Chapter Twenty-Three Thanksgiving
“Is the aquarium open?”
“In Baltimore? Today?” I huff and drop my bag by the door, phone tucked between my puffy jacket and my hood. “I don’t think so, why?”
“No, silly, not today. This weekend.”
“Probably.”
“Well, since I’m cleared to drive and the hinged brace doesn’t suck as bad today, I thought maybe we could go there. Look at the sea turtles. Stare at the sharks. Put our hands in totally inappropriate places—on each other, not the exhibits.”
My breath makes frosty clouds as I laugh. “No public nudity in the aquarium.” I stop and look in my shoulder bag.
Wallet, lipstick, gum, spare keys, dog treats, mini first aid bag... Tea canister. Not that we’ll need it.
“You know, when I said we couldn’t do things at my mom’s house, I didn’t just mean at the house. I meant during the long weekend. We need more space. And privacy.” I blush, recalling some of the things we’ve gotten up to in the weeks since Halloween—and the things we haven’t.
It was only a matter of time until our sexcapades gave King a little setback, and the heat of the moment ended up being a painful reminder that he needs to take it easy, even if he’s healing fast. One attempted “pinning” me beneath him in his bed led to Kevin yelling at him, and another week back in the immobilizer.
“Hey, I’m back in a hinged brace, and I’m putting weight on it in controlled situations.”
I remember the night he grabbed me while I rode him, crushing me to his chest as he came, and then tried to roll us over so he could be on top, to drive in harder and deeper.
It’s 30 degrees outside, and I’m suddenly feeling like I’m in a tropical jungle. “The key is controlled situations, baby,” I murmur, fanning myself. “You were out of control when you tweaked your knee. I loved it—but not the aftermath.”
King chuckles. “Worth it all. No, I know we need room. And privacy. Hey, did I tell you that Orcs typically spend like the whole winter alone their first year? All the privacy. A long, long honeymoon.”
“Yes, and they marry in the summer.” My cheeks turn pink, but not because of the cold.
King doesn’t need to know that I browsed through a couple of bridal magazines when I went to get my hair and nails done at Hot Tips last night.
Knowing that Orcs don’t wed until the summer gives me a mental timeline.
I know that we’re serious. And now I have an idea of what King might expect, or at least want.
What he thinks he wants. There is a lot of time between now and summer.
Plenty of time for him to change his mind.
For things to go wrong. And hey, holiday dinner with the side of the family who isn’t super thrilled about my life choices, and his future mother-in-law seems like a great endurance test.
Or the start of a break-up story.
“Well... If you don’t want a summer wedding, I don’t mind breaking with tradition. I do it all the time. Just ask my father.” King’s voice turns a bit bitter. “What do you want, lover?”
I know I want him to call me that forever, especially when he growls it a little bit, like something primal comes out in the words that he uses to describe me.
I know I want that and a thousand other sounds from him.
I know I want him. Every inch. Particularly that knot that we haven’t managed yet, and houses without neighbors, so I can scream as loud as I want, so I can listen to those roars that he muffles with my breasts coming out full-throttle.
Mom’s house is definitely out.
“I want to have planned ahead and gotten a hotel,” I mumble to myself. “Well, not that I failed to plan, Mom just would have been so upset if I came home but didn’t stay with her.”
“Hotels have thin walls,” King says in an innocent voice. “So it wouldn’t be much of an improvement.”
“I think you have no idea how much less clean up there is with non-Orc lovers.”
He lets out a low growl. “I’ll clean you up if that helps.”
My toes curl, and the jungle heat sinks from my face into my center.
“No, no. I just meant, at a hotel, it would be more private. I could drink my tea in peace, for a start. What if my mother or my cousins ask for some?” I pale.
I’m not having my mother and aunts turn into horny she-demons, having menopausal sexcapades during their Black Friday shopping sprees.
“Just leave the tea at home. I’m not with you because you’re incredible in bed—even though you are.” King lets out a lovestruck sigh.
“You’re so sweet. No, I need to keep taking it so I stay slippery and stretchy inside.
Especially since I hope we get to— Oh, God!
