Lurielle just glared.Fine.If he wanted to be a know-it-all, let him find out the hard way.
She had yet to determine if all orcs ate as much as Khash did. She'd tried to pay attention when they went out together, would look for other orcs in restaurants, trying to determine if they too had ordered two entrees and an appetizer at dinner. She’d once stalked an orc around the grocery store, surreptitiously peeking into his cart to scan the contents, and had once espied Silva's slender Orcish boyfriend through the wide window of his small restaurant one weekend afternoon, sitting in front of a laptop at the end of the bar, eating an apple. Lurielle hadn't noticed a steak dinner hidden beneath his screen, as she'd pointed out to Khash later. His nonchalant rebuttal had been that the other orcs in restaurants were on dates and were clearly holding back as they attempted to woo their intendeds and that Silva's fae boyfriend didn't count.
Khash had harrumphed when they first entered the cotton candy-hued hall, seeing the fusty servers gliding around the room, bearing trays laden with bite-sized delicacies. He’d glanced down with furrow between his full brows when she hadn’t responded with an elbow on her hip and a derisive snort of her own, the anticipated reaction to such a scene. Khash never expected her to be anything but what she was, and the freedom to be a smartass on main, the ability to be her uncensored self was intoxicating, but she didn’t dare display anything other than a beatific smile, keeping all traces of opinions or disagreeableness or personality, anything that might warrant the negative attention of her mother, deeply buried.
Being there as herself—short, slightly overweight, unmarried and childless—was enough of a crime. Adding an Orcish boyfriend to the list of offenses was practically unforgivable.
She hated events like this.
She’d always been the outcast among her elegant, glamorous relatives—short when they were tall, soft and round where they were concave and willowy. She’d always been more interested in hiding behind a book than in flirting with the handsome elves at the country club, and now she was surrounded by all of them—distant relatives she saw rarely, plus the ones she’d grown up with, all crowding around with knowing smirks and curious glances. Lurielle was sure it was common knowledge throughout the extended family that she’d had a huge falling-out with her controlling mother several years earlier, that she’d left her fiancé and moved away, far from the constrictions and expectations of Elvish culture and society.
Now here she was: stuffed into a body shaper that displaced her internal organs with her huge, orcish boyfriend, attempting to keep her smile from appearing to be a grimace. She had nothing in common with the people who shared her blood, and likely never would. She hated events like this, but having him here, despite increasing the amount of attention she might have received otherwise, was a security she’d not trade for the world.
“Oh, I can guarantee he’s doing it on purpose,” she agreed as the server disappeared into the swinging kitchen doors with his still-full tray, draining her glass before stretching up to kiss her boyfriend’s broad cheek.
♥♥♥
She’d wound up at the little black-bricked bar that night as a change of pace from the previous evening. Silva was the one who had mentioned it, when Dynah asked their straight-laced co-worker what she’d done in lieu of the more carnal activities the little town boasted. Silva had blushed prettily, mumbling about there being a nice little bar where’d she’d gone, where everyone kept their clothes on.
The orc who watched her now did indeed have his clothes on, although Ris had the distinct impression he was envisioning her without the same modesty. He was not her normal type, she thought, covertly looking him over, deciding that he seemed vaguely familiar to her. He was slimmer than the others of his kind from the pool the previous night—great, hulking brutes with deliciously muscled arms and straining cocks, eager for her to stoke them and suck them, to push her to her knees and spread her legs, taking their pleasure before moving on to the next mouth. She’d had better luck at the tiki bar pool now that the season was winding down, compared to when she’d been here with Lurielle and Silva. It was very nearly too cold to go around naked, and the throngs of othersightseerswho’d clogged up the decks and restaurants the last trip were mostly absent now.
Despite having better “luck” this time around, she’d left the pool the night before more than a little aggravated with the lack of reciprocity she’d found from the crowd of orcs. The guys there that night were all horny and eager to get off...but they’d evidently been spoiled by the plethora of easy sex all summer, and expended very little effort in return. Reminding herself of Silva’s comments, she’d decided to give the bar a try.
