“Dee, you know me better than that.” I grip his bulging biceps and give them a squeeze. “Would I ever date a person I didn’t feel like dating?”
“I wouldn’t actually know, since I’ve never seen you in a relationship,” he grumbles.
I could confess I’ve never been in one and that I lied the other day, but instead, I ask a more important question: “Why don’t you like him?”
My brother purses his mouth. “Doyoulike him?”
“I think so. I mean, I like him more than I like most people.”
Dorian harrumphs. “That’s not exactly a high bar.”
True.
“Are you going home with him?” A grimace grips his face.
It actually makes me smile since it comes from brotherly concern and not any real dislike of Cillian.
“Yeah. I was going to suggest we Netflix and chill,” I say.
Dorian color-changes like the mood ring he got me for my eleventh birthday. For weeks, I was convinced it was imbued with actual mine magic.
“You do know what that”—he rolls his lips—“what that means, right?”
“Watching a series. With snacks.” I nail such a perfect straight face that my brother’s lashes go wild. “That’s what it means, right?”
Dorian finally grumbles, “Expect me for breakfast.” He starts to shift his attention off me, but an afterthought makes him swing his head back in my direction and study what he can see of my face beneath the brim of Cillian’s cowboy hat. “You can’t catch STDs, but you could still get pregnant, so don’t do”—his mouth twists like he’s chewing on overcooked steak—“itwithout protection.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
“I’m serious, Elle.”
“You think I want a kid?” I revert to Atlantean to keep this conversation private.
“No, but accidents happen.”
“To people who don’t use condoms,” I remind him.
“Monta swears he wore one with all his human partners,” Dorian murmurs.
I grimace. “First off, yuck—it’s my genitor we’re talking about. Second off, I wouldn’t be here if he had worn rubber, so I guess there’s that.”
Again, Dorian’s lips scrunch, but not in revulsion this time. “Before you leave, I want a word with him… Cillian!” He waves him over.
As Cillian pulls away from Logan and Fiona, wearing a small frown, I snatch my brother’s wrist. “Don’t chase him away.”
“I won’t,” he promises, then in English and loudly—for Cillian’s sake—he adds, “I just want to establish a few ground rules. Go see Callie or something.”
Although reluctant to leave the two of them alone, I stray over toward Calanthe, who’s exchanging wedding tips with Tricia, and park myself at their side.
Jeneva joins us, sipping on a bottle of water. She follows my line of sight and smirks. “Wouldn’t want to be in your boyfriend’s shoes right now. Your brother is one scary guy.” She lowers her voice to murmur into my ear, “Granted, not as scary as Tarian. Callie’s fiancé looks like he could actually kill a person just by looking at them.”
I don’t tell her how accurate her instinct is about Tarian, and not because I can’t, but because I’m too busy dwelling on her choice of words:my boyfriend.
Is that what Cillian Lowry’s about to become?
Chapter 32
Cillian
