Chapter Eleven Lover
I don’t sleep much. Oh, I could have slept, believe me.
Adrenaline dies off hard once Andrea is asleep, and there are no more questions to ask or answer.
(Such an efficient way of doing things. If I had known you could just ask humans about themselves like that, maybe I would have talked more during the last six years.
Then again, since they could have asked me those same questions in return, probably not.
Chopin has nestled into my side and is massaging me with tiny toes, purring softly, a living heating pad with an adorable little face.
And then there’s Andrea, looking like a cherub in a pink cotton nightgown that’s ridden up over her hip in the night, showing me her perfect leg and the softly padded rear and hip that I have to use all my willpower not to pet. Just once.
But I don’t. I stay awake by sheer stubbornness and greed.
I want these sights, and I might never get them again, so my eyes remain open, drinking in Andrea’s peaceful face and Chopin’s cute paws.
I memorize the songs on the playlist that repeats over and over in the night, and I know how they sound layered with Andrea’s even breathing and Chopin’s purring.
Perhaps the best thing isn’t what I can see or hear, but what my sense of touch discovers: the soft heat of sharing a bed, the feel of her breath on my bicep, and how she reaches for me in her sleep.
A few times, I scoot my arm away from her (even though there’s not much room to move in this tiny bed) and each time, she curls closer until her skin finds mine again.
I may be a troll. I may be ugly to most humans. But to Andrea, I am comfort. I am safety.
It’s a miracle the bed can support my weight and the weight of my three-ton ego, too.
“Hm? Gordon?”
“Right here.” Make that four-ton ego. The first word Andrea says upon waking is my name. She blinks up at me and smiles.
“You stayed.”
“Yes. I’m going to stay until you’re better.”
“You’re not in a sheet anymore,” Andrea says, sitting up on one elbow and rubbing her eyes.
I’m not. I’m in my freshly laundered t-shirt and boxers. “This seemed more suitable.”
Andrea gasps and pulls down her nightgown over her bare leg, blushing. “Uh, yes. Probably.”
“I’m going to carry you to the bathroom, then to the couch,” I say, because I’ve been planning how I can be the best possible boyfriend-slash-caregiver for hours. “I’ll check your burns, then I’m going to make breakfast.”
“Oh. Okay.” Andrea blinks in surprise.
“Once you’re settled on the couch with Chopin, some books, juice, and the remote, I’m going to go to my place and the station, and then I’ll be back. Will you be okay for two hours? It might take less, or a little more, depending on if the captain has questions for me about my report.”
Andrea nods, eyes wide. “I can take care of myself, though, honestly.”
“Oh. Should I... Do you want me to go?” I ask.
“Absolutely not. I’m just in shock. In the best kind of shock.” Andrea squeals when I rise and scoop her up. Her arms wrap right around my neck, and she pecks my lips. “Miss Flores gives you an A+ in boyfriending.”
I beam. I’m a boyfriend. I take care of this beautiful human, and she cares for me in ways I never knew could exist, with simple touches, inviting smiles, and so much warmth in her eyes.
I’m not sure if romance and kissing are only things for night and for dates, but I take the chance and kiss her, my tusks on her cheeks, and my lips on hers, sinking into a happy dream where this happens every morning.
And Andrea kisses me back. “I hope it takes less than two hours,” she whispers.
That little whisper and the look she gives me? My ears heard them, but they seem to have burrowed right into a dormant place inside my brain, too. The place where carnal desires live. “I’ll hurry.”
“Well. You couldn’t let the summer pass without a little ruckus, huh?” Sunderland is there at the station, a worried frown on his face. “Stray spark?”
“No. It was internal. Inside the shed. Something was burnt in there, and some smoldering embers ignited the gasoline kept in the shed.” I don’t mention the claw marks. I’ll tell Alban and some of the other supernaturally conversant volunteers about them.
“Accident or arson?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll investigate.”
“Heard you had a narrow escape. A mercy you were blown clear.”
Yes, that would be the spin on it. Blown clear. Not turned to stone. “Yep. Mercy.”
“Hear Miss Flores thought you bit the dust and she was sobbing like her heart was broken. Think you made an impact there, son.”
I nod, swallowing hard. He called me son. Andrea called me boyfriend. Chopin—well, Chopin didn’t call me anything, but Andrea says when cats rub their cheeks on you, they’ve marked you as theirs.
Sunderland’s hand is on my shoulder now, and he lets out a sigh.
“Don’t take risks investigating, and don’t push yourself.
