“His living is conditional to what happens when I next see him.” I sank down on the bed. “We went bareback last night. First time. Ever.”
Her shocked gasp was actually kind of gratifying. Her “you love him,” not so much.
“No undying pledges involved.”
“That was insensitive of me. Okaygottarunschmugs.” She hung up.
I stared suspiciously at my phone. Ten seconds later a phone rang in the hallway. I was out the door and ripping it out of Drio’s hands before he’d finished his greeting of “Pronto.”
“Gossip and die,” I said into the phone.
“Hmph,” Leo said, and hung up.
I handed Drio back his phone. “And you.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
He jutted his chin out. “Che cosa?”
“Milked you dry, did she?”
He actually ducked his head, his cheeks flushing. His embarrassment was a rare and beautiful gift.
“Polysporin.” I handed him the tube I’d grabbed when I’d heard his phone ring. “For when love hurts.”
Cheered up immeasurably, I flew down the curved wooden staircase, the railings glowing with a high-gloss gleam and the scent of lemon polish.
Ro wasn’t in his room. His bathroom was still steamy and his damp towel lay crumpled on his counter. Maybe he was lying in a coma somewhere. Or suffering from battle-induced amnesia. Neither of which excused the lack of a present since all gift provisions should have been made by now, but would temper my judgment on his lack of proper birthday greetings.
No such luck. He wasn’t anywhere on the main floor and the downstairs offices were empty.
I poked my head in Rabbi Abrams’ office, hoping I was still persona grata to him. He hadn’t come in. No problem. I’d see him later at our birthday dinner.
Hopefully.
I stomped down the stairs into the basement with its wide, well-lit corridors, and slapped my hand against the scanner to open the iron door to the Vault. The light changed from red to green and I threw the door open. It bounced off the concrete blocks that made up the walls in the basement, leaving a black mark on the white paint.
Rohan wasn’t in the Vault either. I crossed the blue padded flooring and checked inside both the small iron room where we occasionally stashed demons and the weapons room. No sign of him.
I didn’t hear any music coming from the small room down the corridor that I’d turned into my tap studio, but it was the last place to check before I searched the grounds. Or got a shovel to start digging his grave.
Sparks crunched between the soles of my feet and the floor as I stalked toward the room. Even if he hadn’t gotten me a present, some guys just sucked at birthdays. It had no bearing on Ro’s feelings towards me. This wasn’t a test.
I stopped short of the doorway, anticipation prickling my chest, and stepped inside.
Empty.
I forced my slumping shoulders back, my chin up–
–And saw the shoe box with the fat yellow bow sitting on the lumpy sofa. I flung the lid off.
Ro had bought me custom-made, red leather tap shoes. There was purple leather at the toes and heels, like saddle shoes, and a red leather heart at the back of each shoe. Purple laces completed the look.
I clutched the heavy shoes to my chest and kissed the leather hearts, basking in how well Rohan knew me. He paid attention to the small stuff. I, on the other hand, wanted to have all his likes, dislikes, and idiosyncrasies downloaded into my brain already. Ro was nowhere near the open book I was, but I intended to carefully read his every page. I didn’t want him to ever feel like I was taking him for granted.
“Sparky?” Booted heels neared.
I gave each heart one more kiss.
Rohan came over to me. “Finally found them?”
I shook a shoe at him. “You are playing a dangerous game, son. Gift contact didn’t occur until an hour into Nava Day. One hour.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Is that a national or international holiday?”
I cuffed him upside the head. “It offends me that you have to ask.”
“You put two countdown apps on my phone in the assumption I’d forget your birthday. That insult to my honor could not go unchallenged,” he said. “Like them?”
I danced the shoes through the air. “They’re only the greatest gift ever.”
“They are.” Fine. He’d earned that smug grin. “Do they fit?”
“Don’t know yet.” Sitting down, I stretched out my leg and handed him the shoes. “How did you know my size?”
Rohan sat down beside me and slid the shoe onto my left foot. “I got a pair of worn out taps that your mom said still fit and sent them to the shoemaker.” He laced up the shoe. “How does it feel?”
I put on the second shoe, and stood up, testing my weight. They were heavier shoes than I’d had in a while but adjusting to the increased weight would give me sound advantages.
I kissed him with everything I had. Rohan cupped the back of my head, but I ducked his hold. “I have to test them more,” I said. “For quality assurance purposes.”
He sank onto the sofa, elbows braced on his knees, watching me. I’d never tire of the enrapt expression on his face while he watched me dance.
I broke the shoes in with a time step one of my instructors used to call the West Coast Bounce. Throwing on some dreamy ambient, I double timed my steps: open thirds, drawbacks, riffs, and a flurry of shuffles on my right foot.
“You look like you’re making two sounds but five come out. How you move your feet that fast is beyond me.”
I fought past my first impulse to joke it off. “This was basically my life for fifteen years.” I nodded in satisfaction at my balance on my toe stands. “These shoes? Their weight wouldn’t have worked if I was a Broadway tapper, but for rhythm tap?” I rapped a staccato percussion of heel stamps, taking in their deeper, warmer sound. “These have groove, and I’m a hoofer at heart.”
An instrumental version of the jazz classic “Sunny Side of the Street” shuffled onto my iPhone next. I smoothed out my steps, my improvisation as light as a feather.
“Nava.” I stopped mid-pullback at the serious tone in his voice. “I told Drio we wanted to talk to him.”
As far as the wrong people knowing went, Drio was pretty damn wrong. “Did you.”
I sat down on the couch, unlacing my shoe with a sharp jerk that only made a knot.
Rohan took my foot and unraveled the laces. “You greenlit Mahmud knowing, and Drio’s good at getting information.”
“Torture will do that. I also wouldn’t put it past him to kill any Rasha he thinks are on the wrong side of this.”
Like me.
“Drio’s on our side. He wouldn’t kill you.” Rohan considered it. “Maim, maybe. Maiming, he definitely would do. But I hear having all your body parts is highly overrated.”
I got my second shoe off without mishap. “It’s not funny. Drio hates demons. He lives for the Brotherhood. Best friend or not, you can’t predict how he’ll react.”
“I can. Drio lives for killing demons,” Rohan said. “It’s not the same thing.”