick his most blinding smile. “I’m not the Princess of Mars, even though she’s my favorite. I’m not a kicking ass and taking names kind of guy, though. That’s also why I’m not any of the characters from
Sanada’s Ten Heroes
. I’m not the grim and ascetic type, plus they’re all so dour, too. So… hey, I know. Narc Narcissus! He’s super cool, and he looks great, and he gets a bunch of great lines that —”

“Narcissus is comic relief,” Nick said flatly. The stare he gave Pat spoke clearly of what he thought of his choice (idiotic, what else was new). “He’s not even a playable character.”

Look at that… someone had been playing
Mars Ascending
when Pat’s back was turned. The Narcs didn’t turn up until the Io quest, so Nick must have gotten quite a bit into the game, too.

Pat tried not to grin too obnoxiously, but it was a little difficult when he was obviously a genius. It had been a crime that Nick had never used those amazing screens for anything more exciting than armor stress test simulations or whatever.

“The Princess can be snarky, witty and blunt, provided you choose the right dialog options for her,” Nick went on. “And there’s no need to make her a warrior. If you make her a scientist, you can solve the quests in a non-violent manner.”

Wow, he really had gotten into the game, hadn’t he? “So you don’t think I’m like Narcissus, huh? Why not?”

But Pat never got to hear the reasons for Nick’s dislike of Narcissus. The lights went down, the curtain rose on an artfully stylized forest, and Pat forgot about the world.

Why had nobody ever told Pat operas were like this? He’d totally been missing out! There were giant snakes and dead magicians and secret societies and funny bird creatures and — best of all — there was a kick-ass magical witch queen, who took absolutely no shit from anyone. And the music, man. There was no rapping, which was a definite minus, but other than that it was awesome. Some of the women whammied you with the high notes like they were punching you in the face with their voices. Pat wanted to jump up and applaud after every single song.

The intermission arrived just in time for Pat to tell Nick about the many ways in which this show rocked, especially the queen, who was five feet two of pure kick-ass magical superstar. They wandered down to the foyer with the rest of the audience and their attendant appeared with more champagne, but Pat was too busy gesturing to take a flute.

Nick looked smugly pleased and sipped champagne. After a while, though, the smug sipping began to be eclipsed by a more stormy kind of non-sipping. “You do realize she is the villain, don’t you, Patrick?”

Come on, seriously? “What I realize is that she is the greatest, and should totally win all the prizes. Those secret society dudes are always telling her what to do and whining that she’s so evil and out of control for not doing it, but what gives them the right to tell her to do stupid shit in the first place? Enlightenment my ass. They’re just a bunch of losers who can’t deal with how awesome she is.”

Inevitably, Nick had a stupid opinion about this, because he was Nick. “But what about the hero — the young truth-seeker?”

Truth-seeker? Yeah right, that dude just wanted to bang the hot chick. Pat could sympathize, but unfortunately the guy had the personality of a potato. Kinda hard on both the hot chick and the audience, really. “He’s super boring, bro. Plus, what’s with all the talk of seeking the true path or whatever when he just wants to get laid? Don’t get me wrong, that’s a perfectly respectable goal, but why front?” At this point, Nick’s pinched expression finally got through to Pat’s brain, and he realized what should probably have been obvious all along. “Dude. Don’t tell me you identify with that douche?”

“What if I do?” Nick was all stiffness, hard angles and heroically forbidding frown. His mouth had turned priggish and thin, like he’d sucked on a lemon.

“No way. You’re nothing like him.” Surely that wasn’t how Nick saw himself, because that would be both ridiculous and sad. “You don’t crash through the world like some self-righteous yahoo while regurgitating propaganda. You’re so much smarter and — open-minded, or whatever. I mean, you’re willing to look and really see things. You always want to know the truth, isn’t that what you said? Even if it hurts. Even if it’s messy and complicated and inconvenient, and means you have to change your mind. You
want
to see the shades of gray. That guy in the opera, he’s more like Star Knight. All proud chest and boomed maxims, no active brain.”

Nick blinked at Pat rather dumbly and didn’t immediately reply, so Pat looked around for the hovering attendant and waved her over for a drink. Might as well take advantage of being on this end of the serving heart for an evening, right? Plus, the bubbly would just go flat if he didn’t drink it. No sense letting it go to waste.

“Nicholas! What an unexpected pleasure.” A willowy brunette in a shimmery blue dress came up next to them, smiling brightly at them both. She was very pretty, in a classy kind of way. “How are you enjoying the performance?”

A slightly too-long beat passed in silence, and Pat jumped in quickly before awkwardness could take over. “It’s pretty awesome, don’t you think? Especially the queen. She’s my favorite. The bird creatures also rock hard, though.”

The woman smiled politely and gave Nick an expectant look, but Nick didn’t have anything to contribute.

“I’m Pat, by the way,” said Pat, and held out a hand for the woman to shake. She did so after a moment, the pressure of her fingers around his brief and cool.

She didn’t introduce herself, and neither did Nick. The conversation was pretty much a total loss from the start. Pat didn’t get what was wrong, but whatever it was, it only got worse once Nick finally cracked open his jaw and forced out a couple of monosyllabic commonplaces.

The older gentleman who drifted over after another moment (evidently the woman’s father) ignored Pat entirely. It seemed like a pretty dumb tactic to Pat, honestly; no matter how he was dressed, Pat was clearly accompanying Nick. If these two wanted to get in good with the man, as they clearly did, then ignoring his chosen companion seemed a lot like shooting yourself in the foot before even beginning the fight.