Especially her.
She stretches her legs under the table, her foot brushing against my calf, casual, unthinking. I clench my jaw, willing my body not to react, but gods?—
She has no idea what she does to me.
She leans forward slightly, propping her chin on one hand. “But I wanted to know—what have you been up to?” Her voice is a little slower now, looser, the edges of her words softened by alcohol. “I feel like I told you ages ago that you should come visit me, and now here you are. If you’d have warned me, I could have gotten the guest room in my place ready so you at least wouldn’t have to go home to the Arborium tonight.”
I almost choke on my drink.
Staying in her house seems like an impossibly bad idea.
“I don’t think I would fit.”
Iris hums, pretending to consider, but the movement is a little lazy now, a little too relaxed. “I mean, you are huge, but I think if we worked at it…really took our time…got creative…we could probably make it work.”
She says it completely innocently.
I do not take it innocently.
For a second, my brain ceases to function. My ears burn. My hands tighten around my glass. Heat floods up my spine, and not even my emerald skin is enough to hide it.
Iris catches my expression immediately.
Her eyes widen. Then she snorts. Hard. Too hard. She slaps a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking, but it’s no use. The second she peeks at me through her fingers, she loses it completely, dissolving into hiccupping laughter.
“Oh—oh my gods—Garrik,” she wheezes. “I didn’t mean it like that!”
I scowl, taking a very large, necessary sip of my mead. “Sure.”
“I didn’t!” She gasps, still laughing. “I just meant—I meant your size, you know? Physically! The actual logistics of the bed. Not—” She waves wildly in the air, making no actual shape with her hands. “—Not whatever you’re thinking.”
I grunt, draining half my drink and muttering into the rim, “Of course, I have no idea what you’re talking about?—”
She points at me, waggling her finger like she’s caught me in a crime.
“You do!” she accuses.
I stay silent.
Her eyes narrow.
“Don’t play coy!” She kicks my shin softly but with conviction, her laughter turning downright wheezy. “You’re not nearly as innocent as you’d like people to believe.”
I exhale slowly, gripping my tankard like it’s the only thing tethering me to this world. It’s bad enough that Iris looks beautiful tonight—glowing in the firelight, curls catching the flicker of the hearth, smile easy and effortless—but now she’s teasing me too, without even meaning to.
Or…maybe she knows exactly what she’s doing.
And that’s almost too much for me to handle.
A few more rounds in,we are both giggling idiots.
The room is warmer. The fire glows softer. My thoughts feel like they’re moving through honey, and I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or her.
Iris is half-slumped against the table, her elbow propped up, her cheek smushed against her palm.
“You’re making things up now,” I mutter, eyeing her suspiciously over my drink.
Her grin is devastatingly smug.
