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It seemed like the perfect fantasy setup, at least in his head. His ex-wife had been fond of romantic comedies, and thus he was familiar with the genre’s well-trod coffee shop romance plot. They would bump into each other in line, and he would pay for her drink. They’d sit at one of the undersized café tables until Xenna was sweeping under their feet, sharing their secret hopes and ambitions, declaring their love by the parking lot, making love as the sun rose the following morning, and living happily ever after.What happened to taking things slow and getting to know someone?
The movie plot wasn’t what he wanted, not truly, but it was better than the alternative. He wasn’t sure how he could possibly attempt to date someone else if he was planning on keeping his weekly appointment at the farm unless he specifically requested a different milking technician, clicking the little X beside her name and ensuring he would never need to see her again. The mere thought left him feeling despondent.You’re acting like a lovesick teenager like this is your very first crush. You don’t know anything about her; you don’t even know her name!
“Actually, I’ve had a lot of field calls this week,” he told Xenna, a bald-faced lie, not that she needed to know that. “I didn’t realize your patrons were under such scrutiny. Should I be getting a frequent visitor discount since I’m apparently here so often? You and Reg are putting in the pool this summer, right? I wonder how many of the tiles will have my name on them since I’m clearly their chief benefactor.”
She laughed, shaking her head as she called out another name. “Oh, enough! I only pay attention to the folks I’ve witnessed lock themselves out of their house in their skivvies in the snow. And you’re welcome to come by and use the pool any time!” She paused then, pulling her phone from the front pocket of her apron, thumbing it open, and nodding decisively. “Trapp will be here in two minutes,” she announced to the tiefling and the dreadlocked ram behind the espresso machine, her brother Xavier. “Tana, why don’t you make sure it’s all ready, I’ll hop on the register for a bit. I have an Americano for Rourke and a Lady Grey tea for Gilly.”
Her voice rang out with the last order she capped, and Rourke shook his head disdainfully. “I see the way it is. The sexy fireman is on his way, so I’m dismissed. Is that it?”
Brother and sister both laughed at his words, Xenna shooing him like a naughty child.
“More like ‘the firehouse used to make their own coffee before he joined, and now they’re our biggest counter customers.’ I’ll make sure Reg puts your name on at least three pool tiles, okay? Now go home and open your mail so you can RSVP to my party.”
He turned out of the coffee shop with a plodding step, his heart heavy for no good reason.You weren’t even this dramatic when your marriage was falling apart. Where are your priorities?He would head to the accountant now, he decided, to get his day back on track. Go to the accountant and stop acting as if he were playing anything other than pretend with himself.It’s not like she’s going to be walking in.
She was on the clock. She was being paid to flirt with him, more than likely. The pharmaceutical company had probably run a study comparing the semen output of a test subject who received the farm’s standard physical manipulation against one who received the hand job and a mental jerk-off.Of course. They’ve figured everything else out; why not this?They probably trained the techs on verbal seduction, had them watch extra training videos on the best way to titillate their clients.They’re probably offering an incentive to the day’s top milker; that’s why she’s flirting with you. The thought made him sick.
Although he was forced to admit, as he stomped down the block with a snarl, it made sense. It had already occurred to him once that Morning Glory was manipulating their senses and exploiting their hard-ons, turning a standard milking into a sexual service they didn’t need to feel any self-consciousness over. They had added the unnecessary handjob into what was a standard clinical procedure, as mindless a task as any other chore. Why would he think training the techs to enhance that was a bridge too far?You thought she’s been aroused all this time when it’s probably a smell they’re piping through the vents to keep you horny, keep you coming back.
It was a tricky thing, navigating the breeding cycles of different species living in one place. Heat helpers performed vital work that saved the community hundreds of thousands of dollars, especially in a place like Cambric Creek, with neighbors living so close. No one wanted an irritable, short-fused dragon in heat next door; the risk to property was too great. There was a cat person on the cul-de-sac around the corner who checked herself into a clinic for a week-long stay several times a year after, Xenna had told him and Lurielle the woman had created a scandal several summers earlier when she’d been yowling all over the neighborhood all night long, allowing anyone who ventured into her yard to have a turn. Breeding heats were a recognized medical disability, a valid reason for employees to miss a week of work with no repercussions or documentation needed.
Minotaurs selling their semen was as unscandalous as the cervid park ranger taking a week off every autumn, an unsalacious fact of existence . . . But the milking farm knew what they were doing. The company was owned by humans, and humans found every bodily function shameful, he reminded himself. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that they were indeed encouraging the technicians to enhance the atmosphere of sexual gratification, turning the processintosomething salacious, and he should have known that from the start.
