"I liked that too," she agreed quickly. "If it had just been the three of us, that would have been great. And I like watching us in the mirror. But I didn’t like all the bystanders, and that werewolf couple was super creepy. I don’t think I’m intoanyof that dungeon stuff."
"None of it, or the upstairs stuff, to be honest. I don’t want to be peed on, I don’t want to be a part of your weird circle jerk, I don’t want my asshole licked by some stranger who’s simultaneously being plowed by every single member of a k-pop weretiger band, I don’t want to take turns on a five-guys-one-girl train. Ris . . . I think I’m vanilla."
She was already doubled over at that point, her eyes streaming, the seatbelt the only thing keeping her in the seat as she laughed.
"Me too! I think I am too!"
Ainsley’s face had screwed up in a disgusted scowl, smacking at the steering column and inadvertently honking the horn. The wide body of the ogre in the car ahead of them raised their hands in defense, only making her laugh harder.
"What the fuck?!" he shouted, his voice reverberating in the muscle car’s interior as she wheezed in laughter. "How did this happen? We’re both too hot for this!"
They were back in Greenbridge Glen by then, she noticed with a pang of disappointment, realizing he’d be letting her off at her car soon. Much like the orc resort parties, she was not interested in a repeat performance of that night’s events, but the whole evening had been infinitely more tolerable because of him, and she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye. She was surprised then when he directed the car through the resort town’s line of shops, backing into an alley behind the bistro on the corner. His arm linked with hers as they hurried up the street, the narrow lane turning the sharp, early winter breeze into a knife-like windtunnel.
She was unsurprised when they stopped before the window of the black-pricked pub, her stomach flip-flopping at the sight of the slender orc inside, balancing with one foot on the edge of the bar and the other on the shallow counter behind, as he shifted around bottles on the top shelf. He turned sharply when Ainsley rapped on the window, and she held her breath, remembering his terrifying anger the last time she’d been here. Instead, he hopped off the counter with the grace of a gymnast, disappearing from the window’s vantage, the pub’s front door swinging open a moment later.
Ainsley's strange friend was silent as they entered, locking the door behind them, instinctively wiping his hands on the towel over the top of the short black apron tied around his waist. He said nothing as Ainsley led her to a low table in the center of the room, joining them after a moment with three rocks glasses and a bottle. She watched as he poured two fingers in each glass, adding two more to his own after a moment of hesitation. He pulled out a third chair at the table, taking a seat on the other side of them, and Ris was able to see for the first time that he wasn't quite as young as she had initially assumed that night he'd served them at the bistro.
He had a faint, silvery scar slicing over his forehead that curiously seemed to start somewhere near his eyelid, cutting through his eyebrow, which he had pierced over, and slashing through his hairline, as straight and precise as if he'd ordered his barber to make the mark. His features were fine and delicate, as if he'd been carved from a luminous slab of marble, and she was relieved to note that there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about his wide mouth other than the shortness and sharpness of his tusks. Objectively, she thought, he was one of the most handsome orcs she'd ever seen, but she'd never be able to forget the way his mouth had contorted that night, nor the terrifyingly unhinged look on his face.
He took a sip from his glass, eyes fluttering shut as he swallowed, long black lashes fanning out against his cheek before they opened again and he sat back in his chair, leanly muscled arms crossing over his chest.
"Well? Are you orgiasts now?"
Ris felt his words like a solid blow to her chest, her laughter coming out in a staccato burst, Ainsley huffing in aggravation beside her.
"We're not. We're so,sonot. It was mostly terrible. The hosts were creepy and didn't follow their own boundaries."
"They werereallycreepy," she added, sipping from her glass.
"There were too many gawkers," Ainsley went on. "Too much of an audience."
Tate snorted at his words. "You know, I could have saved you the trouble of the evening. You can't even take a piss if there are too many people around."
She nearly choked on the tiny amount of whiskey sliding down her throat, her chest aching with the force of her laughter. Ainsley slapped the table beside her, his rough rasp of a laugh like a metallic counterpoint to the tinkling bell that poured out of his friend
"That isnotwhat I said!
"You said you don’t want anyone to be in the room with you."
"You aremischaracterizingthat conversation. No one talks! There’s no background noise! That's what I don't like! You're in a giant room of people and all you can hear are a bunch of strangers taking a leak! So if no one is going to have the decency to have a conversation, I prefer to have the room to myself."
Tate had his head tipped back, laughing so hard that there was no sound coming out of his mouth. "Ah yes, because there's nothing better than being in the jacks, cock in hand, and having the bloke next to you leaning down over your shoulder, asking what you like to do on weekends."
There was a stitch in her side, and she was laughing so hard tears had begun to prick in her eyes and run down her cheeks, her ribs aching. She remembered the story Ainsley had told her about how he'd come to be friends with the man across the table, and the vivid picture Tate painted only reinforced his assertion of harassment.
"This was different! Tonight was different. We found a couple of people we mayactually have beeninterested in! But it's hard to really enjoy yourself when there's a circle jerk happening around you".
Tates had slumped over the table, his face buried in his arms, sleek black hair pulling messily from his bun as his shoulders shook. "You're a fucking idiot," he wheezed, raising his head briefly at Ainsley's words, and Ris worried she might actually do herself an injury from laughing as hard as she was. Ainsley pushed up from his chair, huffing as he kicked at the table leg.
"I'm going to the bathroom, so you both had better stay out here if no one wants to talk to me."
Tate continued to laugh as Ainsley stomped across the pub floor, his head dropped back, the high, musical lilt of it ringing in the rafters. "I honestly don't know how I've managed to be friends with him for as long as I've done." He pushed up from the table, crossing back to the bar, returning after a few moments with three bottles from the cooler, beading in condensation.
"He said you used to live in the same apartment building?"
He nodded, pulling a bottle opener from the pockets on the apron he wore, popping open her bottle and setting it on a neat cocktail napkin emblazoned with the same logo from the creaking sign above the door.
"Aye, we did. He'd be waiting for me every weekend night I came home from work, and there was no putting him off. I started coming up the fire escape, and once he caught on, he’d be waiting for me there, and then we had to press against each other to get in the doorway. It was easier to just give in eventually."
