Chapter 17 #2
And this is so much of what makes him gross.
He really thinks he’s going to, what? Bulldoze me into a date?
I wouldn’t put it past the man to roofie any drink I may have with him.
He’s misogynistic and I very much get the vibe that all the clean cut good looks are hiding a heart and soul that are absolutely rotten.
I’m not surprised that he missed my subtle hints at book club.
“Um… what band?” comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. My fucking appeasing, customer service skills take over with zero conscious thought and I desperately wish I could physically reach out and retrieve my words. He’s only going to take it as encouragement, which it absolutely is not.
How the fuck do you win in that situation?
If I ignore him, I’m mysterious and unattainable.
If I go on a pity date with him, I’m a cock tease or opening the door to him thinking there’s a chance.
I definitely don’t want to encourage him, but unfortunately, it’s hard to avoid people in a town this size, especially when you work in a public place.
Propriety and the rules of customer service indicate I have to play nice.
Brett rakes his eyes along my body, immediately making me feel the need to shower. It’s like his gaze leaves a film of filth on my skin. I suppress a shudder as he drags his eyes back to mine.
He begins to answer, but before he can answer my question, another throat clears behind me for the second time in as many minutes.
I feel a long, muscular arm wrap around my hips and pull me just slightly off balance as Flint tugs me against his chest. I can feel the tension in his body, despite the pleasant expression he has on his face.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Brett, this is Flint, our new employee. Flint, this is Brett. He’s an occasional customer.”
What the fuck is this man doing?
Not that I’m complaining. It got me even further away from Brett, and I mean, I’m pressed against the long, hard lines of Flint’s body. I’m winning any way you look at it.
Brett bumps up the wattage on his smile and offers his hand to Flint.
Flint looks at the hand, and then back to Brett’s face. The silence stretches and neither one of them seems inclined to break it. Brett looks distinctly uncomfortable. Flint just looks… I don’t know. Watchful. He’s just staring at Brett, as though he’s assessing a threat.
Brett slowly lowers his hand, his face turning an ugly shade of red. He’s embarrassed, and I’m secretly delighted. There is no way this boy is going to call Flint out in the middle of the store and risk making his discomfort worse.
“Hey man! Nice to meet you. I was just…”
“You were just checking out everything but the books. Is there something I can help you find?” Flint sounds pleasant, but even I can hear the steel in his voice.
Brett doesn’t appear to want to back down easily. “I was just telling Casie about our next date, but I don’t really see how this is any business of yours.” He’s trying really hard to pull off that intimidating man look but he’s only managing to look constipated.
I try not to jump like a bunny when Flint leans in and nuzzles his face against my neck. “Well, since we’re living together…” he lets his sentence fade off.
I feel a long, liquid pull in my belly as his breath tickles my ear and the bit of scruff on his cheeks sends a line of fire down my spine.
Trying to keep myself from moaning aloud, I instead focus on how grateful I am for the rescue with Brett.
Maybe he’ll finally take a hint since saying “no” in every reasonably polite way has not done any good.
The color in Brett’s face somehow turns darker, uglier.
“Excuse me?” he manages, through gritted teeth. I can actually see his jaw working as it clenches.
Flint straightens without letting me go and gives Brett a sharp smile. I swear his eyes are glowing in the sunlight streaming in the windows.
“Oh, you didn’t know? We’ve been living together for weeks now. I moved in the day we met.”
I can see that Brett is getting more pissed by the minute, but I know his type well enough to know that he won’t risk anything here.
His type is the kind to try to buy their way out of trouble and into whatever they think they deserve.
Their revenge for what they see as slights are usually petty and mean.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he growls at Flint. Turning his blazing eyes to mine, he mutters, “I’ll… we’ll discuss this later, Cas.” He turns on his heel and stalks off, only to pull up short when Betsy steps in his way.
“You have good bones. That’s not a metaphor,” she smiles brightly.
“If someone murdered you, I could use your femur in three different wards.” She giggles like a young girl and Brett goes pale.
He maneuvers around her, making his way to the door with haste.
I know he wishes he could slam the door of the shop on his way out, but the door doesn’t work like that.
It closes slowly behind him, effectively ruining his grand exit.
The cheery tinkle of the bell doesn’t exactly help.
I let my breath out in a rush. For fucks sake. I focus on my breathing, unbelievably relieved that Brett is gone.
Once I’ve settled my heart rate and my blood pressure, I realize that I’m still pressed up against a wall of muscle and venom. I risk a glance up and back, which is enough to tell me that Flint is super unhappy.
“Are you okay?” he grits out.
Like any other self respecting woman, I very much want to say “I’m fine, thanks”, and then go on about my day like nothing ever happened.