But her smile had been real. His shoulders slumped as he pulled open the door to Kenta’s office, all of the ire built up on his walk dissipating as he thought of her crinkled eyes, the mask covering the smile heknewwas there.
Kenta Hayashi had been his accountant since Rourke started his company, and he liked to think that he and the big ogre would be friends even if they didn’t have a professional relationship.Friendshipshad been a bone of contention with his ex. Veleena had a never-ending supply of friends, coming out of the woodwork every time he left the house at her side.
Rourke knew he owned a substantial bit of the failure of his marriage. He’d been a workaholic, prioritizing conference calls and deadlines over spending quality time with the wife with whom he had increasingly little in common, but every time they went out — to a restaurant, to a concert, anywhere it all — she would soon be laughing with strangers of varying species, people she claimed were her friends, and that he’d not feel so left out if he had any friends of his own. Those evenings had always started out as a promise —I’m here, I’m present, I’m trying, I can fix things— but by their end, they only ever served as a reminder that he and his wife were strangers, and spending time together was the last thing either of them wanted.
And how have you changed? How has anything changed? You can daydream about someone new all you want, go out on a hundred dates a month, but Lurielle’s right. He huffed to himself as the beaming beetle woman assistant motioned to the sofa against the wall, letting him know it would just be a few minutes. Rourke tipped his head, giving her a genial smile lest she think his snarl was for her.That’s not completely true, he argued with himself, sitting gingerly.You’re friends with Lurielle; you’re friends with Cal. You’ve been going to the monthly Minoan dinners, and you’re friends with everyone there. How many friends does one person need, anyway?
Kenta was straightforward and business-minded, like him. From the moment Rourke had dropped into his seat before the big ogre, Kenta had been off, talking about a new filing classification, punching numbers into the keyboard beside him with blunt, brick-red fingers, explaining that it might be a bit more work on the front-end, more documents, more records, but that it would save Rourke’s company more money in the long run.
“Well?” the gold-horned ogre asked, spinning the screen to face Rourke. “What do you think? What questions do you have?”
“How unethical would it really be to ask out someone you only know through business?” It was the only question that had been spinning through his mind all through the numbers-filled dissertation, and in what was becoming an annoying habit, the words left his mouth before his brain could catch up.
Kenta’s mouth dropped open. The accountant gaped at Rourke, and he sighed heavily.And now you’ll need to find a new accountant. New coffee shop. New milking place. May as well move at this point.He jumped at the unexpected thunder of the big ogre’s voice, his red hand slapping the surface of the desk.
“Who have you been talking to?!”
It was Rourke’s turn to gape. “Wh-what?”
“What?”
The two men sat in stalemate, blinking owlishly at each other in silence for several long, echoing moments. Kenta turned the screen once more, holding Rourke’s eye as he inclined his head.
“What. Do you think? For your taxes.”
Rourke swallowed hard, nodding. He had no idea what had just happened, but if it meant he wouldn’t need to find a new accountant, he, too, was willing to pretend it hadn’t. “I think it looks great. Just tell me what you need me to bring in.”
A quick glance at his phone on the way out the accountant’s door showed a cancellation message from the client he was meant to be meeting that afternoon, leaving him free to go back to the office. He was parked in the municipal lot on Main Street, which necessitated his walking back past the coffee shop. Rourke slowed.Maybe this is the day. Maybe she popped in for lunch. You could go in right now and sit down across from her, talk to her as a person and not a patron, get the answers to all your questions.He continued walking.
There was one thing that had certainly changed since that night in Lurielle’s backyard — he was no longer uncertain about what he wanted. One opportunity to see the milking tech outside of the farm. To see her outside of the charged, over-sexualized environment of her place of employment, out of scrubs with her face uncovered, face-to-face with her, and his trousers tightly zipped. Unless he was planning on stalking her, he thought despairingly, something he would never do, it seemed unlikely to ever happen.
You don’t even know her name. There was no sense in wasting any more time lurking around the Beanery. Go home and plan his schedule for the rest of the week, stare at the mirror for a while, and wonder if he was going to be alone forever.You’re too old for these games, too old for a crush. What did you actually think was going to happen? It’s not like she was going to walk through the door at any moment and be thrilled to see you. That only happens in movies, and you’re definitely not leading man material.
Chapter 6
