The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(62)

“I can let Admissions know you’re going back,” she said.

“Kinda busy with Rasha stuff right now. Might have to hold off for a while longer.”

“Being Rasha never kept Ari from his studies.”

“Well, Ari was an initiate and he’d had his entire life to adjust to his schedule. Maybe I could have a whole week to deal with it before you get on my case about throwing school into the mix,” I snapped.

“Don’t take that tone with me.” Mom turned away to refill the waffle platter.

I balled the paper up in my fist, tossing it into the trash. Though I made sure she didn’t see me do it.

To say the meal was strained was a massive understatement. I kept my eyes on my plate. Mom kept hers on her waffles. There was no talking. No bothering to find out how I was doing with moving out.

Dad ambled in trailing citrusy 4711 cologne, a ratty sandal held up in one hand. “Shana, did you already pack the other one?” My parents were leaving for a two-week Caribbean cruise today, originally booked as a celebration post Ari-induction. Not sure what they saw it as now. Funereal?

Mom pointed her spatula at him. “We discussed this.”

Dad clutched the sandal to his chest, a mournful expression on his face. “But they’re so comfortable.”

“I’ve packed the black ones.” She held out her hand for the sandal, but he ignored her to grab a plate and get himself some breakfast, the sandal stuffed defiantly in his waistband.

This Rockwellesque picture was how Rohan and Ari found us.

I met Ari’s eyes, miming shooting myself in the temple. He squeezed my shoulder in sympathy as he brushed by to take a seat next to me.

“Eat,” Mom said to Rohan, thrusting a plate at him.

He took it, but didn’t move to fill it up. “No harm will come to Nava,” he said.

“I’m more worried about you boys,” Dad joked.

My grip tightened on my fork.

Rohan shot me an uncertain look.

Ari shoved the maple syrup at me. “Eat,” he ordered. He tugged on his earlobe, our private twin code for “Relax. I’ve got your back.”

I’m sure it was a delicious breakfast but I barely managed to choke down three bites. “Better hit the road,” I said about five minutes later.

My mom glanced at the clock on the stove. “Oh. Yes. I need to finish packing.” She came up behind me and kissed the top of my head. “We’ll talk soon.”

Not if I could help it. I gave her the “I’m wearing my happy face” smile that I’d perfected to get my parents off my back. “Have a great vacation.”

Dad walked me to the front door. There was a moment there when I thought he might say something but he just hugged me. “It’ll be fine,” he assured me.

Again with the “it,” not the “you.”

“Yup. Have fun, Dad. Drink a mojito for me.”

That left Ari as my sole escort to the car, which was perfect. He scooped me up into a giant hug. “Kick demon ass.” His voice was shaky. This would be the first time we’d be away from each other for a prolonged period of time.

I grabbed on to him harder.

“We have to go,” Rohan said in a gentle voice.

“I’ll see you later,” Ari said, stepping back. I think his eyes were wet but it was hard to tell through the blurriness of my own.

“And often?”

“And often,” he promised.

When he let go of my hand, I stared down at the empty space like I was leaving a limb behind. I’m sure the separation from my twin was healthy. I couldn’t give a shit. This sucked. But I dealt, opening the door to Rohan’s two-door vintage muscle car with its midnight blue finish and white racing stripe.

The interior had clearly never seen a fast food wrapper. Even the mats were pristine. I relaxed, wondering why I felt so comfortable until I realized that it smelled like Rohan in here.

I rolled down the window.

Rohan fished a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket, pushing them up the bridge of his nose before sticking the key into the ignition. Hand on key, he hesitated, shifting slightly toward me.

I got extremely fascinated by my seatbelt. “Nice car.”

He gave an insulted snort, stroking the wheel. “This is a fully restored ’67 Shelby. First thing I bought when the band hit it big. Drove it up here from L.A.” With a twist of the key, he started the engine, roaring away from the curb with a sharp left that flung me against the passenger door. His hands rested almost carelessly on the wheel.

I tried very hard not to remember the feel of them on me, but that left my eyes trailing down his work-of-art body to his muscled thighs tensing as he shifted gears.

My mouth went dry.

The middle-aged dad in the minivan next to us glanced over, longing at the total picture of hot girl, hot guy, and hot car written so clearly on his face that I took pity on him and winked cheekily.

He grinned back, swerving toward us before regaining control of his vehicle.

Rohan sped ahead. “Wrecking havoc with traffic, Lolita?”

I reached for the power button to put on some tunes but Rohan swatted my hand away.

“I control the music,” he said.

“Fallen angel with domination issues. Shocker.”

“Takes one to know one,” he replied.