Instead, I make myself pause and examine not only how I’m feeling, but also what I need to say to pull Flint back from the weird killing edge I can feel him standing on.
He’s practically vibrating with the need to hit something.
I can almost feel his desire for blood shed.
I don’t know why it's so hot.
I swallow, thickly. “I’m fine. Brett is just… a fuck puddle.”
I both hear and feel Flint snort, relieving some of the tension.
“No, really. I’m almost 100% sure that he watches himself in the mirror when he jacks off.” I add.
Flint gives in, resting his forehead against my hair as he laughs.
Yay! I’ve successfully diffused the situation. Gold star, Casie!
Sensing the crisis has passed, I relax a little.
“If he touches you again, I’m going to break every bone in his body,” he whispers, so softly I can barely hear. His hot breath is on my neck, his nose brushing against the shell of my ear. The goosebumps that appear have nothing to do with the situation and everything to do with the man.
Clearing my throat and trying to find solid ground, I ask “Do you still need help finding a book appropriate for Calida?”
He smiles at me, before planting a kiss on my cheek. He steps away and begins to go through the books in front of him. He easily finds something about animals and human relationships that should satisfy Calida’s request for a story.
Which is how I end up in clean pajamas (yes, he did my laundry and even put it away), trying to focus on my story, while he reads out loud to Calida from the couch.
Being her roommate has proven to be more of a challenge.
Kind of like a puppy, she insists on being let in and out multiple times a day.
She is always up for snackies and I have caught Flint singing the cheese tax song in the kitchen to her on more than one occasion, although her favorite form of cheese is currently pizza.
She does tend to snuggle with Flint on the couch in the evenings, but come bed time, she is in bed with me, hogging the blankets.
Flint has been – frustratingly – a perfect gentleman, other than the volatile situation with Brett.
Any other man I’ve met in my life would be pressing our living situation to his advantage.
Flint has been nothing like that. He asks how my day was, even if we were working together for most of it.
He makes my meals, does my laundry. He has tried marketing, but the store overwhelms him, so that has become my go to task.
He’s so considerate I don’t know what to do with myself.
It’s not just the housework. He praises my dedication to my writing and scolds Calida for interrupting that time.
He listens when I talk. When my writing is done for the day, we often spend the rest of the evening watching TV and enjoying each other’s company.
I guess I can’t even say we’re watching TV.
A lot of the time, we’re curled up on the couch, legs or arms brushing, reading together. And this man reads.
I thought I was a voracious reader but Flint puts me to shame. I’ve never seen anyone read as much as he does. After noting what he reads, there doesn’t seem to be a preference for genre and subject matter. He just reads anything he can get his hands on. It’s amazing to see.
I shake my head, struggling to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing. The words aren’t coming tonight and it’s the worst feeling in the world. All I’ve done for most of the evening is write and then delete. Wash and repeat.
I sigh and shut my laptop. I’m not actually accomplishing anything sitting here and, honestly, my body is starting to hurt.
Flint looks up from the story he’s reading immediately. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Just not a good day for writing and I’m starting to get sore from sitting too long. I know better.”
He continues to study me. “Want to run to the gym with me?”
Flint has discovered that there’s a gym only a block away and has been spending some of his free time there, often before I’m even conscious for the day.
He’s been encouraging me to go with him, but so far, I’ve been able to avoid doing so.
I’d much rather spend those extra minutes sleeping rather than trudging out into the wild to not only face people that early, but also to sweat.
Ew. No. I’ll continue to do my yoga at home when I remember, thanks.
“That’s a no.”
“You’d enjoy it. Getting up and moving around would help your soreness.”
“So would a glass of wine and a hot bath.”
“…okay.”
“Okay, what?”
He’s already heading into the bathroom and a moment later, I hear the distinct sound of water hitting the porcelain.
Dumbfounded, I watch him as he goes into the kitchen. A moment later, he is walking back into the bathroom, my favorite wine glass in his hand.
Coming back out, he catches the look on my face.
“What?”
“What are you doing?”
He looks confused. “What do you mean?”
I gesture to the bathroom door with my hand.
“Oh. Did you not actually want a bath and a glass of wine?”
“I mean, yeah, I do. But I could have done that myself.”
“I’m aware,” he says dryly. “However, you’re sore and you’ve been working. It’s not that big of a deal, princess. Go. Enjoy”
I refuse to acknowledge that him calling me princess makes my heart melt a little bit and I get that weird feeling of lightness in my belly. I want to protest out of obstinance but what would be the point? Why do I feel weird about this?
Oh, right. Because most men are trash and have all the audacity so it takes a fictional Fae warrior to put them all to shame. Right.