4. Cryptid Casanova
Cryptid Casanova
Seth
“Hey, how does my dick look in these pants?”
A human woman sporting a speak with the manager haircut tsks at me, but I pay her zero attention as I wait for Ollie’s response. The glamoured squonk leans over the counter of his cafe with a slightly bored look on his face before sucking his teeth and nodding once.
“Like it’s suffocating.”
I laugh at his deadpan response while he hands the judgy lady her fancy drink with a sheepish smile.
I knew I could count on Oliver to actually look.
There’s something about his unassuming appearance mixed with his surprisingly bold and biting commentary that draws me in.
He’s a good dude–funny, and a hoot to hang around, when he’s not crying all over you, that is.
“Right, but like, in an appealing way, or in a swamp thing way?” I’m mostly fucking with him, but having someone to joke around with like this is half the fun.
He narrows his eyes, tilting his head, and dropping his gaze back to my crotch. Quirking a brow as he replies, “That depends.”
I huff, “On what?”
“How much you sweat.” Oliver’s eyes twinkle with mischief, and I purse my lips at his cheek.
After a minute, he relents, “You know you look good, Seth. I know that you know you do, because I’m probably the very last person you’d ask for actual fashion advice.”
I try to keep a straight face—I try so fucking hard as I mumble with feigned shock, “What? What makes you say that?”
Oliver rolls his eyes as he wipes down the counter in front of him, "Because every time you see me, you list off recently deceased elderly men and ask which one I got my sweater vest from.”
His eyes dance with amusement as he pins me with a good-humoured glare.
My shoulders shake as I lose the fight to keep from laughing.
This is exactly what I needed to release some of the anxiety about meeting Ryn later.
I narrow my eyes and bite my lip as I contemplate his current sweater vest—an absolutely fucking hideous maroon and mustard yellow abomination that only Oliver could manage to pull off.
“Gerald? Or…oh, maybe it was that agropelter, what was his name? Harry!”
“An agropelter? Now that’s just rude.”
“No—rude would be suggesting Marvin the gumberoo shifter.”
Oliver studies me for a minute, pursing his lips, and then nods, “Yeah, that’s fair.”
We both huff out a laugh, but Ollie’s quickly tapers off as his eyes catch on something behind me. He turns all wistful-looking, and I chance a glance over my shoulder before quickly whipping my head back around and slouching down some.
Eleanor sits at a table by the window, taking notes in a little journal and sipping what looks like tea.
I feel kind of bad that my first reaction to seeing her again is panic and dread, considering she was actually super chill about everything after she regained consciousness on our last date.
Maybe it’s some kind of awful-date PTSD response.
I shiver at the memory of that day and watch as Oliver sighs, the yearning coming off of him in waves.
“Dude, have you still not talked to her? Doesn’t she come in here like—every single day?” I try to temper the disbelief in my tone, but at Oliver’s annoyed look, I can tell I did a shit job of it.
“Yes, she does, and I have talked to her, obviously. I have to take her order, don’t I?” His ears turn bright red under his shaggy, soft brown curls, and I give him an unimpressed look.
“I–it’s not that easy, Seth. My confidence is a lot better with the glamour, you know that.
But as you said, she comes in here every day.
She has done for months. I-I’ve tried to flirt with her in the past, and it was just—” Oliver winces and runs a hand through his unruly hair, his curls flopping around but somehow still managing to look mussed in an intentional way, “painful.”
“Aw, come on, man, it couldn’t have been that ba—”
“She offered me a tincture because she said I looked flushed and clammy.” He folds his arms and rests them against his midsection as he leans his hip against the counter.
“That’s not great, but it’s not terrible,” I try to sound confident, but really, that is pretty bad.
“Another time, she asked me if I might have accidentally imbibed a laughing lolly. She asked me if I was drugged because I couldn’t stop nervous-laughing. Let that sink in.”
Yikes. My face must be a clear reflection of my thoughts, because Oliver harrumphs and nods, “Yeah. Exactly.” He shrugs, his eyes suspiciously misty, and my pulse quickens slightly because dear gods, please no. Not the tears.
When I look back up at him, he has a sheepish smile on his face, and his eyes are, thankfully, a bit clearer as he says, “Besides—if she was interested, I would know it.”
