Warmth filled Calladia’s chest at his assessment. “Anyway,” she said, pulling onto the road again, “he’s not going to get the chance to murder or marry me. I like living, and I’m far too busy for romance.”
Astaroth picked at the fabric of his faux-leather pants, brushing away invisible specks of dust. “You don’t seem that busy to me.”
She scowled. “Because I’m babysitting you, rather than following my normal routine.”
“And your normal routine is so full of meaningful activity you have no room for romance?”
Calladia’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, because no, her life wasn’t full of much meaningful activity. She had her friends, her clients at the gym, and her hobbies, but there was a fundamental hollowness behind that. The kind of ache that swelled when she ate dinner alone or when she lay awake at night, wondering what the point of all of it was. The ache that turned into sharp pain when she thought of her absent father and perpetually disappointed mother, and how she would never be good enough for them.
“I have more important things to focus on, that’s all,” she said. “And men are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Men are definitely trouble,” he agreed. “But trouble can be fun.”
She snorted as she took a hairpin curve. Past the railing, the ground dropped away sharply, tumbling toward a river far below. “Are you advocating for me to date Kai?”
“No!” Astaroth exclaimed. “Absolutely not. I’m just curious about your anti-romance stance.”
She shot him a glance. He sounded more than just curious. She was reminded of how possessive he’d been over her and how jealous he’d seemed of Kai.
But that couldn’t be right, could it? Maybe he was feeling some kind of involuntary physical attraction, one as inconvenient for him as it was for her. Or maybe he didn’t want anyone stealing her away before she helped him recover his memories.
Calladia didn’t like talking about her past heartache, but in the close air of the cab, with the engine rumbling and the landscape spreading below like a green-and-gray tapestry, it felt right to let the words spill out.
“I haven’t had the best experience dating,” she said past a lump in her throat. “Life is easier if I don’t do it at all.”
She braced herself for some snarky comment, but he seemed to be considering her words carefully.
“Bad experiences with multiple men?” he finally asked.
Calladia shook her head. “Just one.”
“Is he still alive?”
She tried to laugh, but it was a broken thing. “Yes, and still in possession of both hands.” Sam was probably thriving in his hoity-toity professor job, teaching students about ethics in the clinical, abstract manner that ought to have been a red flag that he saw ethics as no more than an intellectual exercise. Undergrads would worship him; hadn’t she, after all? He would bask in their adulation and, if the opportunity presented itself, one of those starry-eyed worshippers would end up in his bed, convinced she was sophisticated beyond her years. Convinced a happily-ever-after was just down the line.
She was squeezing the steering wheel tightly enough to hurt, so she forced herself to relax her fingers.
“Calladia,” Astaroth said in a low voice. “Pull over.”
There was a scenic lookout ahead, and Calladia’s eyes were getting watery, so she pulled into a parking spot at the edge of the cliff. She shut off the engine, then blinked hard to suppress any incipient tears before facing Astaroth.
Without the distraction of driving, she was forced to acknowledge how close they were sitting. Clifford was mighty but small, and there were no cupholders dividing the old-fashioned bench seat. Astaroth could shift a foot or two over and be pressed up against her.
She’d never seen him look quite like this. The usual ironic slant of his features was gone, replaced by deadly seriousness. His crystal-blue eyes bored into her, and she shifted, feeling like he was looking under her skin.
“Do you want to tell me about him?” Astaroth asked.
She still couldn’t laugh right. After a pathetic sort of wheeze, she asked, “What is this, demonic psychotherapy?”
He didn’t blink. “I mean it.”
Tell the sexy demon she hated—or ought to hate—all the sordid details of her embarrassing failed relationship? The story made her look like a fool, but it was alarming how tempting the prospect was. The two of them were alone in the wilderness, with no shared past and no shared future. They were stuck together in the suspended moments between the end of one story and the beginning of another.