Chapter 17
Misty
Tsok was in her salon.
The most honorable Char Tsok himself had deigned to grace the sparkly white floors of her salon. He was looking around with no small amount of unconcealed approval and appreciation that just pissed her right the fuck off to see. Who the fuck did he think he was to dare pass judgment on her space – positive or negative?
Misty paused in the act of setting out her braiding supplies only for a second before she continued – placing the fur cream she used for extra holding power with a little more strength than really necessary.
“Good evening, honored char,” she said icily. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I’m here for my appointment,” he said calmly, giving her an annoying satisfied look as he stepped forward, hands neatly held behind his back.
“Appointment?” She repeated, stunned, before scoffing. “Yeah, right. You’ve never made an appointment with me.”
“I assure you, I have.”
“No. Because I make my schedule, and I know you’re not on it. Flik is due to get his braids done today, Not you.”
He had the nerve to grin, like he’d just been waiting for that. “Ah, yes. Master Flik used to have this appointment time. I bought it from him.”
“You what?”
“It should be updated as of this morning. You can send him a message if you don’t believe me.”
“No. No way,” she angrily swept open her combot’s holodisplay. “I set my schedule. I control the whole thing. There’s no way you could…”
Her voice faded as she found herself looking at her schedule. And, true to his word, his name had replaced Flik’s. But that wasn’t possible. She never-
Realization dawned and she glared at him. “You got Davard to change it, didn't you?”
“Of course. How else would I have gotten the appointment?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You could have, perhaps, talked to me ? It’s my schedule, after all?”
Tsok didn't even have the good decency to look chagrined. “It was easier to just ask him. He was already right there.”
Groaning, she rubbed her temples in exacerbation. “Honestly, at this point, I’m wondering if this is a deliberate choice you’re making or if you’re really that clueless.”
“Pardon?” He looked confused. Then, before she could explain, he brightened and brought his hands around, showing her a small bouquet of black and white flowers – striped like a zebra longways down the lily-like petals. “I got you flowers. I made the decision to do so all on my own as proof of the earnestness of my affections.”
Flowers. This total nimrod had gotten her flowers? Why ? What was he doing? Oh, was this his way of making up for not caring about her near death experience? Because a softball sized bouquet of alien flowers was not enough to be forgiven for that. She didn't take them as she instead gave him a look, arms crossed over her chest.
“I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone,” she intoned dully.
“A very smart decision really. Some clients aren’t worth having.”
“Yeah.” She paused, waiting for him to get the hint. She let out an aggravated sigh. “Char Tsok-”
“You should just call me Tsok, my Misty.”
“Yeah, no. Let’s not do that. None of that.”
“What?”
“Any of… this ,” she waved her hand around, indicating to all of him. The flowers, the weird way he was talking, the absolute gall, him even being here in this room. She didn't want to have anything to do with any of it. “I’m not braiding your fur.”
He frowned, having the audacity to look surprised and displeased. “Why not? I’m on your schedule.”
“Through no fault or desire of mine.”
“I will pay your price. I assure you, I make more than enough credz to afford it.”
“Wasn’t even a concern in my mind, I assure you.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“You,” she stressed, giving him a look. At this point, practically daring him to do something about it. She wanted him to prove what an asshole he was by throwing her out on the street. She wanted that fight. That justification. She had no idea what he was trying to accomplish with this flower stunt, but it was only making her more annoyed. “I don’t want to braid your fur.”
He reared back, stunned by the venom dripping from her voice. And maybe she should be thinking about her wellness long term.
But he was in her salon! He invaded her space. And there was no other word for it. He had gone behind her back and had Davard forcibly change her schedule. Something he could easily do because he was the one who helped her set it up. She didn't know what she was thinking, trusting the guy who was obviously only doing this because Tsok ordered him to and who reported on her to him behind her back. Completely shamelessly!
For Tsok to walk inside so brazenly, completely unconcerned about his neglect, daring to cast judgment – even positive judgment – on her space was too much. She didn't want him here!
And then, he had the nerve to look hurt . Like her rejection even meant anything to him.
And fuck ! Because that was cute.
His soft, triangular ears drew back like a scolded kitten and his whole demeanor changed. His shoulders dropped, his face turned soft and sad. She had the insane urge to wrap her arms around that giant head and hold him like a baby against her belly and console him.
Maybe she could kiss it and make it better.
And there was her pussy, once again giving unsolicited and completely inappropriate and absolutely unwelcome advice. That was not helping. If anything, the fact that she still found this guy attractive only made her angrier.
“Is the idea of touching me so abhorrent?” He asked, his voice soft, doing an excellent job of keeping his tone neat and level.
No.
Yes!
Fuck!
“Just sit down,” she grumbled, mentally punching herself in the face for falling for this. Like a sap. Like a total sucker. “I’m doing whatever braid design I want.”
Pop! Went his ears. Right back up, his demeanor changing completely, just with that permission. He followed her towards her chair, taking the time to gently set the bouquet he brought on the drawers next to her work station before sitting down.
“You can do whatever you like with me,” he assured her, sitting back as she straddled her chair, floating it in close, her work tray following the chair automatically. She had gotten used to the hover technology already, but she still found it amazing.
“Roll up your sleeves,” she grumbled. She’d do quick wrist braids, then send him on his way. And then she’d try to see how much she had to imbibe to get drunk off not-wine. Maybe, in the process, she’d kill off the brain cells that insisted on being attracted to this asshole,
Maybe she should just fuck him to get him out of her system.
