Chapter 15 Andri
Chapter fifteen
Andri
Shit, fuck, dammit.
What have I done?
I swipe at the foggy mirror and get a look at myself as I comb my fingers to the place my hair used to be.
Now in its place is what almost feels like peach fuzz, the hair on my head having been completely buzzed by the clairvoyant stylist at Deja Hairdo.
I hope, for all that’s holy, that she’s a better psychic than a beautician because she’s completely butchered me.
I didn’t say anything after she was done, but she knew as soon as I saw myself in the mirror that I hated it.
I lied though, I told her I felt great. But as soon as I got home, I hopped into the shower in the hopes that maybe it was just some trick of the light or a bad product she used.
But dripping here in front of the bathroom sink, I know that what I saw is what actually is.
The most upsetting part of this whole predicament is that I actually am having a fit about my hair of all things. I know why I suddenly give a shit about my appearance, and the fact that I’m going to take her on a date tonight doesn’t make that realization any easier.
I scrub my hand over the tiny soft hairs and sigh. It’s not like I could grow a new mop in the next hour. So instead I focus on the thing I do have control over—my clothing.
The only clothing store in Hallows’ Cove is the thrift store. I know a lot of people would think “hey, that’s great!”
But not me, I know that pickins are gonna be slim.
Cutoffs, while not the most fashionable, are sensible.
My waist fits into the larger end of most human men’s clothing, but my legs dwarf even the big and tall options in length.
So rather than rock a pair of capris, I cut the denim off above the knee.
Sure, it’s not warm, but to be honest I wouldn’t need the clothing, anyway.
But a date with Daphne feels more important than something you would wear a pair of jorts to.
The only thing my raccoon shifter friend who owns the shop could find was a pair of gray joggers.
I think they must have been a scrunched style, because there’s blessedly enough inseam to hit my ankle.
They’re serving just a little bit fancier than sweatpants, but they’re worlds better than my shorts.
Smoothing my hands down the jersey fabric, I take a deep breath and look in the mirror. If I had a matching jacket and gold chain, I’d look like one of the Slavic teens that visited last season. Great, I look like a wannabe Russian gangster.
The alarm I set on my phone goes off, and I have to push down the rising panic again. It’s time to leave, and there’s nothing more that can be done to help me. I go to the kitchen, grab a bottle of something brown, and take a swig.
You’re a snowMAN, quit acting like a snowBABY.
With a little liquid courage, I soldier on to pick up my date.
I’m prepared to meet her at her door, but when I walk up to the main entrance to the chalet, she’s already ready to go. She’s bundled up in her ski jacket, black leggings, and snow boots. In her hands she has two cups of something hot and steamy.
“Hey, you.” She cocks her head and drags her gaze from toe to tip to really assess my disastrous appearance. “Did you cut your hair?” She tries to look unaffected.
“Let’s just say I won’t be going to Deja Hairdo again,” I sigh.
“It’s just hair, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I didn’t realize you would even be the type of person to get a haircut…since your hair is kind of, you know, all over?”
“Well, my mane grows slowly, but it still grows more than the rest of me. Honestly? I was just trying to impress you.” I feel like every attempt I’ve made to improve myself for her has gone to shit—I might as well be honest with her.
“First, take this hot cocoa.” She passes me the warm paper cup. “And second…you already impress me, silly. No haircut or pants are gonna change that!” She bops her hip against my thigh playfully when referencing my new digs. The soft part of her side presses up against my own.
“You noticed my evening sweatpants, eh?” I laugh, loving this bit of extra closeness she’s giving me.
“Yeah, I noticed them.” She drops her gaze again, and I take a swig from the cup she’s given me and let the sweet liquid warm my chest. I offer her my arm, and she takes it enthusiastically.
“If I do something embarrassing at this party, this is me apologizing in advance.” She bites her lip as we make our way to the gondola.
“What on earth could you possibly do that would embarrass me?”
I’m going to kill Briarlee.
I leave Daphne alone with her for all of fifteen minutes to help Brooks jump his truck, and when I get back, she’s blasted off her ass on fairy wine.
Briarlee knows she’s in trouble when she sees the look on my face as she pushes the cup against Daphne’s lips up high, encouraging her to drink every last drop.