You should take a few days off. You have more vacation time than the entire rest of the department put together.
Take three days and spoil your ladyfriend.
You, uh... She okay? I heard she passed out. ”
“It wasn’t smoke inhalation, it was shock. She’s all right. I need to get back there. Her feet are blistered. Not badly, but bad enough that it’ll hurt when she walks. I left her on the couch with juice, her cat, and the remote. Oh, and her Kindle.” I can’t help smiling. “She loves to read, too.”
Books weren’t allowed in our house.
Why would you want to read a book written by your dinner? Do you go out and ask the squirrels for their thoughts? Fool. Trying to be a human, but never will be.
I blink to push my mother’s harsh, mocking voice away. “I’ll take the three days off.”
Sunderland looks shocked. “That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.”
“I’ll still investigate. I’ll go to the scene later today, and I’ll talk to people who might have seen anything suspicious. Andrea might be able to help. She probably knows the teachers and caretaker at the school better than we do.”
“Sounds good.” Sunderland smiles. “I want you to remember that the firehouse function room is free to use for your wedding reception.”
“Free? Good to— Hey!”
“ You can save a pretty penny on the venue, and we’ll do it up really nice for you, Gord.” Sunderland walks off, chuckling.
Smug bastard.
“Does lunch from The Pine Loft Coffee Shop count as our fourth date?” Gordon enters my apartment with his arms full of bags and wearing an army surplus-looking rucksack on his back.
“Fifth. Breakfast this morning was fourth,” I smile, swiping away my current read, which was admittedly far too steamy for someone trying to take things slow—which is weird, considering this guy held me in my shower and slept in my bed—but I am.
Reading about a sexy Orc hockey player who also turns out to be a total doggy dad didn’t help me cool my libido. Especially once I see Gordon open a container of lox, carefully place some on a saucer, then give it to Chopin.
“You have to stop that,” I say suddenly.
Gordon recoils like he’s been shot, whisking the plate comically high above his head, like Chopin might leap six feet in the air to attack the pink fish on the saucer.
“What? Why? I thought cats ate fish!” He protectively puts a hand on Chopin’s back, and Chopin stops his huff of protest and rolls over for belly scratches.
“You can give him the salmon. He will love it and become even more spoiled,” I say quickly, trying to stand and hobble over. “I meant you have to stop being so adorable with my cat, because you’re melting me into a big pile of mush.”
Mistake. Gordon shouldn’t run inside my small apartment.
The vase with the flowers he gave me last week rattles and shakes.
My water bottle, juice glass, and everything on my cheap glass coffee table dance worryingly.
In a second, I’m airborne and carried to the table, and Chopin is wolfing down his salmon, afraid of it being taken away again.
“Don’t walk if I’m here. Oh, not only did Georgia at The Pine Loft give us this entire bag for free, but Madge at the magic store flagged me down and gave me this balm for your feet. She says it’s magically infused, so you’ll be better by tomorrow.”
“Hm. Then we’d better not use it,” I say, watching with wide eyes as Gordon unpacks the bags at the table. Bagels, cream cheese, lox, a quiche, cartons of soup, loaves of bread, a delicate blue glass bottle and a bag of dried herbs, and lastly, a little white box.
“Not use it?” Gordon picks up the bottle and studies it as if looking for a flaw he missed.
“Selfishly, I’ve decided I like being the hunky firefighter’s princess and having you here.
If I’m better, you’ll leave tomorrow,” I pout.
I wiggle my toes, and immediately know it’s time for another dose of Tylenol.
“Never mind. Pain wins. Besides, if I can walk, I can hike, and we can go on our sixth date.”
Gordon smiles and pushes the white box next to my plate. “I don’t have to leave,” he says softly, and then goes back to prepping the food: slicing up quiche and bread, finding bowls for the soup.
“What’s this? A talisman to ward off blisters?” I joke, but realize it might be true. “Hey, are Orcs real?”
“Yeah. There are a few in town. Three of them work at the coffee shop, one as the head chef, one as the accountant and back-of-house person, and Georgia, who’s the front-of-house person and barista.
She and her brother Georgie are technically half-Orc, half-human, but you wouldn’t know to look at either of them.
Then there’s one on the hockey team. Heard the new athletic director at the high school is an Orc, too. Starts here in September.”
“Oh. That’s... What’s this?” I repeat myself as I lift the lid off the box, and instead of finding a talisman or another bottle of balm, I find a velvet-covered card with two earrings in it.
White-gold musical notes. “Gordon!” I gasp, one hand flying to cover my mouth.