17. Chapter Seventeen
Having never been to Fynn’s before, I examine the yard. Peonies burst from curated bushes, but everything else looks like it needs watering or a fresh coat of paint. He doesn’t seem to be the type to neglect anything, but I can’t also claim to know him well.
Knocking on the door, I wait patiently.
When the door swings open, I realize that I hadn’t paused to consider what ‘family’ meant.
Blood drains from my face as Trinte grins at me, fangs flashing in the moonslight. “Welcome to the Gleanscale home. Can I take your coat?”
Confused, I look at my bare arms. “I don’t have a coat?”
One blue eye and one swirling orb flick over me. “Shirt?”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Get out of my way.”
He chuckles, stepping aside. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
Trinte’s good mood is jarring. Is he like this only with family?
“Is that Kyrielle?” Talia calls out.
Moving past the confounding Dragon, I peer around the home, taking in all the plants. It smells delicious, like garlic and something roasting. Behind me, Trinte shuts the door.
His heat warms my back as he murmurs, “To the right.”
Goosebumps pepper my skin at his low voice, but I ignore it. Instead, I turn down the short hallway on the right and enter the kitchen. Inside are my favorite people, plus Fynn, whom I’m beginning to appreciate.
After all the obligatory greetings, I sit on the stool next to Talia. There’s a glass of very expensive Minga in front of me. I frown.
“That’s my seat.”
Trinte’s crowding behind me again, seemingly determined to invade my space today.
“Sorry,” I rush out. Talia watches me with an inscrutable look as I scramble off the stool, shuffling to its neighbor.
Trinte sits down, his shoulder bumping against mine.
“Do you have to take up so much space?” I mutter.
Trinte turns to look at me, Minga in hand. While his gaze pierces me, the glass hovers in front of his kissable lips. “You’re welcome to scoot over.”
“Don’t mind him,” Fynn says, probably unaware of how intimately I know his brother. “It still surprises me that his head can fit through doorways.”
The brothers exchange a playful glare. Orliana huffs out a laugh in agreement. Talia taps his forearm. “Your shoulders are rather broad.”
“The better to pummel faces with, Talia,” he says, grinning widely as he lifts an arm, flexing the muscles.
My mouth goes drier than the sands of Oasha. Looking away, I ask Orliana, “Can I get a drink?”
“Oh!” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Of course! So sorry, I’m still learning my way around this—”
“Don’t worry, I know what she likes,” Trinte says smoothly, winking at my friend. Orliana’s eyes narrow; at least she recognizes how much mischief this man is capable of causing. The blue Dragon looks down at me.
With a look that pools a dreadful thrill low in my belly, he says silkily, “Fynn, don’t you have some Heimlocks in the fridge?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Fynn checks the fridge. “Yep, six of them. Want one?”
“Two, please.”
“Gross,” Orliana blanches. “Those things are so cheap. Why do you have them?”
“They’re cheap and do the job,” Fynn says flippantly, not knowing what’s happening right now. The chaos occurring right here in this kitchen.
Trinte’s focus never wavers, even as Fynn places two bottles and glasses in front of us. We hold the stare as Trinte pops open each can with the crease of an elbow and skillfully pours into each glass without blinking.
Each second increases my heart rate. He’s taunting me, and I can’t decide whether I should be infuriated or aroused.
Scratch that. I’m instantly the latter, thighs squeezing at the memory of that night. When he hands me the glass, I take it, clenching my jaw.
Before I can fully take it out of his grasp, he pulls it back. “What? No, ‘thank you?’”
“Thank. You,” I grit out, holding back the urge to snatch it out of his hand.
He leans forward and mouths, “Good girl.”
Lifting my chin in defiance, I take the first sip. Instantly, I’m catapulted into the memory that has plagued me for months.
***
The Speed Dating Event
The conversation with Trinte is easy and I can’t stop smiling. We’re three Heimlocks in and the buzz under my skin has me giddy. Our knees thread together, brushing our thighs each time one of us swivels on our stools.
