Page 27 of One Bad Knight

“My gallery show, tonight?” I prompted. “That is what we were talking about, right?”

Gabe lifted his head finally to look over at me. “I thought you and Jimi got engaged.”

I choked on my juice, some of it going up my nose with an acidic sting.

At that moment, Gatsby entered the room.

I worked to get control of my spasming throat.

In his same boots, jeans, and tight black tee shirt. The dark, defensive look on his face let me know he expected someone to protest his presence. Maybe he was used to being thrown out. He certainly lacked charm. I bet it happened more often than not.

The shock on my uncle’s and cousin’s face was overt. I didn’t bring men to the breakfast table. In fact, my cousins didn’t bring their flings to breakfast either. Not even Gabe’s girlfriend, Molly, came to family breakfast. I wasn’t even sure she’d ever slept over despite them being together for two years. Not that I’d slept with Gatsby or flung with him. But the breakfast table was a family-only kind of deal, though no one had ever explicitly said so.

Able to speak again after the juice attack, I said, “This is Gatsby. He is my… assistant. He’s going to help me get ready for the show tonight.”

I didn’t want to alarm my family that a demon might be after me and Gatsby was acting as bodyguard. I pointed at the table of food. “Help yourself.”

With one more severe scan of the room, Gatsby walked over and grabbed a plate and immediately filled it with fresh bacon, sausage, a mountain of eggs, and then tried to balance a couple croissants on top.

His wet hair was a tousled mess, and when he sat down in the chair next to me, I inhaled his clean masculine scent and my mouth instantly watered. I crossed my legs under the table as moisture pooled elsewhere.

Dammit, Kat, you are at the family breakfast table. Keep it together.

But illicit flashes of last night heated my blood, even as I tried to think of something to cool me off.

Mud. Baseball. Law school.

That last one did the trick.

Gatsby dug into the food like a starving man. In the light of day, I was struck again by the fact I knew little to nothing about him. Where he was from, or how he’d defeated the She.

The way he ate, with such focus, reminded me of a cross between a starving child who didn’t know when his next meal would come, and someone who served in the military. The thought caused a sharp pain in my heart.

My uncle and cousin watched Gatsby in stunned silence.

Dave finally strode back into the breakfast nook, having ended his call. He stopped dead in his tracks, glaring at Gatsby. “Wasn’t he at the party last night?”

“I invited him,” I rushed to say. “We’ve been working nonstop on getting this gallery show ready. Plus, isn’t it good to have another body of support at those functions?” I added with a hopeful smile to my uncle.

Gatsby’s fork loudly scraped against the empty plate as he shoveled the last bite into his mouth. Once finished with the meal, he faced my uncle. “I heard you are up for reelection, sir. How is that going?” There was a steely gaze in Gatsby’s eye as he spoke to my uncle.

Uncle John met it with a similar intensity. “Thank you for asking, young man. I believe yesterday’s rally and last night’s party put us back in the lead again.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gatsby said, not breaking eye contact.

What the hell kind of pissing match is this?

Dave was still standing, and Gabe’s eyebrows practically reached his hairline. And that line had started receding in the last year.

“I didn't see your wife in attendance last night,” Gatsby said.

I nudged him with my knee under the table, hoping to cue him away from the subject.

My uncle's lips thinned.

“My mother abandoned us when I was six,” Dave said in a harsh tone meant to shut the subject down.

“Did she?” Gatsby asked, not looking away from my uncle. “I’m sorry to hear it.”