I walk into the living room and see Zahra curled up on the couch playing games on her phone.

"Oh, look who it is! It's past your curfew young lady!" she teases, setting down her phone and sitting up. "Does your tardiness have something to do with a certain handsome bartender?"

"I'm not that late. We went to grab some food, that's all."

Plus a bit of fooling around outside the bar.

"I thought you were just visiting him at work. How did that turn into a dinner date?"

"It was just tacos. He took a break and we got some food."

"Tacos are definitely dinner, babe. That is absolutely a date, and it's adorable!" She squeals and claps her hands. "Did you kiss him?"

"Yes, but don't get too excited. It's not serious between us."

"Why not?"

"Because he's not the relationship type and I'm taking a break from boyfriends after the glorious failure that was Vic."

How could she possibly understand that he's a demon who hasn't even considered a monogamous relationship in decades? Or that I can't let myself get too involved because I don't trust myself to choose a non-psycho partner?

I like Kieran—I like him a lot—but I liked Vic when I met him too. Hell, at one point, I thought I loved him. And it turns out he was just using me for some kind of bullshit demon quest.

She raises an eyebrow and scrunches her mouth to the side.

"You know that's what everyone says right before they get into a serious relationship, right?"

"Not me. Kieran and I are just having fun."

"Have you slept with him? I mean, I know you say you weren't doing that when I saw you two in your bed, but..."

"No, we haven't slept together."

"Interesting." She taps her index finger on her lower lip.

I know there's more she wants to say, but I'm probably not ready to hear it.

After I settle in to sleep, I find myself back in the dream version of my room with Kieran casually leaning against the doorframe. He's wearing a light pink henley with short sleeves that fit tight around his biceps and burgundy jeans.

"Long time no see," he says as he walks in and sits down on the floor beside my bed.

I sit up and do my best to comb my hair with my fingers.

"How was the rest of your night?"

"It was good. A little chaotic, and I was missing a certain redhead, but other than that, alright."

"Were you able to handle the problem? The rowdy customers or whatever?"

"Ha—yeah, that was pretty entertaining, actually. She wasn't kidding about that couple on the pool table. By the time I showed up, the guy was unzipping his pants. I had to pry them off each other and drag them outside. I consider myself pretty easygoing about PDA in the bar, but I draw the line at having to clean jizz off the pool table." He shivers dramatically and cringes.

"Eww." I wrinkle my face. "Tell me that hasn't happened before."

"Not off the pool table." He laughs as I pretend to gag.

"For my own sanity, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. So wait... was that the same thing that happened at the bar the first time? When you said your powers got out of control?"

"I think so, yeah. It was like a horny circus in there. I guess I still don't quite have control of that one. It's embarrassing, really. My powers are out of control and I don't even know what I'm doing half the time. It's like puberty all over again."

"How often does it happen?"

As I ask the question, I realize I'm not-so-subtly asking if he's been sleeping with other people.

"Just twice." He smirks and his eyes lock with mine. "I'm starting to get a sense of what the common denominator is."

"I'm sure you say that to all the girls," I tease.

"It's the truth, Doll. Nobody captures my attention quite like you."

"Well I guess I need to stay away from the bar, then. Clearly it's a safety hazard."

He shakes his head and moves to sit at the foot of the bed.

"If I have to deal with the aftermath, I'm okay with that."

"No mention of fluids on the pool table, please."

He chuckles and sweeps his hair back.

"Running a bar not as glamorous as you expected?"

"Do you actually run the bar?"

"Sort of." He rests his ankle on his knee. "I'm the manager. I've been talking with the owner about maybe buying it from him someday. He's open to it if I can get enough money together."

"Is that what you want for the long term? To own Pikes?"

"Yeah. I enjoy meeting new people, chatting with the regulars, mixing drinks. I like that Pike's can be a safe space for the freaks and weirdos. I'd like to cater to demons, Immortals, and humans alike—maybe that's just a pipe dream."

"No, I can totally see it. That seems perfect for you."

"What about you? Any plans beyond dancing?"

When most people ask that question, it's in a loaded way: Are you planning on getting a real job someday? Are you stripping to pay for college? What would you do if you didn't have to strip?

But with Kieran, there's no implied subtext or judgment, just curiosity.

"I've always thought it would be great to teach pole dancing. Help people get in touch with their bodies and have fun doing it. I've taught a few girls at the club and I thought it was really rewarding."

"You must be good if the other girls are coming to you for help."

"You could say that," I say, feigning humility. "Okay, yeah, I'm good."

I laugh and Kieran smiles wide.

"Could I come see you dance sometime?"

My instincts tell me no—I'm letting him in when I should be pushing him away.

I'm practically inviting him into my life when the last thing I want is another man to come in and screw everything up.