His purposeful stare has me confused for just a split second before it dawns on me—he can use his freaky squonk powers to, like, taste the air for emotions.
Damn. That’s actually kind of depressing.
Partly because I don’t want him to have to dwell on the discomfort, and also partly because I don’t want to chance tears, I change the subject and blurt out my own doubts about my meeting with Ryn.
Oliver smirks and shakes his head, “The necromancer? You definitely don’t have to worry. She was very into you—before you put your foot in your mouth.”
Excitement bubbles in my chest at the same time I glare at my sneaky squonk friend, “I’m gonna let it slide that you were taste-testing my girl, but only this once.”
He nods absentmindedly, “I have explained that I’m not actually tasting anyone, just scenting the air, right? You make it sound like I should be on some kind of list for deviants.”
He has explained this to both me and Cian, but I still like to give him shit for it.
He gets a little spark in his eyes when I tease him about his womanizer threat level, probably because he thinks the concept is so unfathomable.
It’s a little sad, really, because Ollie is a fucking chill guy and if anyone deserves luck with the ladies, it’s probably him.
He’s got all the emotional stuff dialed in and always knows what to say.
I suck my teeth and look him up and down before teasing, “You should be at the top of the list, you kinky little freak.”
As expected, his eyes shine with mirth, and a small smile turns up one side of his mouth as he shakes his head and huffs, “Sure, Seth.”
His eyes catch on something behind the counter, and he bolts upright, a huge grin on his face now. “Actually, since we’re talking about kinky deviant shit…here.”
He grabs whatever caught his attention and hands it over to me. I look down at the brightly colored advertisement and quirk a brow, “Are you asking me out, Ollie—cuz I gotta be honest, I might be into it.”
He laughs and shakes his head, knowing me well enough now to know that I’m joking, “Erm, no. Thanks, but no. Ryn. You should take her there.”
My brows bunch and I look up at him with apprehension, “You really think kinky deviant shit is what I should aim for on the second, technically first, date? After how the last one ended?”
He snorts, and for some reason, his confidence further loosens the ball of nerves that’s been sitting like a weight in my gut, “Trust me, if you could sense what I could at the beginning of that first date—and even the tail end of it for a second there, you’d have already dialed her number to change your plans.
Plus, she took one of these when she ordered her latte and looked super interested. ”
I tilt my head and glance back down at the flyer. It only takes me a minute to think about it before shrugging. Fuck it, why not?
Grinning at him while I pull my phone out of my pocket, he chuckles as I concede, “Alright, Casanova. You win.”
I glance over at Ryn for the third time since we left the Boba place, and my pulse picks up.
My palms are sweaty despite the cool in the air and the condensation on the cup in my hands.
She’s absolutely fucking stunning. She’s got a fishnet bodysuit on under a matching cropped top and very short shorts.
There’s a neon skeletal pattern on her outfit that makes desire curl low in my stomach.
Some primal part of me swells at the thought of her decorated in bones.
When I called her earlier and asked if she’d be amenable to extending our meeting to include some clubbing, and she immediately accepted, I was fucking ecstatic.
I have some major ground to recover after our last date flopped.
Thankfully, I’m feeling at least a little more confident after Oliver’s assurances that Ryn was definitely into me.
My biggest problem now is that I need to stop looking at her.
I’m being a creep—not intentionally, obviously, but my plan was to move kind of slowly and ease into things.
Sort of feel things out and show her that I’m into her before I make any type of move.
It’s getting increasingly hard to remember that plan because she’s different this time around.
I don’t know if it’s because she’s trying to make sure this favor request is smoother than the last, but she’s been extra handsy with little touches to my arm, chest, and shoulder, even my thigh while we sat and waited on our drinks.
I watch from the corner of my eye as her shoulders move back, making her breasts appear fuller in her skin-tight top.
I swallow around the sudden dryness in my throat.
I can tell she’s purposefully tempting me, and it’s one hundred percent working.
Coughing and averting my traitorous eyes I mumble, “So, you haven’t actually mentioned what you need my help with yet.”
Ryn pulls her full bottom lip between her teeth, and I fight to suppress a growl. Holy fuck, do I want to bite that lip. I lift my cup to take a quick drink from the taro bubble tea I ordered.
“I need you to revoke the permit. Just for a little while, but like, immediately.”