Owl and the Japanese Circus by Kristi Charish

from the doorway. Then he walked back to the outdoor bar and took the seat beside me. “All right,” he said.
    “We can go back to talking about RPGs and my vampire problems?” I said, maybe a little too hopefully.
    “No. We can have the conversation you didn’t want to have three months ago, and then I’ll decide whether I still want to be friends with you.”
    Ouch. All right. I maybe deserved that. I took a deep breath. “Fair enough.” There was no easy way to broach this; best to just blurt it out. “When you kissed me, was it a host/client thing?”
    “Why?”
    “Because as much as I’m totally OK paying you to talk about my problems—and trust me, it’s worth every penny—I don’t . . . want our client/host relationship to go that direction.” I bit my lower lip. “I’m sorry, Rynn, but it’s creepy. That’s my line in the sand.”
    I’d kept my eyes on the bar, but I glanced over at him now.
    He was watching me like a hawk. His face was unreadable. “If it wasn’t?”
    Another big breath. “That’s an entirely different can of worms. It’d be next to impossible not to have some feelings for you, considering how much I talk to you.”
    Rynn took a sip of his beer, his forehead knit in thought. “So just so we’re straight about everything, you disappearing for three months was because you liked me kissing you?”
    “OK, well, that’s paraphrasing, and cutting down an awful lot . . .”
    He held up his beer to stop me from babbling. “Yes or no?”
    He was going to make me say it. I swore under my breath. Rynn was really pushing me here. “Sort of—OK, more or less.”
    He sat back, staring at me as if I didn’t quite make sense to him but he was trying to figure it out. I had no idea what was going throughhis head. Then he leaned in towards me. I almost leaned in, part of me wanted to, but the price of playing this game was going to be way too high. I sat back. “Rynn. I can’t.”
    He sat back and crossed his arms. “Why not?” he said, not meeting my eyes.
    I didn’t answer. What was I going to say?
    “Owl, I work at a bar that caters to people’s dreams, and part of my job is to fulfill them—to a point.” He looked up at me with those dark blue eyes. “It doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.”
    “I know you do.”
    He frowned. “That’s funny, because I’m getting the distinct impression you assume everything about me is a show.”
    I bit my lower lip. “Honest answer?”
    He inclined his head, and I took a much-needed swig of my beer. “Just that kiss.”
    Rynn’s frown deepened, and he let out a sharp breath through his nose. “So what? Someone like me can’t possibly have genuine feelings for someone?”
    I closed my eyes. This was exactly the part of this conversation I’d been dreading. “No. That’s not it at all. I know you care about me, and even though I pay to come in here and talk to you, I consider you a good friend.”
    “But.” It was a statement, not a question.
    I locked eyes. “I’m not in a spot where I can risk getting hurt by you. I’d rather keep you as a friend. If you haven’t noticed, I don’t have many.”
    The only thing I heard for a few minutes was the cacophony of traffic and voices from the street below and the bass drifting up from the club.
    “Rynn, can we please still be friends?”
    He watched me, unreadable as ever. For a moment I thought he was going to say no. Then he looked away.
    “We’re OK, Owl.” He slid off the chair and offered his hand. Therelief on my face must have been obvious, because he put his arm around my shoulder and steered me back towards the door.
    “You know, you could have just said you weren’t interested. I think that might have been kinder.”
    “Yeah. I thought about it. But stacking little white lie upon little white lie is what usually gets me into trouble.”
    He inclined his head. “You do seem to have a habit for attracting trouble. What is this I hear about you