It’s maddening, wondering what it would be like for him to be between my legs in a different position.
So far, I’ve learned he’s a Dragxi, works with his brother, plays video games, and adores baking cookies. Smiles come easy for him, and he’s never one to miss a sexual innuendo.
I’m struggling to understand why he’s here at a speed dating event. At his age, shouldn’t he be locked down with a wife and kids?
Shouldn’t you?
I ignore the small voice. It’s a reminder that someone not fitting the normal life trajectory doesn’t indicate they’re broken. At least, I don’t think I’m broken.
“Kyrielle?” Trinte’s looking at me expectantly, like I zoned out and missed a question.
I shake away the thoughts. “Sorry, got lost there for a second. What did you say?”
He smiles. “What about you? What are your hobbies?”
It’s difficult not to hesitate. Admitting my hobbies tends to scare off men. “You might not believe me if I tell you.”
“Try me.”
“I beat up men for fun.”
He throws back his head and laughs. It engulfs me with a fuzzy feeling. Eyes sparkling with delight, he says, “Please, do tell.”
Well, that’s encouraging. “I’ve been a fighter at the local battle gym. I also help women learn how to defend themselves—”
“Brawling Battle Gym?” Shock colors Trinte’s expression.
I tilt my head. “Yeah, you know of it?”
He shakes his head in disbelief, chuckling. “I knew you looked familiar. You’re the Firecracker, aren’t you?”
It’s my time to loose a loud laugh. “So you’ve heard of my prowess?”
“Heard of it?” he says, incredulous. “You’re a legend. Coach Richor speaks highly of you. I go to the same gym.”
“How have we never fought together?” I ask, confused.
He shrugs. “I don’t do battles — I use it for the workout. I’ve considered entering battles recently, to let loose some steam.” His delicious mouth curls. “Maybe I’ve discovered my first opponent.”
Grinning, I retort, “You’d be signing up for an ass kicking.”
“I believe you,” he says, completely serious. “I’ve been meaning to go to battles. Now I have an excellent reason to attend.”
The thought of him watching from the sidelines while I whoop someone’s ass has me preening.
All of the hope and elation comes to a crashing halt. Because of a very specific, very clear rule. One that will surely ruin the mood.
Cringing, I say, “I have a rule, unfortunately.”
Trinte looks intrigued. “A rule?”
Staring at my beer, I say quietly, “I don’t date anyone from the gym. The men are already sexist — sleeping with anyone there is just asking for disrespect.”
Trinte’s quiet while he processes my words. I dare to look up. He’s gazing out over the crowd, jaw clenched. My heart sinks.
“You love it there?” I guess.
His eyes cut to mine. “It’s probably my only healthy outlet right now.”
“Mine, too.” The ease between us evaporates. It’s not like I can renege on this rule with myself — I’ve seen firsthand what happens to female fighters who dally with male fighters. It’s the only battle gym in the entire city, so it’s also not like either of us can go elsewhere.
“Damn,” I murmur, looking down. “I was starting to like you, too.”
“What if …” A muscle feathers his jaw as he thinks through something.
My heart skips. Will he leave the gym? Does he like me that much?
“What if you make an exception? Try and go on a real first date?” The hope in his expression shatters mine.
“I can’t,” Why does this feel so painful? “What if we break-up? What if it gets messy?”
He can’t guarantee either of those things won’t happen, because relationships don’t work like that. Both of us share glum expressions. I can appreciate him not trying to convince me to leave. The facts don’t take away the way my body aches for him, though.
“What if …”
Interest perks him up. “What if …?”
“What if we try it from a different angle?”
Trinte’s expression shutters. “What do you mean?”
Offering a slow, salacious smile, I say, “What if we go have some fun? No strings attached?”
There’s a flicker of something I don’t understand that crosses his expression before he matches my smile. “I can do no-strings-attached.”