"Tate only has two feelings, and they're both exceptionally difficult to hurt."
She didn't want to argue the point, but he'd not been watching the way his friend's face had tightened at his confusing words. They were halfway down the block to where his car was parked in the alley when Ainsley stopped short, causing her to jerk to a halt. His head dropped back, his exhalation long and dramatic. She was unsurprised when he spun on his heel, stomping back to the pub. The black brick building was completely black, except for the top floor, above the bar. She'd not realized just how long the building was, noting the pub was far larger than she’d initially observed, and that they likely had a large storage room as well. The upper floor spanned the entire length of the building, its wide windows illuminating the dark night. Ainsley had pulled out his phone, tapping the screen and glaring up to the lit windows.
"It's me—no, I didn't forget anything, I only wanted to—look, I only meant that—" his head dropped back again in exasperation, the arm not holding his cell phone opening wide. "I'm only calling because I thought I might have hurt your feelings. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. You don't need to threaten me with bodily harm."
She could hear Tate's voice, tinny through the phone, sharp and stabby like a switchblade.
"Fine, I'm leaving. Don't let that bad mood choke you in your sleep."
He shoved the phone back in his pockets, grumbling under his breath as he took her hand back up, stomping back to his car. "Nanaya, how badly do you want to go back to Cambric Creek tonight? I'm fucking exhausted."
"You technically only have to bring me back to the resort parking lot. That's where I parked."
Ainsley sighed, groaning. "That sounds sooooo far. How about I bring you back there tomorrow, after breakfast instead?"
The drive from his friend's bar to his apartment in Starling Heights was minimal, and she had no complaints once they were both stripped down and curled in the sheets in his giant bed.
"I'm sorry I got you yelled at," she added. "That probably just made things worse."
"He doesn't actuallyyellyell. It’s more like a threat from the shadow at the back of your closet. And being threatened is actually an expectation, so don't worry. He really is all bark. Like, I could complain that my arm was useless and that I wanted a new one, and Tate would lecture me about being a spoiled arm hog and that plenty of people live their lives with no arms at all and then somehow manage to turn it into a story about him hiding under his bed for three days when the human and goblin crowns burnt Cork city to the ground and it would all just make me feel terrible, but then a day later there would be a box on my doorstep with perfectly washed and sanitized arm and no note. And then next time I would see him, he would have a bloody stump hanging out of his T-shirt and claim his arm has always looked that way and I'm too much of a cunt to have properly noticed."
She laughed against his chest, his examples as dramatic as ever. "My dad is that way. Generous to a fault. My parents didn't have any money when I was growing up, everything they made went into sending me to Elvish school, they knew it was that important. And the second they managed to scrape a few pennies together, there was my dad, giving it away to someone with a sob story who he claimed needed it more. He had a big heart, but he was taken advantage of more than once."
"Taking advantage of a generous heart is exactly what I'm worried about," he mumbled, his tone a bit more serious than it had been only a moment earlier. "Do you seriously know nothing about him?"
"What am I supposed to know?!" she exclaimed. "He's your friend, he's a switchblade instead of a piece of bread. You claim his bark is worse than his bite, but I've seen a bit of his bite and it's actually terrifying. But he's important to you, clearly. And that's all I need to know."
He huffed out a breath and laid back against the pillows, clearly dissatisfied with her answer. "Heisimportant to me. It's hard to find good friends. Do you know what artists and musicians tend to be? Huge flakes. They forget about plants or they break plans at the last second without a thought. I'm an only child, I was a latchkey kid. I've always had a lot of friends, but very few I could actually count on to be there when it mattered, but he’s like having a very grumpy, slightly feral, always reliable brother. I'm just . . . annoyed by the situation. Whatever. It's none of my business, in any case."
She still had no idea whatsituationhe referred to, but decided changing the subject might be best.
"I'm glad we went tonight," she murmured, running her palm down his chest, following the trail of dark hair that led to the anaconda she knew lurked beneath the sheets. "I don't think I would ever want to go back again, but the only way to find out if we're into something or not is to try it, right? I don't think we should be kink shamed for not liking something we tried. I do like watching us in the mirror. And if that Sylvan had given us his phone number, I wouldn't say I might not want to call him.
"I might want to call that fox girl. She had an excellent grip."
Ris huffed against his chest, but his words sparked something else that had been floating in her mind. "So . . . what are we, exactly? We're both okay with seeing other people, and that's fine. I don't think I want to change that. But . . . I don't know, it's almost dishonest going out with other guys when I'm half thinking about you."
"What haveyoubeen calling us?"
She shrugged, smiling. "Friend with benefits?"
He chuckled, a deep rumble against the hand she had over his stomach. He had been cupping her mound as they spoke, a thick finger gently sliding against her cleft, occasionally slipping into her wetness and circling over her clit, before returning to stroke back and forth. "Is that all we are, Nanaya? Friends who fuck?"
An entire kaleidoscope of butterflies took wing in her chest. She didn't want things to change, not really, but he was more than a friend and it felt silly to deny that. "Well . . . I think that's how we started out. I'm not sure if that works anymore though. I don’t want anything to change between us, but I just feel like . . ."
"No, you're right. It's dishonest." He thought for a long moment. "We are . . . poly adventurous?"
"A poly adventurous couple?"
"Is that whatyouwant?"
"I don't want a boyfriend," she blurted, neck heating. "I don't like the implications of that, and I know that probably sounds really fucking stupid, but I don't want to be responsible for someone else's happiness. I don’t want kids, I don’t want this big commitment. I like what we have right now, right this minute . . . but I don't know what to call it."
"What does that even mean anyway? ‘A girlfriend. A boyfriend.’ Who gives a fuck? You can call me your watermelon king, for all I care. Those are just titles for everyone else, right?"
"Yeah," she laughed. "I guess you're right.Ithink of us as a couple. Do you?"
"Oh, we're definitely a couple. If you tell me we're not, it's going to break my heart. Tate will call to yell atyou, and then he'll be very smug and superior and I honestly cannotdeal with that, so please don't do it to me. An uncommitted, poly adventurous couple."
