Chapter 7
WILLA
Ihadn’t meant to spend the night. It just somehow happened during a crazy cycle of sex, nap, sex, nap. When I rolled over, sleepy and pleasurably sore, and saw the alarm clock, I nearly had a heart attack. It was four in the morning, and I had a client I was meeting at five.
Scooting out from under the heavy weight of green limbs, I slid off the bed and frantically tried to find my clothes in the dark while not waking up Eng. I shouldn’t have worried. The orc was clearly a heavy sleeper. Either that, or I’d worn him out.
I’d like to think it was the latter. Hehe.
Late as I was, I’d paused to take a long look at him before leaving.
The orc was flat out gorgeous. They were all jacked, but Eng’s huge muscles curved and connected like a symphony.
He didn’t have bulging veins or the sort of bulk that would hinder flexibility and movement.
His powerful body just…flowed together. Each section was defined, but clearly in service to the whole man.
Was it genetics? A different workout routine than the others?
I couldn’t see Eng having leg days or arm days like so many of the guys at the gym who had their entire month mapped out in rep-by-rep detail.
Whatever his fitness practices, I was absolutely captivated by the results.
Just staring at him made me want to cancel my appointments, pull off my clothes, and pounce on the guy.
Eventually I forced myself to leave, quietly shutting the door since there was no reason for Eng to be up at this insane hour just because my job tended to include the before-work amateur athletes.
I was at the gym just as Omar was unlocking the doors.
“You look a mess,” he informed me.
I did. Without the benefit of a mirror I knew that my makeup was smeared, dark circles of mascara ringing my eyes.
And my hair… I hadn’t brought my bonnet with me, so my curls were a tangled mess.
Thankfully Eng had silk pillowcases or I’d be walking around with a rat’s nest instead of hair.
Clearly I needed to throw a spare bonnet into my purse, just in case.
Although I wasn’t sure I should ever repeat the events of last night.
He isn’t right for me. I’m falling back into the same old patterns, and I need to end this before my heart gets involved.
A quick shower and change left me with enough time for a fast warm-up run on the treadmill before my client arrived at five.
The morning was a whirl of activity. An hour working with my private client.
Two hours assisting gym patrons who needed spotting on the weights or help with a machine setup.
Omar grabbed me at nine just as I was ready to begin my own workout to ask if I could cover the nine-thirty spin class for Elaine who was home with a sick kid.
Spin was not my strength, but I was always up for a challenge so half an hour later I found myself with legs screaming and sweat blinding me, rising out of the saddle and shouting for the others to do the same.
When the hour was done, I was done as well.
Note to self: A night of sex and a maximum of three broken hours of sleep does not prepare a woman for spin.
“Good class. Thought you were gonna have bodies on the floor a few times there.”
I turned and grinned to see Stephanie beside me, wiping sweat from her forehead.
“Bullshit.” I laughed. “You all nearly killed me. I hope Elaine’s kid gets well soon because I don’t think I can manage this class more than once a year.”
“You held your own,” she assured me.
“Thank you,” I replied.
It was high praise indeed. Stephanie was a werewolf, so she definitely had the genetic advantage when it came to strength, speed, and endurance, but she also did home remodeling. And never missed a morning at the gym. I took my physical fitness seriously, but Stephanie was a beast.
“Cool down walk?” I suggested, thinking it would be good to catch up.
She glanced at her watch. “Yeah, I’ve got thirty. How have you been doing? Found Mr. Right yet?”
My thoughts immediately went to Mr. Wrong, the orc I’d left sprawled naked in his bed this morning. “No. Had a nice date last night, though.”
A nice date that I’d left to go bang Eng. What the hell was wrong with me?
“How about you?” I asked.
Stephanie stepped onto a treadmill, hit the green button, then cranked the speed to a slow jog. “I’ve learned a hard lesson about trying to combine work and romance. Oil and water. But you know I’ll make the same mistake again and again, because that’s how I roll.”
I grimaced in sympathy, setting my speed for a brisk walk. “With your hours you’ve got to combine work and romance if you ever want to see the guy.”
Stephanie was a one-person company, so when she had a job she was on it pretty much twenty-four-seven. It made sense to want a boyfriend who could help with demolition, or laying tile, or whatever.
“I tried to date shifter construction guys, thinking we’d be more compatible. Nope. Things explode within six months. I explode within six months.”
“You’re picky about your work. I get it,” I said.
She sighed. “I should probably just stick to work and Tinder some booty calls in between jobs to keep me sane. Give up the whole Mr. Right idea, you know?”
“Booty calls do have their advantages.”
Her head snapped around, her eyebrows raised as she looked at me. “Okay. Spill the beans. There was some big old satisfaction in that statement, and you’ve got this smug smile going on right now. Was last night’s date better than nice?”