But nope. That was a human thought. Because that would be mating him, right? She was pretty sure sex was how the kreecharma sealed their bond. It was triggered by scent, but it was the sex later that sealed it. Was the scenting part required before it could bond? Or would jumping the scent thing and jumping to sex still bond them? It was a risk that she didn’t know the answer to. She didn't want to bond with him, she didn't care what the match program said about him being her mate.
Better to be alone than with someone who makes you feel alone.
“Your braids are truly beautiful,” Tsok was saying as he pushed up his sleeves, bearing his wrists as she swept her chair around, coming to his side. Without even looking, she scooped up some of the fur cream and began massaging it into the strands. It would help set the braids when she was done, and since it was slightly tachy, it made the braiding process itself easier. Helped her tame any stray fur strands, and kept the fur from slipping from her fingers.
“Glad you like them,” she grumbled, angry now at herself as well as him. Weak ass bitch couldn’t withstand a pair of big, sad, kitty eyes. The General would have hissed and smacked a kitten right in the head, while she wanted to kiss and pet this one.
“Are these braids common on Earth?”
“Yup.”
“How fortunate then that you came to a planet of only furred citizens to practice your craft.”
“Uh-huh.”
“They really are works of art. I saw that back piece you did, the one with interlocking geometric patterns? It was astounding that you could do that with fur.”
“What are you doing?” She snapped, giving him a frustrated look.
And damn it! There went those ears again! She hated how bad that made her feel.
“I was merely complimenting you,” he said, his tone cautious now.
“Why!?”
“Because… you are worthy of it?” He said carefully, like he was measuring each word before letting it come out to make sure it was the right one.
Misty began grumbling under her breath – cursing him and herself and Davard in a tirade that was as venomous as it was largely nonsensical. All the while, she was grabbing at his fur, starting off her first braid. The flat braid style kept the braids tight to the scalp, almost like a French braid that never turned into a long plait, but smaller. She didn’t care if her tugging was hurting him either.
“You are truly angry,” he said softly.
“You just noticed that?” She snapped without looking up.
“No, I noticed it at the garden party. But I did not realize how deep this ran. You are truly upset with me for some reason.”
“For some reason, he says,” she scoffed. “Is it any wonder?”
“Yes. I am very confused. I think I have been a good mate to you.”
That made her head whip up, giving him an incredulous look. “Seriously?!”
“You would disagree?” He blinked, obviously surprised. Like he really thought he was being a good mate somehow.
And, really, it was that complete conviction only wavering now that gave her pause. He really didn't see anything wrong with what he had done. This wasn’t malicious. He was genuinely confused about his missteps.
And that baffled her. How could he not know?! How did he not even have an inkling?
“You have no clue?” She asked, shocked.
“I do not.”
“You can’t even guess?”
He thought for a second before suggesting carefully, “I should have brought you flowers sooner?”
“Flowers…” She repeated, stunned. “You think I wanted flowers?”
“It is a traditional human courting gift that I have largely neglected to provide.”
“It’s not the only thing you’ve neglected.”
“Sorry?”
She blinked. Staring at him. Waiting for him to understand. And he just didn't. It didn't even occur to him. Which totally baffled her.
“How do you not know?” She asked, stunned.
“Know… what?” He asked, his concern rising.
“Tsok, this is the longest conversation we’ve had since I arrived. And I’ve been here for months . Like, at least eleven tendays. Maybe more. I’ve lost count.”
“Yes?”
“And that doesn’t seem strange to you!?”
“No. Should it?” The male was stressing. He looked baffled and concerned, giving her a look that was part discomfort, part confusion, part contrition. Not for what he did – or rather, what he didn't do – but because even he knew that he didn't know what he did.
That stress on his features, the tensing of his hand under hers while her fingers were still holding onto the open end of her braid, honestly did more to calm her down than the flowers, his confusion, than even an apology, could have done.
Because he was distressed, that meant he cared. And that ran so completely counter to the concept of neglect, she couldn’t reconcile them.
Misty let out a long breath, returning to braiding. The familiar motions soothing in a way as her anger drew back like the tide, leaving her empty and hollow. Kind of sad. For herself. For this male that claimed he was her mate, and somehow thought he was a good one.
It felt like they were hitting a wall. A brick barrier that was cutting them off from each other and was too strong to break through. Because if he thought he was doing well, if he really thought he was doing the best by her, where did they go from here? She couldn’t be with someone like that. She didn't consider herself clingy, but surely she deserved more attention than this.
Months, she’d been here. Months. And this was their first, actual, proper conversation. Even at the parties they went to, they didn't really talk. He told her things, she listened, they went home, they separated. That was it. That was what defined their relationship.
Distance. Disconnection.
Alone. Always alone.
“Misty.” He covered her hand with his, the one that was braiding mindlessly at this point. Stilling her jerky movements. “I apologize for whatever it is I have done.”
“You haven’t done anything.”
“Surely, I must have, to put that look on your face.”
“No, Tsok.” She gave him a beseeching look. “You haven’t done anything. ”
“I… don’t understand.”
She took a breath, sitting up straight. Facing him and this head on. And though she hated to say it out loud, though it felt like she was picking at a scab, agitating a wound better off left alone, she forced herself to state-
“You are neglectful, bordering on emotionally abusive. I have never been treated so poorly by someone who would call me a lover, a mate, a girlfriend – hell, even fuckbuddies treated me better than this! You are a terrible mate to me, Char Tsok.”