There was a bit of a breeze that evening, and she'd tugged her short jacket around her as she approached the black-bricked building. A wrought iron sign above the doorway creaked in the wind, and Ris squinted, attempting to make out the curious creature depicted. Before she could, the door pushed open, a tall orc on a cell phone exited the bar. As the door slowly swung shut, she was able to hear raucous laughter and music spilling from inside, and she reached out quickly, catching the handle and squaring her shoulders before stepping inside.
The bar was bursting with orcs. Ris stepped through the doorway with raised eyebrows, surprised by just how many burly green bodies packed into the space. It was the last place in the world she could imagine demure Silva feeling comfortable, and she chuckled in spite of herself.
The pool tables were clearly the center of the action, and she wondered if anyone would even notice her presence as she moved to the tall bar. It was not hard to see that wagers were being placed, money changing hands for sport, with a ring of loud, laughing spectators. She walked past two clusters of women, other sightseers, attempting to woo the few orcs who were not thoroughly absorbed by the noisy action taking place at the green felted tables.
“What’ll it be, lovely?”
The orc behind the bar had at least a dozen heavy silver rings in his long ears, the weight of which dragged them towards his neck. Bands of copper adorned his left tusk, while the right had been broken off just above the first shiny circlet and filed smooth. He looked a good bit older than the other in the room, and Ris beamed up at his endearment.
“Ginblossom and tonic with rosemary, if you’ve got it, and a shot of Lysträe.”
That had been nearly ten minutes ago. She realized as she sipped her drink, taking another peek at her punkish watcher, smiling at his cocky grin, that she’d not been asked for payment. “Excuse me...did someone pay for my drinks?”
“Aye.” The old orc didn’t bother looking up from where he wiped down the polished surface of the bar, and Ris pursed her painted lips.
“Am I allowed to know who?”
“Guess that’s part o’ the game, lovely...the findin’ out.”
♥♥♥
Silva checked her lipstick in the car's rearview mirror and took a deep breath, attempting to calm her rapid pulse.It's fine. It's no big deal and it'll be fine...just calm down. The valet stand was just ahead, car doors opening for sylph-like women in short dresses, dryads and gorgons and nymphs, glamorous and sleek. Just two more cars and then she’d be walking in.
She tried to listen to her inner voice, tried to heed its wise words...but it was wrong. It was wrong, because itwasa big deal. It was the first time she'd be meeting her boyfriend's friends, the first time he'd ever invited her to do so. It was ahugedeal.Not your boyfriend, she corrected. That wasn't the kind of mistake she could afford to be making, not tonight. She didn't know how to define her relationship with Tate, didn't know what was an acceptable title to call him, but he was not, as the little voice in her head so often reminded her, her boyfriend.
You’ve been marked, precious one, but I can’t tell by whom...the fae woman’s words seemed to echo in her bones during the week, nights spent alone in her bed in her small apartment. She didn't know how he would introduce her to these mystery friends, and she didn't want to admit how worried she was over that moment, over what he would call her as aloof eyes flicked in her direction, silently judging. Tate's friends would be as effortlessly cool as he was, she was sure of it—detached and smirking, graceful and poised. Growing up in the country club world of Elvish society meant she was well versed in haughtiness and icy smiles, and Silva was confident she'd be able to hold her own with these people...provided she made it past those fraught introductions.
If she was labeled asmy friend Silva, she would start to cry. She knew herself well enough to recognize that. Knew that disappointment and despair would mix and bubble and overflow, as if her emotions were some ill-fated science experiment; that she’d have a short window in which to push away from him, to escape to a restroom and have her breakdown in private, and that would be the end.
No more carefree weekend nights spent at the Pixie, perched on a high stool while he tended bar on Rukh's night off, pressing her face to his strong back once the final patron staggered out the door at closing time, slipping her arms around him; no more waking up on Sunday mornings securely pressed against him, no more soft kisses in the grey morning light and lazy lovemaking, no more freedom and mischief and laughter. No coming back.
Stop it! You're not going to do that, it'll be fine. Just follow his lead.
The valet gave her a bright smile as she stepped from the car with her heart in her mouth. The club was sleek and upscale, would be full of the sorts of people she’d gone to school with, a complete one-eighty from Tate’s own bar. A minotaur in a tight black shirt stood at the entrance, giving her an appraising once-over as she approached, opening the door before she could even mention that she was with a private party.