"Sure." The words leave my lips without my intent or permission. "The club is Eden, it's downtown. I usually work nights, Wednesday through Saturday. If you text me before you come I can tell you what time I'm on the main stage. It's usually around 10."

"You must be pretty popular," he says with a raised brow.

"Is that an attempt at flirting?"

"No more than anything else I say to you." He smirks and locks eyes with me for just a moment. "I mean you're working for a pretty high-end club on the busiest nights and have peak stage time... seems like you're the star of the show."

He's right. Most strip clubs have more of a walk-in business model—you show up and find a spot or work it out with the other dancers—but some of the fancy, more-exclusive clubs like the one I work at have a firmer schedule.

"Do I want to know why you know so much about how strip clubs book their stages?"

"I'm betting it's not what you think." He chuckles and sweeps his hair back.

"Let me guess, dated a stripper?"

"Nope." He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head to the side. "Unless you have a very loose definition of the word 'dated'. In which case—yeah, several."

I roll my eyes and try to ignore the pang of jealousy at his admission. You think at some point I'd do the math and realize that, yeah, a sex demon has probably had a lot of sexual partners. Yet somehow it continues to bug me. Deep down I wonder if he could be different for me, but it's a thought I can't allow myself to entertain.

This is precisely why I can't be trusted around bad boys—that nagging voice in my mind that says 'I can change him' always bubbles to the surface.

"You used to bartend at a strip club?" I ask.

"Nope."

"You're like one of those fantasy baseball dudes obsessed with statistics but you track them for strippers instead of athletes?"

He throws his head back with a loud laugh and slaps his knee.

"You guessed that before you guessed stripper? Should I be offended?"

"Well you said it wasn't what I tho-... Wait, what? You were a stripper?"

"Yep. Danced at a gay club in the Seventies, plus some drop-ins here and there in the 90s."

"You're kidding. I had no idea."

"There weren't a lot of great ways to make a good living as a young homeless kid without a high school diploma. Plus I was a horny bastard and it was a good time." He chuckles, but I can sense an underlying insecurity, like he's wondering if I'll judge him for what he's just told me.

"I'll have to get a dance from you sometime," I say, batting my lashes.

"Any time baby." He smirks and his eyes dart briefly to my chest. "Just say the word."

Is it unbearably hot in here all of a sudden?

"So were you an Incubus or a human when you were stripping?"

"Incubus. It was definitely a good way to get a quick... er... get my fill so to speak."

"You were gonna say snack, weren't you?"

"No," he says, cringing slightly. "I was going to say meal."

"I'm not sure that's actually better."

"Sorry. You know I don't see humans as walking hamburgers or whatever, right? It's just... complicated."

I don't really understand, but I can get that it must be strange for him to have to 'eat' energy from the people he sleeps with. Rather than open that can of worms, I decide to change the subject.

"How did you end up homeless? If you feel comfortable telling me, of course."

He lets out a heavy breath and his shoulders slump.

"Yeah um... no, it's okay. I got kicked out of the house by my dad when I was a teenager."

"Oh damn... I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It is what it is."

"Why did he kick you out?"

"Ahh, well he had a stick up his ass about anything or anyone that was a little different. So I had this friend, Danny. We hit it off right away—maybe too much in hindsight. He came over one day and we were alone in my room, and he kissed me. I had only kissed girls before, and I had never had someone else make the first move. It was a pretty fantastic twenty seconds or so, until..."

My heart breaks at the ease with which he talks about it, like it happened to someone else. Like he doesn't even remember being that innocent young kid.

"Your dad?"

He nods.

"He storms in knocking shit over and making a big macho show of it. He accused Danny of corrupting me and I thought he was going to beat the shit out of him—or worse, tell his parents."

"That's worse?"

"It was back then, yeah." He shrugs. "Anyway, I knew I could take it, so I told my dad it was me—I kissed him, I was the one corrupting him, not the other way around. Knowing me, you can see how he wasn't real reluctant to believe it. I got my ass kicked and he threw me out, that was it."

"Was your mom okay with it or...?"

"My mom went along with whatever he wanted, and she wasn't exactly my biggest fan either. I was always an embarrassment to the family. I think she was happy to have me gone."

"Wow, that's really awful. I'm sorry that happened."

"Eh, my dad was a shithead anyway. He enjoyed beating the crap out of me when he lost his temper. I probably would've left earlier if it wasn't for my sister. I worried he would hurt her or my mom if I wasn't there to be his punching bag."

His expression remains flat but underneath, his vulnerability is palpable. It's like his chest has cracked open and everything he has kept inside is seeping out like thick smoke. I'm honored that he told me something so personal, but I feel guilty for asking. I want to say the right thing, but I have no words.

