Chapter Six A Helping Paw #2
It’s only the right ones that want to be together all the time. Want to see you every day. “I’m—”
“I am unable to do the third date ritual,” Gordon blurts.
“Ritual? Third date—oh!” My face turns as red as the firetruck. “Oh. Oh, that’s an optional thing.”
“It is? I was told that you—younger people want that.”
I put my hand on my hip and purse my lips. Tita Carla would be proud of the sass I’m throwing. “Young people? You’re not that much older than me, buddy, and don’t act like the twenty-somethings started that. That’s been around since the nineties. Maybe earlier.”
It’s Gordon’s turn to blush, and he backs away, shoulders hunching down like he wants to make himself smaller. “There are people who know what they’re doing in this town. I don’t go on dates.”
“This is like the pet thing. You don’t have a pet until you do.
No one dates until they do. But, look, if you’re not into me, I am okay with that.
I just want to know,” I say with my best comforting smile.
I actually wouldn’t be okay with that. Not anytime soon.
Gordon is odd, but there’s a genuine sweetness and gentleness under his silence that is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
He’s not like anyone else I’ve ever met.
And you don’t know the right one—until you meet him.
“I am into you.” Gordon closes his eyes. “I don’t know why you are into me. If you are.”
“Oh, I am.”
“You are?” Gordon’s voice is soft and shocked, and way too adorable.
“A lot. But I’m not in any kind of rush. There’s no third date expectation on my end.”
The relief on his face mildly concerns me.
I know what a horrible childhood he had.
I know he’s not touchy-feely. Love-starved might be the perfect word for him, but at the same time, love-starved doesn’t mean that people didn’t hurt him.
Physically. Or worse. My chest crunches up inside, imagination working over time.
“If you don’t like being touched or you don’t like...
Well, you should know I’d never hurt you.
Guys can set boundaries just as much as women.
All equal and respectful of your bodily autonomy and preferences. You’d be safe with me.”
I’d be safe with her. Andrea doesn’t realize my kind have hunted hers, doesn’t see me for the monster I am. Doesn’t know that I’d love to hold her tight and experience softness and warmth for the first time with her, but I’m terrified of injuring her.
My fear is of hurting her. I’m smart enough to realize it’s been misunderstood, and she thinks that I fear her.
She is so little, and so frail compared to trolls, and yet she offers to keep me safe.
The stone fortress I keep around my heart shatters. “I know I am safe with you. You will be safe with me, too. I promise you,” I whisper.
“Oh, Gordon... Gordon, you don’t get how sweet you are. You’re either the best actor—”
“I cannot act. They do not allow me to do the school presentations about fire safety because I cannot complete the role-playing convincingly,” I am quick to reassure.
Andrea giggles. “Then you’re not acting. So you really are this perfect.”
“Perfect?” I bark the word, horrified. “Oh, no. Please don’t think that. That’s a mistake.”
“You don’t get it. You can be perfect for someone without actually being perfect at all.”
Humans are so confusing. Dating and mates...liking someone... It’s all confusing. The rules that Sunderland mentioned aren’t even rules; they’re options. “I’m not perfect for you,” is all I can say, knowing it’s true and feeling that I have to at least try to warn her.
“Only I get to decide that.” Andrea grins. The grin shrinks. “Well. Um. Would you... Like to get together again sometime?”
I would like to get together every night. I feel better near her. I want to sit and listen to her play for hours, and learn how to blend spices to make the food that she craves, and watch her scold Chopin when he hops on the table after dinner.
“Yes, please.”
She waits.
I’m probably supposed to do something.
“Go out?” I croak, throat suddenly drying out. I have no idea where.
“Sure. Saturday?” Andrea offers.
That’s only a couple of days away, but I don’t like it. Now that I know that it’s “safe” and the third date sexual encounter is optional, I’m suddenly feeling a forbidden sense of greed. I want Andrea with me every spare second of the day.
Don’t be greedy. You don’t deserve her at all. One day, Andrea will realize it. It’ll be on her terms, and in the meantime... In the meantime, you get to store up her smiles, and her laughter, and hear her play.
Saying no will make her sad.
That’s the bridge I cannot bear to cross. “Yes.”
“Oh, good. I—”
“No. No, damn. I have to supervise the 4th of July fireworks event at the high school. It’s my year. Captain Sunderland and I rotate.”
“Ah,” she says, face falling.
“Well. It is supposed to be a fun event with more than just fireworks. There are hot dogs and hamburgers. Face painting. Some carnival-type games.”
Andrea nods. “Awesome. Fireworks, food, fun—and a fireman? Sign me up.”
I love how she added me in as one of the benefits. “You could come with me, but leave early. I have to stay late, make sure everyone leaves safely, that no stray embers set things alight, etc.”
“I like spending time with you. I wouldn’t mind.”
The fortress just keeps crumbling.
Andrea shifts from foot to foot, drawing my eyes to her legs. I’m spoiled for beauty, with her smile at the top, and her slender legs at the bottom, and just all of her enticing me in between... I move to pat the cat goodbye. It’s not my fault her fingers end up under mine as she holds him.
Not my fault at all that I’m suddenly towering over her, and she seems to revel in it, sighing happily, close to me, so that her scent slams into me and unravels my brain.
“Is this okay?” she whispers.
Because she’s keeping you safe, you fool. She thinks you don’t like to be touched.
And it’s true, isn’t it? You’ve never had a “good touch”, never had one that didn’t come down with the force of a cleaver.
“Mmhm.” She makes me dizzy when she’s this close. Before I know it, I’m bending a little, leaning down. I just want to inhale the scent of her hair, mint and vanilla, I think.
My lips aren’t supposed to graze the top of Andrea’s head, softly and carefully so that my tusks don’t bump her scalp.
She’s not supposed to gasp up at me with shining eyes, like a little accidental kiss on her lustrous brown-black waves is the same as a crown.
Andrea bites her lip in a bashful smile, and I’m jealous. I want to taste those lips for myself.
“Is it going to be crowded on Saturday?”
“Hm? Definitely.” I try to bring my brain back into working order.
“Could we exchange numbers in case it’s hard to find you in a crowd?”
It’s tempting to point out that even in Pine Ridge, I stand out. I’m big, bulky, and have shoulders that seem to have been built with a tank in mind, not to mention the weathered gray-green skin that Andrea can’t see.
She wants your phone number, dummy. She wants to call you. Talk to you. Can you imagine the luxury of having her phone number in your pocket, able to call and hear her voice any time you want?
I whip out my cell phone so fast that my hand smacks into Andrea’s middle and sends her reeling. “Sorry!”
“It’s okay. All right,” she holds her phone out to me. “Put your number in.”
I look at the screen. My name is in her phone. Gordon, it says, with a little box waiting for my number.
It feels official, and scary, and wonderful.
We exchange numbers in silence, smiling to ourselves as Chopin’s purrs fill the air.
I owe that cat an entire yellowfin.