Chapter Twelve
Dáithí
The calm way Eoin handled the list—I refuse to call it the Summit of Love, no matter how much Alistair begs—is still weighing on my mind when I get home.
Leaving the door ajar for Eoin, who’s parking his car out front even though I suggested that he might want to be alone tonight to think about everything, I walk over to my couch and belly flop onto it.
Tonight was… surreal. I grew up in a community with a lot of dragons, and obviously I’ve spent a lot of time with them since I started working for the king, so I’m used to dealing with situations that are hard to explain, but I’ve never been at the center of one.
My nose is smashed against a throw pillow, but that doesn’t stop me from sucking in a deep, fabric-scented breath. Hm. I might need to wash the covers on my pillows.
Maybe Eoin will do it when he cleans my place.
Groaning, I bury my face deeper into the pillow.
Some of the tasks on the list might seem nonsensical, but they’ve all been carefully picked for reasons I had to agree with.
Even the two that were redacted—putting Eoin into a situation where he has to help me take care of a living entity, and leaving something important to me in his care—have logic and reason behind them.
These aren’t pass/fail tasks; they’re designed to showcase Eoin’s commitment to me, or lack thereof.
The scale for assessing them is broad, and having others weigh in will give me perspectives I might not have considered.
But was Eoin taking everything in stride because he’s confident, or because he doesn’t care? He barely even asked any questions. Was that a sign that he’s willing to take on anything for me, or that he’d be willing to walk away if the tests are too much?
Distant footsteps reach my ears, and a moment later, I hear the front door close and the sound of the lock engaging.
Eoin’s here. That’s a sign, isn’t it? If he was ready to walk away, or thinking about it, he wouldn’t have insisted on coming over tonight.
There wouldn’t have been those few moments around the king’s table where we connected, the awkwardness of this scenario falling away, replaced by the comfort of us.
“Is this a new thing?” he asks now, amusement lacing his voice. “I can’t tell if you’re having a tantrum or trying to tempt me. If it’s the latter, it normally works better without pants.”
A reluctant snort of laughter escapes me, and I roll over to look up at him. There’s soft fondness on his face and humor in his eyes. “Are you saying I don’t tempt you with my pants on?”
Heat replaces humor. “Honey, you tempt me by breathing.”
Oh. I go from tired and insecure to feeling like a sex god in seconds. Eoin’s the only one who’s ever thought of me that way. I don’t doubt my own appeal—I’m too old and have done too much with too many people for that kind of insecurity—but somehow I’m special when I’m with Eoin.
I reach an arm up for him, and he takes my hand and kisses the palm, then nudges my hip with his knee. “Scoot over.”
Once we’re wrapped together on the too-small couch and I have the length of him pressed against me, his legs tangled with mine, it’s easier to relax.
Maybe it’s foolish of me to get this attached; maybe he will move on.
Maybe that’s going to be soon, now that I’ve given him that stupid list. None of that matters right now.
Still… “Sorry tonight got so out of hand,” I mutter against his neck. His arms tighten around me.
“The out-of-hand part was my favorite part,” he says, kissing my hair. “Before that I was freaking out that you’d change your mind and just end things after all.”
Oh.
I’ve spent way too much of the past twenty-four hours feeling like a terrible person. I don’t like it.
“Eoin—”
“Stop. No guilt, please. This is what I want, remember?”
“But—”
“No. Dáithí, seriously, I want to do this. I’m going to win your trust along with your heart, and for the rest of our lives, every time we have an argument or you start to feel a little neglected because I’m busy with work, you’ll be able to remember this.
Not that I’d ever let you feel neglected,” he adds, and I huff a reluctant little laugh.
“You know I think you’re amazing, right?” I check. He can read me like a book, but I’m not always so sure about what he’s feeling.
“I never doubted it,” he assures me. “Trust me, Dáithí. Trust me to prove how perfect we are for each other.”
My chest tightens, and I force myself to breathe deeply and evenly. I want to tell him I do, but my brain won’t let me speak those words. “I trust you to try,” I finally say instead, and he kisses my hair again.
“That’s enough for me—for now, anyway. We don’t have to talk about this, though. We’ll be spending enough time and effort on it over the next few months. Tell me about the rest of your day.”
Few months? I guess that’s a good sign for me, if he’s not planning to cram everything into the next week or so. But he’s right; we don’t need to spend all our time together talking about this.
“My day? Not that exciting. The usual dramas with people not being able to read the instructions for the printer. I’d rather hear what’s going on with this hockey thing.” I was so preoccupied yesterday that I never asked.
“The meeting with the marketing guy from the Warhammers?” Eoin asks.
“Yeah. Erik.”
“Do you know him?” Eoin’s surprise is clear. “You didn’t mention it.”
I shrug. “No, I’ve never met him before. I remember his name because his nervous babbling about the meeting was so sweet.”
