A dark-haired woman in a bridal veil bumped into my left shoulder, spilling her drink over the rim of a red plastic cup. I stepped out of the way before it drenched me. She didn’t even notice, just continued with her friends to other side of the street and another bar.

“You look nice, by the way,” I told Hank as we moved closer to the sidewalk. “Whoever she is, she’ll like it.”

I wasn’t just being polite. Hank looked like a Calvin Klein ad come to life. His blond hair was swept back, but just enough to look naturally windblown. He wore a soft, white linen shirt with the top two buttons undone and khakis. He appeared as though he’d just stepped off some exclusive beach in Tahiti.

“Tonight’s not exactly singles night.” He increased his stride and slipped by a slow couple walking hand in hand. “We’ve got work to do.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed. This is perfect. If she does notice you and you’re forced to ignore her, it’ll just make her want you more.”

He rolled his eyes, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “Your logic needs a serious overhaul. You doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. He had such an easy, confident swagger. “Well, seeing as you’ve had the day from hell … You sure you’re up for this? I mean, I don’t want you poofing out on me in the middle of things.”

“It’s pooping.” His eyes went wide. Okay, that didn’t sound right. “The phrase, it’s called pooping out, not—” The corner of his mouth started twitching, and his eyes glistened. I smacked his arm. “Damn it, Hank!” His laugh filled the space around us, rich and warm and slightly contagious. But I refused to even grant him a smile.

“I can’t believe you fell for that one,” he said between bursts of laughter.

“You’re so juvenile.”

“And your point?”

I shook my head. “Exactly.”

He ignored my summation and said in a singsong voice, “I got you to say poo—”

“Hank!” God. What was it with him tonight? “Don’t you have better things to do than to make me say immature words?”

His chin cocked thoughtfully and then, “Not at the moment, no.”

“Well, knock it off. And for the record, I won’t be pooping out on you tonight or any other night for that matter.” Please. I could deal with plenty. If only he knew.

The revelers thinned out as we approached an area where there were more stores than bars. Mostly upscale boutiques, hair salons, and spas. A few spas had eateries with outdoor seating and table umbrellas lined with white Christmas lights. There was still activity here, but it was definitely more subdued.

Potted palms framed the tall, recessed double doors of The Bath House. Dark and polished, the wooden doors’ rectangular panels had been carved to depict sea creatures, both mythological and real, some in extremely suggestive positions. Hank pulled his wallet from his back pocket and then slipped a membership card into the slot built in near the door. Once the machine read his card, the door popped open.

I resisted the urge to comment about his membership card. But only for a second. “So, how often exactly do you frequent the House of Bath?”

Following him into the foyer, I linked my hands behind my back and let out a low whistle. The foyer rose two stories and housed tall palm trees and exotic blooming vines. Small parrots and songbirds flitted about in the green canopy above us. The floor was made of thousands of small mosaic tiles, which glittered in the light. Large candelabras burned four to a side.

“I try to make it at least once a week. And don’t give me that look, Charlie. This reminds us of home. It’s part of our culture. We love the baths. And we’re not ashamed of our bodies either.”

I held up my hands. “What? I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to,” he grumbled. “If you went to my world, you’d understand.”

“Yeah, but hardly anyone is permitted. Seems grossly unfair, don’t you think?”

This was an old argument between us. And millions of other people. Seemed it was all fine and dandy for the beings of Elysia and Charbydon to make our world home, but when the tables were turned, the Elysian government permitted only a small number of humans to visit their world each year. No permanent citizenship, no work visas. Just visit. They lived in a pristine environment and didn’t want it contaminated with tourists and disease. Total insult if you ask me.

And no one, unless they were seriously screwed in the head, wanted to go to Charbydon. But Earth, America in particular, had once again become the land of opportunity.

“Welcome to The Bath House,” a female nymph said as we approached a white marble countertop. “I see you’ve brought a guest this evening, Mister Williams.” She placed two towels and two white gowns on the counter. “Enjoy your visit.”

Upon becoming a legal citizen, Hank had adopted his first and last name after the country singer. Apparently, he had a serious soft spot for the musician.

I followed his lead, taking the gown and towel. He leaned close to me as we walked past the counter. “You can put the gown on in the locker room.”

“Whoa.” I stopped and waited for him to turn around. “You didn’t say anything about wearing something this flimsy.”

A few Elysians padded past us, barefoot and naked, or dressed in white gowns and sarongs. Hank edged closer to a grouping of potted plants, his voice tight. “It’s either that or nothing at all. Your choice.”

I lifted an eyebrow, standing toe-to-toe with all six foot four inches of him. “Forget it. I’m not changing.”

My pulse raced. I was way too hard up to be in a place like this with naked bodies and perfect males everywhere I turned. If Will, damn him, hadn’t pushed me away, I wouldn’t be having such a hormonal time. “And another thing, where the hell am I supposed to put my weapons?”

An annoyed huff escaped Hank’s lips, and he pulled me into the shadows of a palm tree. “Look, no one’s gonna talk to you if you’re dressed like that. You’ll stick out like a sore finger.”

“Thumb.”

“What?”

“Thumb. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

He rolled his eyes, clearly at the end of his rope. “Whatever. Just go in and change. Nothing’s going to go wrong in here.”

I gave him my “yeah, right” look. I mean, this was Hank and Charlie, known to get into trouble in the weirdest places. But he did have a point. I would look completely out of place. We had nothing to go on but a pack of matches, and we’d have to blend in and strike up conversations where we could.

“Fine,” I ground out, leaving Hank where he stood and heading to the female locker room.

A nymph attendant stood inside next to a long countertop complete with just about anything one would need to “spruce up.” Just like ghouls were cousins of goblins, and imps were cousins of the fae, nymphs were close cousins of sirens. But their skin was naturally tanner than sirens’, their hair usually darker. They were the only race able to shape-shift without the aid of a spell or charm, and they had an intimate, sometimes fanatical, relationship with nature.

The attendant wore her black hair in a bun with ringlets around her face and a gold headband atop her head. A gown of linen draped over her shoulders, similar to the gowns depicted on statues of ancient Greek goddesses. All of the attendants I’d glimpsed so far wore the same headband, hairstyle, and gown.

I gave her a tight smile and headed for a stall. Once the curtain was jerked shut, I shook out the gown, immediately struck by another surge of denial. In the water, the soft white linen would be see-through. The straps were gathered at the top, there was a high waist, and then the soft material fell to mid-thigh. I guessed you were supposed to go commando underneath, but hell if I’d go there.

I left on my bra and panties (thank God they were white), pulled the gown over my head, and then carried all my clothes, firearms tucked under my jacket, to the attendant to ask for a locker and a key.