Machinations
Rising, Drake helps me with my chair, offering me a hand to pull me up. “Come on. I’d best get you out there before your dog turns rabid and does something stupid.” “Drake,” there’s no disguising the warning in my tone, despite the fact that I whisper, “would you like it if he talked that kind of smack about you?” The human patrons of The Copper Kettle track our progress across the small dining area as Drake escorts me to the restaurant door, his huge overwarm hand in the small of my back sending a sizzling heat along my nerves and into my brain. He laughs. “You expect me to believe he isn’t already?” I pivot and stop, a few feet from the door. “Look, he may have advanced tactics and weaponry at his disposal to hunt you down, but he’s succeeding because it’s a group effort. Alright? Be
- Writer