“Hi boss man!” Her face splits into that manic little smile of hers.
“Daphne is just doing a little tasting of my special batch.” She winks at me, as if I’m in on something.
“By the way, did I tell you that I love what those pants are doing for you?” Briarlee giggles as she floats up just out of my grasp.
“Fairy wine? We’re trying to have a nice night, not have a meetup at the fucking moon.” I grab Daphne’s hand and pull her close.
“Did you even tell her what she was drinking?” I sigh, realizing that maybe I’m coming off as a little controlling. If Daphne wanted to get absolutely blasted, that’s her prerogative. I don’t get an answer as that little fairy asshole zips out of Killy’s and into the night.
So many of human’s misconceptions about monsters aren’t true, but fairies meddling in human affairs obviously is the one exception.
“Did she tell me what?” My date hiccups and leans against me.
“I think this wine is really strong?” She has a moment of clarity before her eyes glaze over again.
Her fingers pull on the fur near my hips as she steadies herself.
“Hey, even with that hack job of a haircut, you’re really handsome, okay? ”
Even though I can feel my heart flutter at the compliment, I’m worried about what the rest of the date will hold. Fairy wine, when consumed by non-fae folk, has a wide range of efficacy. Chances are, given how small Daphne is, we’re in for a long night.
“Daphne,” I mutter, pulling her into one of the worn leather booths. “You might feel a little strange soon, but I want you to know that whatever happens, I’ve got you, okay?” I stroke the back of my hand down her face and she…licks me. I think my heart stops.
“Okay.” She smiles so innocently.
“Let’s get you a water,” I say after a deep breath. “Stay here.”
My very inebriated date just giggles, leans back against the booth, and throws her head back with a sigh. I’m mad at myself for thinking about how sexy the move is as I stomp over to the bar.
“Hey Harley, can I get a water…and do you do coffee? Maybe a coffee would be good.” I throw a few bucks up on the counter in a show of good faith.
“Water I can do, but if you want coffee, you’re gonna have to make your way down to Ted’s—I’m not making any fucking coffee,” she grumbles.
“I mean, yes, that’s fair—I’m just asking because Briarlee got my human date fairy-wine drunk.” I lean against the bar, trying to keep an eye on my swaying human.
“Briarlee was in here?” She looks up from the water she’s filling in her hand and seems absolutely pissed.
“Yeah, you didn’t see her flying around your own bar?”
“That fairy asshole must have used glamour magic on me after I banned her for the season!” The gorgon points behind me to a polaroid of the pot-stirrer flipping the bird.
She passes me the plastic cup of ice water and leans over the bar. “If you see her in here again, let a monster know, won’t you?”
“You’ve got it, she’s on my shit list too,” I say before spinning back around. There’s a small group of young human women, obviously tourists, behind me in line for the bar. Their eyes go wide, and one whispers in her friend’s ear, and they both break out laughing.
“Nice pants,” one says before pushing past me to get Harley her drink order.
I shake my head back and forth, confused about all the commotion about the damn sweatpants.
When I get back to the booth, I hand Daphne her water, and given how much she’s leaning, decide it might be better to sit next to her rather than across from her.
“That’s the last time I wear these damn pants. I don’t understand the big deal about me trying something new,” I tell her, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I mean, I like them, what can I say?” She looks to her left and right, and leans in close. “And remember when you told me you wore pants so that no one would see your dick?” She raises an eyebrow and looks down. “Gray sweatpants aren’t really gonna effectively hide your thunder.”
That’s when her hand trails up my knee to my inner thigh. The world stops spinning in that second, and I can barely stop her before she grabs my cock through my pants and gives it a squeeze.
I, a full-grown snowman, shoot my load right then and there. I even fucking groan and shudder as I do.
Luckily for me, right at that exact moment someone puts “Come On Eileen” on the jukebox.
Everyone else is singing about you in that dress and not the cum stains that I’m sure are evident now on my jersey pants.
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that I taste the iron in my blood.
Using every last bit of willpower I have left, I take her hand gently off my manhood and back onto her own lap.
“No,” I tell her, like she’s a disobedient pet.
“Oh come on, you liked it.” She gives me a ridiculously exaggerated eyebrow wiggle and elbow to the side.