“Where are you taking me?” I ask, “Or is it a surprise?”
“Not a surprise.” Mooralan takes my hand, kissing my palm. “Inezsal has the most diverse menu on station.”
“Something for everyone,” Ferrok agrees.
They both hold my hand while we make our way through the station, and when we’re led to our seats—a booth they reserved—they put me in the middle and sit closer than is probably socially acceptable.
“How was work?” I ask as I skim the menu. “Did you keep all your fingers?”
“I did, but only because I knew it would upset you.” His smile tells me that’s not true, but I like it anyway.
There are no waiters. We order by tapping the menu and then slide them into the table. Our food rises out of the surface almost instantly.
“Okay, that’s creepy.”
But it doesn’t taste like it’s been under a warming plate all day.
It tastes like real chicken.
I might have to ask how that works… I might not want to know.
Ferrok tells us about his day, working for the station’s administrator and I tell them about brunch with Peach and Feather and…
“I booked us a room.”
They glance at each other. “Is that allowed?” Ferrok asks.
“Phantom didn’t tell me no, so… yeah.”
Mooralan exhales and stabs at his food before saying, “I wish you had waited to tell us thatafterwe’d eaten. I am going to want to skip ahead.”
“I think she wanted to torture us,” Ferrok says.
Hand sliding down to my knee, he strokes my skin the way he did when he traced my scars.
I focus on finishing my food instead of reaching down to move it higher.
One of Mooralan’s slips behind me to rest on my shoulder.
I like when they touch me.
I like it enough I don’t finish my food before I ask, “Ready?”
They pay and practically drag me out of the booth. I go, laughing.
“You’re going to have to show me the client entrance to the ring view rooms. I only know the employee entrance.”
“It’s gotta be him,” Ferrok says. “This is a first for me too.”
There’s an elevator just inside Phantom’s entrance and it scans me before it opens.
It takes us directly to the room as a bot explains the rules again. I barely listen to them. Mooralan holds me against him, three of his arms playing with me—twisting my hair, smoothing over my stomach, bunching up the side of my dress.
Ferrok pretends not to notice, holding my hand.
“Did you have a plan for tonight?” Mooralan asks.
“No.” I look at him, eyes narrowed. “Do you?”
