What's that?"
"That's my attack poodle.

Just wait until he figures out I shut him out of his slut hut.

His Majesty needs a can-I girl anyway. And I'm not it."
"A can-I girl?" Andrea frowned.

I leaned back. "'Can I fetch your food, Your Majesty? Can I tell you how strong and mighty you are, Your Majesty? Can I pick your fleas, Your Majesty? Can I kiss your ass, Your Majesty? Can I..."

It dawned on me that Raphael was sitting very still. Frozen, like a statue, his gaze fixed on the point above my head. "He's standing behind me, isn't he?"

Andrea nodded slowly.

"Technically it should be 'may I'," Curran said, his voice deeper than I remembered. "Since you're asking for permission."

Why me?

"To answer your question, yes, you may kiss my ass. Normally I prefer maintain my personal space, but you're a Friend of the Pack and your services have proven useful once or twice. I strive to accommodate the wishes of persons friendly to my people. My only question is, would kissing my ass be obeisance, grooming, or foreplay?

Curran looked back at me. "Why is it you always attract creeps?"

"You tell me." Ha! Walked right into that one, yes, he did.

I came to the table, pulled up a chair, and sat.

“Everyone brought a pet. I feel left out.”

An enthusiastic howl broke the silence, and Grendel bounded through the doorway. He galloped through the steak house, skidded on the floor, smashed into my chair, and dropped a dead rat on my lap.

Awesome.

Oh no, is it naked time?