Yeah.
That did happen.
It was hot.
Almost as hot as a body bed.
Trudging my way out of the backroom, and wishing I were bold enough to say Samson is myhusband, not myboyfriend, I stop short when I discoverDelafos—a petite brunette with a dramatic figure and the doeiest eyes I’ve seen since my own—has her hands wrapped around Samson’s bicep. “Wowww,” she coos. “Impressive. Flex for me?”
Distressed, Samson stands securely on the completeoppositeside of the counter that Delafos has thrown herself over to reach him. As polite as he is tense, he says, “Please let go.”
“Oh, don’t be shy—”
I do not track my movements.
I genuinely do not know how I end up fully out of the backroom. But I do. I end up right at the front counter, stick my hand in the void backpack Samson is holding for me, and grip my Crystal Gem Blade. Delafos launches off Samson the moment an edge of sparkle tickles her chin. “He told you to let go,” I mutter.
She swears. “I’m sorry.” She cusses. “It’s not that serious.”
“It is, actually. Touching someone without permission or cause is calledharassment.” My tired eyes narrow. “And harassmentisserious.”
Before I’m content withDelafos’sapology, the bell on the door rings, so I drag my attention toBruce.
An unsolicitedughescapes me before my filter—which, you should know, is asleep—can catch it.
Samson whispers, “Highly discouraged…” as he sets a hand at the small of my back.
Bruce’s double take on my sword is the only thing actually keeping me from throwing it at him, I’m pretty sure. Well. Or maybe it’s because he’s yet to open his mouth. The second he scoffs, I tighten my grip so my blade won’t mysteriously lodge itself in his forehead. “Samson.” He stalks up to us. “You ran yesterday.”
“Yup.” Samson, who has been absolutelychipper(for him) all morning, nods. “Because murder is highly discouraged.”
Another scoff, which has me rolling my eyes. “As if you could murder me. Why don’t we have a real fight, so I can show your girl how pathetic you a—”
Samson grips my hand an inch before my sword can make contact with stupid Bruce’s stupid throat. “Discouraged,” he says, again, through a smile.
Man.
He really is chipper this morning.
“I wasn’t going to kill him,” I snap. “Just make himbleeda little.”
Yellow eyes aghast, Bruce blinks down at me.
Before he can catch the marble cosplaying as a brain in his head and figure out a reply, I snip, “I have a better idea than watching Samson pummel the living mulch out of you. Why don’t you take a long walk off a short pier into piranha-infested waters?”
His mouth falls open.
I use the flat of my blade to toss it closed, then I face Samson. “I’m ready to go. You just need to check out with bimbo over here. So make it snappy.”
Samson’s smile stretches as he turns to Delafos and reaches for his coin purse, murmuring, “I love when you speak your language.”
That is the cutest way ever to say he has no idea what abimbois, but he’s got the vibe, and he is here for the mood.
“We’re not don—” Bruce attempts, bolstering.
I tut. “Use it, and lose it, Brucey.Itbeingyour tongue.”
He sneers. “You’d love to see what I could do with my—”
