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A snort came from the other side of the island, Khash muttering something under his breath, likely at Rourke’s expense. He glowered in return. “I smile all the time! I smile so gods damned much my face hurts. What are you talking about?!”
Lurielle had looked up from her plate with a look of disgusted exasperation. “You smile in your head, Rourke. You need to do it with your mouth.” He’d thrown open his arms in protest, and she’d shrugged unsympathetically. “I’m just saying! You looksoserious all the time and you talk to everyone like they're your employees. Go lick a toad or something, relax a bit.”
“You know what? I’m done coming over here to be insulted every day.” She’d only laughed at him, laughing harder when he shoved another croissant in his mouth and wrapped a third in a paper towel from the countertop, stuffing it defiantly in his pocket, but there had been a smile on his face and a lightness to his step when he harrumphed his way back to his own house, despite hearing Khash’s voice follow him out the door.
“Bluebell, he doesn't know whether to wind his ass or scratch his watch.”
He’d eaten his other croissant at his own kitchen counter, grinning like a fool. He’d asked her out. Was it a milestone for a teenager? Maybe so, but Rourke decided that he was basically a teenager in his golden years, so this still counted. Despite hisoccasionaloutward stoicism, he’d felt as light as a feather, and no amount of Khash’sKhashnesswas going to dampen his mood.
He gave Lurielle a wide, sharp-edged grin now, challenging her claim that he didn’t smile. “Oh, because that sounds like something I’d do, after all. That’s not just Xenna telling stories or anything; she’d never do that, right? Do you mean to tell me Mr. Perfect isn’t overjoyed for the opportunity to ooze and schmooze with the whole neighborhood?”
Lurielle made a show of cocking her head, pretending to think, and he watched as Violet took the opportunity to look his friend and neighbor over just as swiftly as the latter had done to her. “You know, now that you mention it, you’re right. He would.” She turned to give Rourke a wink, turning her back on Violet just enough to mouth“she’s beautiful”unseen before spinning back with a bright smile.
“Hi, I’m Lurielle. Are you planning on making introductions, Rourke?”
He rolled his eyes as Violet grinned, gesturing between them with the glass he plucked from Lurielle’s hand, fishing out a cherry. “This is Violet. Violet, this is my neighbor, the famous Lurielle.”
“Oh, I like that. That’s good; we’re keeping that one. ThefamousLurielle. Way better than ‘that smartass Lurielle.’ I might have that added to the deed of my house, so it shows up in the paper when they do yard sale announcements. Violet, it’s so nice to meet you. I’ll warn you now if you don’t already know — he’s very bossy.”
“Hey, I am not!” he protested, but Violet was already laughing, nodding her head.
“Oh,thatI already know.”
“Hey!”
“And” Lurielle went on severely, “if you go to get ice cream, hewillharass you for a taste of your cone. It doesn’t matter if he sampled it at the shop; he’s greedy. Prepare yourself for a lifetime of asking for samples you’re not interested in at the scoop truck because he wants to try them, and he’s already exceeded the sample limit.”
He didn’t appreciate being slandered so maliciously, but Violet hadn’t stopped laughing, and it was the first time he’d been able to enjoy the sight of her easy, unselfconscious laughter as a removed spectator. Her head tipped back, and her mouth opened, shoulders shaking at Lurielle’s words, pink spreading over her cheeks. His friend was right — shewasbeautiful.
“But he’s a very good neighbor, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t convince him to move away. Oh! We just got a new patio set; you’ll both have to come over for drinks and dinner.”
“His ass finally did in your little miniature set, huh? Those chairs never stood a chance.” Lurielle ignored him, but he got to hear Violet’s tinkling laughter once more, a win.
“Khash likes to pretend that he single-handedly wrestled down a mastodon every time he turns on the grill, so it’ll be fun for all. It’ll be great having you both over.”
Dinner was at Grass & Grain, a farm-to-table restaurant with a small, eclectic menu he knew would impress her desire to try new things. Each item had been carefully curated by the chef here, a panoply of different species’ cultures represented, all delicious and like nothing one could find in Bridgeton. When the bill arrived, Rourke watched her resolutely reach for a small clutch, her lips pushed a firm line, eyes widening comically when he laid a hand on her wrist, preventing her from opening the wristlet.
“No, that’s absolutely not happening. Put that away.”
Her mouth dropped open, cheeks coloring as she began to protest. “But I didn’t even offer to pay half the other night, and I should ha—”
“Violet.” His head dipped, and his voice lowered, catching and holding her eye. Rourke dropped a hand to her bare knee. The action was meant to prevent her from continuing to pull out her money, but it had the unexpected benefit of letting him feel how warm her skin was, warm and soft.
He wanted to run his palm down the length of her leg and back again, stroking over her knees, shins, her ankles, reversing course until he reached her luscious thighs and the hidden treasure concealed between them. He wanted to feel those same legs stretched around him, hitched over his arms, her ankles grazing his shoulders, her thighs opening for him and holding him securely in place . . . but first, this conversation needed to happen. When he began to speak again, his voice was a bit huskier, an unintended side effect of his errant thoughts and the loss of blood in his head.
“Violet, I don’t want you to feel that you don’t have any agency here.” Her mouth dropped open at his words, but he plowed on, the warmth of her skin beneath his palm reminding him of how important this was. “Lurielle’s right. Iambossy. I might be the one giving all the orders, but you hold all the cards.”
He had given his words a considerable amount of thought in the handful of days since their date. She was an adult. She was out of school, had four years of living in the city alone under belt by then, and regardless of how meager her means might be, she was self-sufficient. Their age was not so great that it would be a non-starter for pursuing an actual relationship . . .
But their disparate positions in the world could be if he let them. He didn’t want her to feel as if she were being kept under his thumb, didn’t want her to be self-conscious over the cost of the things they did or the places they went, nor did he want her to feel as though she didn’t get a say in things simply because he was picking up the tab. And he reminded himself, if all he wanted was a paid-for dinner companion and a guarantee of sex every evening, the paper was full of ads from individuals advertising such work.
“Your comfort is the only thing that counts right now, and if I overstep, I want you to know you can tell me so.” She bit her lip and he nodded to her clutch. “Butthat’snot happening. Don’t think I’m unaware we’re at different points in our careers. It’s dinner, not a down payment on your time. But I’m in a position to comfortably spoil someone, so when you’re with me, I’m spoiling you. End of story.”
He squirmed in his seat as she stared back at him with saucer-wide eyes. He’d been too authoritative. Too hard, toounsmiling.Literally the exact fucking opposite of how you want to sound, dumbass.He should have been softer, should have tempered his voice and lightened his tone, shouldn’t have been as bossy as Lurielle claimed he always was.She’s probably going to think that was a giant red flag, and you’re never going to hear from her again after tonight.
Somehow, though, she still saw fit to slide her arm into the crook of his, her fingers skating over the short hide on his forearm as they walked back to her car at the evening’s end.
“Maybe we can do dinner when I get back?” He ventured hesitantly, hoping he’d not already ruined his chances. “And . . . every Saturday morning is the Makers Mart at the municipal lot. I think you’d really enjoy that. That’s a crash course in multi-species living if there ever was one. And we can visit the scoop truck, which is the only real reason to bother going at all.”
