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“No.”
Huh. Maybe his skin is made of tougher stuff than humans. Once the soup is cool enough, we settle at the table. I reach for a bowl, but Orcus grabs it and fills it to the brim. He grabs the bread as well, breaking off a big piece and setting it in front of me.
Laughing, I pick it up. “I could’ve helped myself.”
“No.” His tone brokers no argument.
“It’s a wonder you live alone.” I nibble at my bread, savoring the hint of sweetness and the soft goodness surrounded by a firm crust.
He pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth, and squints at me. “This is an insult.”
“A teasing one.”
Gaping, he shakes his head. “I gave you orgasms. I’m feeding you. You insult me?”
There’s a point somewhere in there.
I place my hand on my chest. “You’re right. I’m sorry. On Earth we have this disease called sarcasm. It’s terminal and I’m afraid I’m affected.”
“You’re sick? With sarcasm?”
I nod. “Oh yes. The illness is rampant on Earth. Mostly affecting the young and beautiful but once in a while you’ll find an elderly person inflicted as well.”
His forehead furrows so hard I almost burst out laughing, but for the sake of not hurting his feelings, I take my first bite of soup. The broth is rich and a little creamy, and the vegetables are cooked to perfection. Not raw, and not too soft or mushy. I hum in approval and smile at Orcus. He watches me then finally takes the bite I’d been keeping him from.
Hollywood always imprints these ideas of monsters and beasts, making them uncivilized and disgusting creatures. Orcus is the opposite of that. He takes perfectly sized bites. He wipes his mouth with a napkin. He chews—and I swear to god, he counts to twenty.
Navy irises capture mine. “You’re staring again.”
“Oh.” I focus on my food. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He gestures to the stew. “Do you like it?”
“Are you kidding me? It’s fabulous.” I devour another spoonful and broth dribbles down my chin. I’m playing the part of an uncivilized monster much better than Orcus. If it bothers him, he doesn’t say. Orcus watches me eat with mild fascination—or perhaps horror given the broth incident—but I’m too hungry to be embarrassed. I finish my stew in record time. I give Orcus a prim look when he arches an eyebrow.
“What? You’ve never seen a lady eat?”
His lips quirk. “I’m beginning to think your definition of lady and mine are different.”
I scoff. “Why? Because I’m not graceful when I eat?”
He gives a non-committal shrug and stands to refill my bowl. “Eat.” Setting down another full bowl, he pushes it toward me.
Telling him he’s not the boss of me would be absolutely childish, but the words fly through my mind all the same as I pick up the spoon and attempt to eat with a little more finesse. Moments of silence stretch between us as we eat. He’s pretending to be aloof, but he can’t hide the curiosity that rushes through the bond.
Setting aside his spoon, he sets his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his hands. “Is there a cure for your disease?”
“What?”
“The sarcasm.”
Oh. I release a soft chuckle. “Right. That. Um, as far as I know, I don’t think so. It’s sort of a once you have it you can’t ever get rid of it sort of thing.”
His face creases with concern.
I wave off the worry. “It’s not a big deal. I’m not really sick.”
“But you do have sarcasm?” His nose wrinkles as he says the word.