I reach out and rest my hand on his.

"Sounds like a major dick."

Not really the heartfelt response I was going for, but it's what came out.

Kieran lets out a hearty laugh and I find myself laughing too.

"You're fucking perfect, Sam," he says, the corners of his eyes tightly creased as he continues to laugh.

"Oh shut up. I was trying to be nice."

"I'm not teasing. I mean it. That was exactly what I needed to hear. I hate it when people tip-toe around shit like I need my hand held or something. Things happen, sometimes they suck."

"Well in that case, fuck that guy. He sucks." I giggle and he smiles.

"Joke's on him, 'cause he's dead now and I'm immortal."

I fight back a laugh, not sure if I should really be laughing at the idea of his dad dying, but he starts laughing too. I'm glad he has a dark sense of humor too, or this would be really awkward.

"So it was just you?" I ask. "On your own since you were a kid?"

The thought makes my heart clench.

"I've had friends through the years. I have several people I know I can count on now."

"Did you have any girlfriends? Boyfriends?"

"Off and on, sure, but not long term. Once I became an Incubus, I couldn't commit to being with just one person—not that I wanted to anyway. I was young and wild and I wanted to fuck anything that moved. I've done open relationships here and there, but those are hard. It seems like whatever I do, people get hurt."

"Hurt how?"

"I've been told in no uncertain terms that I'm a shitty boyfriend. It sucks when you know that you can't be what someone wants you to be. I never set out to mislead anyone or break any hearts, but they inevitably wanted more than I could give."

I take a deep breath in, trying to let the words reach that tiny part of my brain that wants to ask him for more.

He doesn't want to be someone's boyfriend. Not mine. Not anyone's.

"What about your mom and sister?" I ask. "Did you see them again?"

"They were alright. Mom lived into her 80s. Rosie, my sister, has three kids now. Last I checked she was living in the Bay Area."

"Did you keep in touch with her?"

His expression falls and he takes a deep breath.

"No, we haven't talked since I left home. What was I really gonna say, anyway? I used to think about aging myself a bit, trying to reach out, but I didn't know how I'd explain what I'd been up to. When my dad was still alive, I knew he wouldn't want me coming around anyway. Now, so much time has passed... I think it's too late."

"I guess that's up to you, really. You know your situation better than I do."

"Are you close with your family?"

I shrug.

"Not really. My dad's a nice enough guy but we're very different. He doesn't really get me. My mom died when I was little. She had a congenital heart defect—totally rare thing, she didn't even know she had it. I don't remember much about her."

"Any siblings?"

"Nope, only child. I think my parents wanted more kids, but I was four when my mom died so they didn't have a chance. But honestly, I think my dad is grateful there's only one of me."

"Were you a little hellion, Red?"

"I was just very different from him. He's a little reserved and awkward. I spent my teens sneaking out with boys, writing angsty poetry in my notebooks, and generally getting into trouble. Meanwhile, he's this straight-laced corporate psychologist. I think he hoped I'd get into medicine in one way or another. Needless to say, that didn't go the way he had hoped."

"Does he know you strip?"

"Not really. He knows I 'dance' and I think he's afraid to ask for any more details. I feel like he has to suspect it, but who knows, maybe he thinks I'm teaching tap dancing to 10-year-olds. I doubt he'd be impressed with the reality."

"Well, I'm impressed. Exotic dancing is not an easy job, especially not with your body trying to go to sleep on you all the time."

I've gotten used to dealing with negativity about my job, but it's nice to be validated too. I really enjoy stripping—it's empowering to be able to create a fantasy for someone just by moving your body.

"I'm sure being a bartender-slash-demon-king isn't easy either." I giggle and he smiles at me.

"Part mixologist, part therapist, part wingman, part leader of the underworld..."

"I can attest to your excellent performance on two out of four."

"Which two?"

"Well you make great drinks and you're easy to spill my guts to. Terrible wingman, though."

He scoffs and holds his palm to his chest.

"I take serious offense to that."

"You heckled that cute guy who was flirting with me at Pike's."

"I didn't... heckle him. I was coaching him a little. And he wasn't that cute."

"He was though."

"Okay, fine, he was hot, but the guy was a total fucking wiener. His pickup lines were cheesy as fuck and he was practically drooling over you like a desperate puppy. You don't want that guy."

"I mean, it's not like I'm gonna marry him. A good wingman is supposed to get their friend laid."

His eyes turn a shade darker and a smile tugs at his lips.

"If you want to be fucked, Red, I think you know very well that I'm always available to take care of that."

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A/N: Hey all! Thank you everyone for your comments and votes and general support! ❤️ I'm crazy tired today so do me a favor and point out any typos if you see them! (And that also goes for always too—I welcome the help!)