He stiffens slightly against me, but not in the good way. “Sweet, huh?”
“Sure.” I’m ignoring the implied jealousy. We have enough going on in our relationship without adding that to the mix, and he’s got nothing to be jealous about anyway. “So… what was the meeting about?”
It takes another three seconds for him to relax, and then he says, “Hockey. The team reached out to us last season—ironically, right before the king met Jared. An elf—that’s your friend Erik—was their new head of marketing, and he thought having the king attend some games might interest more elves in the sport.
We hadn’t gotten any further than me setting up a meeting with the league’s security people when that night at the hockey game happened, and obviously it became a low priority after that. ”
Since the king was busy having his whole relationship with Jared derailed, yeah, his priorities definitely got shaken up. And then I guess the season ended, since ice hockey is a winter sport… right? Or do they play year-round, since the games are inside?
“When does the new season start?” I ask. Eoin said the team got in contact last season, so that would mean they’re either currently playing a season or one will start soon. His answer to my question should tell me which it is.
“October, according to Erik.” There’s a thread of laughter in his voice that tells me he’s not fooled by my genius. “The players start training camp next month, and Erik wants the king and Jared to visit for a photo opportunity.”
“Really?” That doesn’t seem like a productive use of training time. “What did the king say?”
Eoin laughs. “That Jared thinks the Glaives are a better team.”
I sit up, ignoring his “Ouch!” as my knee jabs him in the thigh. “Shut up! He didn’t say that.”
Hoisting himself upright more carefully than I did, he says, “He did. There are pictures from that game with Jared wearing a Glaives jersey, so it wasn’t a surprise. But apparently Jared somehow met one of the Warhammers’ players, so he’s fine with showing support for the team anyway.”
Clearly Jared and I need to have lunch again. Just because I’m not interested in a sport doesn’t mean I’m not interested in gossip surrounding that sport. When did he meet a Community Hockey League player?
“That’s all? Just a photo during training?” I’m so let down.
Leaning sideways and propping his elbow on the back of the couch, Eoin says, “No, they’re going to attend some games as well. Jared really does like hockey. Erik was thrilled with the commitment they made—four games during the regular season, then every local game during the playoffs.”
“If the team—Warhammers, right?”
“Yes.”
“If the Warhammers even make the playoffs.”
Absently—his attention on… my ear? My hair?—he replies, “No, they will. The league’s only got four teams—the Warhammers are based here, the Glaives are headquartered in the South, and the Morningstars and Battleaxes are out west. All four teams play the regular season and then the playoffs.”
Laughter spills from me. “Seriously? What’s the point of even having playoffs if it’s the same teams? Just base the season’s winner on the total points or something.”
He’s smiling, but it still seems like he’s not paying attention, and that’s confirmed when he reaches out and brushes his thumb against my earlobe. “Your skin is so soft here,” he murmurs when I shiver. “So sensitive.”
I snap my fingers in front of his face, and his attention is immediately on me.
“Rude,” he chides, but that smile widens.
“So is zoning out during a conversation. Sex later—talk now.” But I lean in and press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, just so he knows sex is definitely happening later.
“Fine. There’s not much else to say, though. Erik’s assured me that a private suite will be made available for the king, even though you and I both know Raeulfr will go wandering through the crowd if he gets a chance, anyway.”
“Heh. Yeah. Especially if there are elves in it.”
Eoin shrugs. “Exactly. The only other thing that concerns me is the training camp, since he’ll potentially be up close with anyone who’s there.
I’ve asked Erik for a list of everyone scheduled to attend, including support staff, and I’ll get someone to check them all for prior incidents or affiliations that might concern us—the usual procedure. ”
I’ve heard everyone on Eoin’s team—including him—complain about having to run background checks often enough to know they all think it’s boring. He usually assigns it to whoever’s pissed him off the most that week. “Are you going to get Niamh to do it?”
“No,” he says, surprising me. “I thought I’d give it to Ari.”
“Ari?” His second-in-command and the closest friend he has on the team? I sense an interesting tidbit of gossip. “Why?”
“I’m not sure, honestly. Instinct. I just feel like it’s something I should get Ari to do.” He screws up his face. “He’ll make my life hell for it.”
“Fuck, yeah.” I don’t question the decision, though.
It’s one of the things I’ve noticed a lot, working with the Earth species for the past decade or so—they look for logic and reason to make their decisions, and often talk themselves out of their instinctive reactions.
We elves are the opposite. Instinct is the first factor we consider, logic coming second and often not included at all, if our instinctive reaction is strong enough.
In a case like this, where Ari is perfectly qualified and suitable to do the job, Eoin wouldn’t have bothered to rationalize his decision—there’s no need. “Can I be there when you tell him?”
Eoin’s lips quirk. “I thought you liked Ari.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”