“The date was nice, but we left after a kiss because I saw a guy I thought was a one-night stand. I went back to him, and we ended up at his place.”
Stephanie smashed the stop button so she could pivot and focus her full attention on me. “I need more details on this. A hit-it-and-quit-it was good enough that you ditched a promising date to give it a second go?”
I stopped my own treadmill. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“Was it as good the second time?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yep. And the third and the fourth, and the I-lost-count time as well.”
“And why isn’t this guy Mr. Right?” Stephanie had a little smirk curling up one corner of her lips. We’d exchanged enough stories about our dysfunctional love lives that she could most likely guess.
“The guy is a total asshole. Total. Asshole.”
Stephanie shrugged. “Yeah, but so are you.”
“Hey!” I laughed.
“I say it with love, and as a fellow asshole. So…awesome in bed, but a loser outside of the sheets.”
I sighed. “I wouldn’t say a loser. I know nothing about him because any conversation is pretty one-sided, although last night he slipped and actually spoke more than two words to me that revealed he might actually be smart with a sharp sense of humor.
Basically he’s made it really clear he’s not interested in me, though.
I’m not at all the sort of woman he wants. At all.”
Stephanie winced. “But you’re clearly the sort of woman he wants to screw. And he’s got to be into it, because you would not tolerate a pity-fuck.”
“Oh, the sexual attraction could broil a steak,” I assured her. “It’s not pity-fuck, it’s more like a hate-fuck. We wore each other out last night. I’d probably still be there banging away if I hadn’t had a five-o’clock PT this morning.”
“So you’re both sexually compatible, and you don’t know enough about him to like or dislike him besides the fact that he was rude to not think you might be outside-the-bedroom material.” She frowned. “Why is that? Why reject you right off the bat like that? He’s not racist, is he?”
I snorted, thinking Eng was one of the least concerned men when it came to race I knew—probably because he was an orc.
“No, he made it clear that he wants a quiet, obedient, submissive woman who he’ll marry, take home to his parents, and ignore outside of delivering a regular supply of semen for the production of offspring. ”
Stephanie stared at me. “So he’s a time-traveling medieval prince? Henry VII? Completely financially dependent upon controlling parents?”
She wasn’t far off. “From what I can tell his family is wealthy and there are expectations about the sort of person he will marry and what that marriage will look like. I think it’s less about the money than about him being raised to accept the duty and responsibility put on him over any of his own personal interests or wants. ”
The werewolf sucked in a horrified breath.
“Willa, you need to run, girl. Run. I don’t care if the dude has a magic dick, this is gonna mess with your head.
It’s toxic shit. You’ll think it’s just sex, but your heart is going to get involved, and even if his does as well, he’s never going to go against a lifetime of indoctrination.
Go out with the nice date again, and forget about the sexy asshole. ”
I stared down at my treadmill controls, miserable at the thought. She was right. This thing with Eng wasn’t going to go anywhere but straight to heartbreak hell. For once in my life I needed to have some sense of self-preservation and make a good choice.
The sex was good, but it needed to stop. And I needed to text Dean to thank him for a nice time last night.
Then I needed to confirm a second date. With Dean. The nice guy with a future, instead of the asshole without one.
I left the gym and texted Dean from my car. Then, because the thought of a future with Dean left me a little depressed, I jumped on Tinder and looked at my matches.
Swipe left. Left. Left. Oh, definitely left. Sweet Baby Jesus, left.
Then I paused, frozen in place and staring at a very familiar guy with green skin, tusks, and an arrogant scowl. Eng. Eng was on Tinder.
Did the idiot seriously think he was going to find his princess on Tinder of all places?
Then again, I was here looking for my Mr. Right, so I could hardly be throwing stones from my very own glass house.
I read his profile and rolled my eyes. Jerk.
It was all about his title and wealth, and absolutely zero about him personally.
And he had the stupidity to include his laundry list of meek-submissive-fertile traits he wanted in a woman.
I had no idea what came over me, but I found myself creating a second profile, grabbing some random pictures off the internet before writing a fanciful story about being a princess from the Kingdom of Canton-onia.
I was looking for a titled individual to marry, and I added in as much cringe-worthy trad-wife stuff as I could think of.
Then I pulled up Eng’s profile and swiped right, messaging him that as the eighth child in line for the throne, it was my duty to find a suitable match, marry, and have children.
I added that my parents would be happy for an alliance between our two kingdoms and that I looked forward to an indication that he intended to present his interest in a potential match.
All those Regency Romance books I’d read as a teen were useful.
I poured it on thick, then hit send before driving home.
It was a horrible thing to do, catfishing Eng like this and by the time I parked in front of my apartment building, I felt a little guilty.
I should delete the profile. I should forget I’d ever met the sexy orc and never see him again.
I should stick to dating guys like Dean.
In the end I didn’t delete the princess profile. But I did promise myself that this thing with Eng was over.