Should you be talking like this in front of—who’s driving you?
” I suddenly realize that I can hear engine noises, which is good, because otherwise we’d never make it to Baltimore in time, but that also means we have an audience.
“And can you tell them to step on it? The dogs know I’ve packed bags.
They know I’m leaving for more than a few hours.
If I don’t put them in the car soon, they’re going to start panic howling, thinking I’m leaving them behind. ”
“Well, about that. We don’t have an audience.”
King turns down the street, his double-cab black pickup that’s been sitting in his garage back on active duty. “Hey, pretty lady. Can I give you a lift?” King slows down in front of my house and hangs out of the window.
“King! You’re driving! Like driving-driving? I know you got cleared, but I thought you’d have to ease into it!”
“I figured I’d start now. —Not for long drives, but my legs fit better in this truck than they do in your car, no offense.
Wanna take turns driving? I put the camper shell on the back so we can put the luggage back there, and I put down towels over the backseat so the dogs can shed in peace.
” He puts the truck in park and slowly opens the door; there’s something different about the way he’s moving.
I look for the crutches, but I don’t see them.
“What are you... Oooh.” I stop and stare as King emerges.
He’s leaning on a beautifully carved staff that looks like glistening stone, and he’s wearing a hinged plastic brace over his jeans.
The thick black and red hockey jacket clings across his wide shoulders and hangs open to show off the fitted red sweater.
Wow. That’s my boyfriend.
“I still have the crutches on the floor in the back. Kev said I could try this stick for short walks.”
“It’s a beautiful walking stick. Cane. What is that material?”
“Shed and carved gargoyle skin. Genesis made it for me.”
“Genesis?”
“Gargoyle.”
“Oh. Right.”
“You okay?”
I must be staring. And possibly drooling.
In the house, the dogs start a soft, low howling, interspersed with whimpers. “You just look so handsome. And I’m so happy you’re healing. I’m happy you’re with me.” I rush forward to scoot myself under his arm. Partly to support him and partly because... I love him. “Love you.”
“Love you! So, is it okay to take my car? You can drive as much as you want.”
I have a sudden flashback to my mom and one of the guys she dated after the divorce.
Carl, I think. He wouldn’t ever let her touch his car, let alone drive it.
Some men are creepily possessive about their stuff, even though they expect a woman to share her home, her kids, and her body with them.
I hug King a little harder. “You don’t mind? ”
“Why would I mind? You’re my— you’re my girlfriend. We practically live together.”
“Yeah. Oh, hey, you know what Kev suggested? He suggested I don’t sell my place—you know, if we end up together.”
“When.” King corrects with a severe snarl, heading towards my door. “I’ll get your bags. What did Kev suggest?”
“That I keep the place and rent it for a couple hundred more than the mortgage payment. Make a little money long term if I don’t get a good price after a few months on the market.”
“That’s a good idea! You know, if you advertise on campus, I bet a couple of grad students would split it.”
King grabs my bags and makes soothing noises through the door. “Hey, babies! Daddy and Mommy are gonna load up, then you get to go for a ride in a nice big car. I brought Super Pup Bacon Burgers, your favorite snacks!”
“Stop being so adorable. It makes it hard for me to remain objective,” I chide.
He turns, a hurt look on his face. “I don’t want you to be objective. I want you madly in love with me.”
I open the door to let out the dogs.
They bound out and immediately follow him, circling King and wagging so hard their back feet tip-tap off the ground. They don’t jump up until he sits on the running board of the big truck, arms open.
“Damn it. He’s succeeded,” I mutter to myself, thinking there’s no way I can possibly love this guy any more than I already do, all the while shushing my rational brain that tells me good things don’t last.
Ingrid handles the truck like a pro. I’m not surprised.
She handles everything like a pro. Watching her masterfully handle exit lanes with speeding maniacs while still explaining her family tree and massaging my legs makes me all too aware of the fact that she doesn’t need a man.
Doesn’t need me. Doesn’t need anything. I’m so damn lucky she wants me.
Wants to let me in on this warmth, this life, this adventure.