Page 58 of Viking Unchained

“Must you repeat everything I say?”

“Male pig? I don’t understand. Do you mean a boar?”

“Nay, I do not mean boar. I mean what I say. Male pig. That is what Madrene and Hilda call me betimes . . . well, truth to tell, all the time.”

She thought a moment, then laughed. “You mean male chauvinist pig?”

“Ah, her thick head thins,” he mused into the air above his head.

She made a low growling sound.

Tossing two loaves in his cart, rye and date nut, he left her behind and went to the meat section, which was next to the milk and egg section. Dozens of cuts of beef, pork, and chicken, not to mention fish of numerous species, were displayed in windowed cases, or wrapped in a clear film so they could be seen.

And none of it was rancid. He pondered this bounty of offerings. Then, puzzled, he went through the door behind the display cases.

“Hey! You can’t come back here,” said a burly man in a blood-spattered white apron.

“I just wanted to compliment your hunters who brought in all this meat. And, holy Thor, where are the cows that provide the milk? Or the laying chickens?”

The man’s jaw dropped with each of his questions.

“Dost have any boar flanks? I have not had a good boar steak for ages, since Uggi Big-Arms brought down that massive broken-tusked boar in the Rus lands.”

Before the gaping man could reply, Lydia shot through the doorway, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him back into the store, saying over his shoulder, “Sorry. My friend is a little confused.”

More like a lot confused. He shrugged off her handhold. “You do not need to apologize for me.”

“If you have any questions, ask me.”

When are we going to have sex again? “I am not speaking to you.” A foolish statement to make when he had just spoken to her, but he could not care.

“Well, then, I guess you’re not interested in the surprise I was going to buy for you.” Her eyes twinkled with devilment.

Does it involve sex? He arched his brows in question. No words.

She held out a small bottle.

Reading the label, he said slowly, “Tingling Massage Oil.” Yes!

“That’s okay. I can take it back.”

He grabbed it from her hands and tossed it in his own cart. Then he smiled at her, no longer angry . . .

leastways, as long as she did not mention her dead husband again.

She pushed her cart up beside his, leaned up, and kissed him on the cheek. “Does that mean we get to have make-up sex?”

“As long as it involves tingling.”

They were dancing fools . . .

Lydia was back at work while Finn went off to practice driving with Geek, after which he would take his California driver’s exam. Oddly, she felt bereft without her constant companion. She was missing a man she had only known for a few days.

“Okay, ladies, this is our first day of pole dancing. Are you ready?”

“Yes!” the dozen women in the room yelled, including Kirstin and Alison Magnusson and Madrene MacLean.

If she’d bought more portable poles, Lydia could have filled the class with twenty more women. As it was, she had two more classes today, all filled to capacity. In fact, she’d been invited to demonstrate her program at a half-dozen private parties for women, even Tupperware ones, for goodness’ sake, following a feature article about her in a local weekly newspaper. Women expected to come out of these classes as sultry vixens, even the shy ones.